Of the Council of One Hundred, only twenty-four survived. Remnants of a divine war that crushed nations and silenced entire eras. Now, before the doors of the Pantheora Summit, the creak of hinges echoed like a warning: the fate of the world would be decided upon these new thrones. The doors opened slowly, the groaning metal carrying the weight of ages.
The great circular hall revealed itself, twenty-four seats arranged in three concentric rows. The atmosphere was heavy. Every being that crossed the threshold radiated power, rivalry, and impatience. Among the Templar guards, none dared move. To mortal eyes, the gods appeared as distorted silhouettes, almost intangible, as if some ancient magic prevented them from being fully seen.
"Excellencies, I am Moroz, demigod and organizer of this assembly," he announced, voice calm, almost icy. His white eyes reflected a distant glow, as if carrying the weight of an eternal winter. "I declare the Council of the Immortals open."
He paused, scanning each throne.
"Before us are the gods who prevailed over the old Council of One Hundred. They are the ones who subjugated humanity, ending the democratic era and restoring monarchy over the ruins of the old world. Some distinguished themselves by toppling empires, conquering nations, and cementing their supremacy."
His eyes swept across the assembly, impassive.
"The purpose of this meeting is higher: to reaffirm the pact of non-aggression among the gods present. This is a commitment to vigilance and order—not merely to dominance."
A suffocating silence fell over the hall.
"Before the arrival of the Four Supremes, I will clarify the order of the summit and the placement of the twenty-four thrones. Each seat reflects the role of each majesty in the reconstruction of the world. Hierarchy is not symbolic: it is justice, duty, and power."
His voice turned colder:
"Moderate the use of your gifts, so that the Templar Knights here may witness without compromising their safety."
The hall fell silent once more.
"With these words… the session of the Council of the Immortals is officially inaugurated."
— The twentieth throne… — murmured Varuna, god of waters, sapphire eyes rippling softly. — To be placed among the weak is an insult. I am not inferior to the dogs who occupy higher ranks.
A cold laugh echoed from the sixteenth seat. Anubis, guardian of the dead, leaned slightly, amber eyes glowing beneath a golden aura.
— And you dare compare yourself to me? The rank I hold reflects exactly what you are, Varuna — Anubis said, calm yet dripping with irony. — Hindu gods speak of themselves as superior, but they are nothing more than puppets of their own illusions.
Vishnu, on the ninth throne, raised his voice, eyes full of disdain:
— Anubis, your ignorance reflects the nature of those who think themselves great without understanding true power — Vishnu said, serene yet authoritative. — Disrespecting a Hindu god does not make you stronger. Perhaps you should reflect on the true meaning of order and respect before speaking.
Whispers spread across the thrones. Suppressed creaks, hands gripping armrests, held breaths. Every unnamed presence exuded tension, curiosity, or skepticism—visible only to Odin.
The doors opened again. An overwhelming aura flooded the hall, enforcing immediate silence. The entry of the Four Supremes brought authority and a nearly tangible weight. Even the most arrogant rose in instinctive reverence.
Odin stepped forward first, gray-silver eyes, runes glowing faintly on his cloak and his spear, Gungnir. Beside him, Zeus, platinum-haired with subtle electric strands, breathed like restrained thunder. The other Supremes advanced in silence, each step echoing determination.
The Templars shivered, unable to discern expressions or details. Only when they settled did the others sit. Some exchanged tense glances; others ground their thrones quietly.
Odin remained seated, eyes scanning the assembly—except for the fifth seat, still empty. Murmurs spread through the hall. Some stiffened; others furrowed their brows.
She entered. The Empress of the fifth throne crossed the doorway with measured steps, her long black cloak flowing softly. A veil concealed her face. The dragging fabric seemed to swallow sound and air. The entire hall felt a freezing chill sweep across the floor.
Varuna narrowed his eyes, the water in his aura rippling with irritation:
— Finally, you decide to appear… For someone of such high rank, arriving after the Supremes is like a late tide: weak, dishonorable. An insult to the very currents that govern this hall.
Odin remained seated, observing. As his eyes fixed on her, something in his expression shifted. He, who always read the threads of fate, now saw only emptiness.
— Who… are you, really? — he murmured, low and piercing, like the whisper of an ancient secret, audible across the hall. — Is your existence simple, or is there more than mortal eyes can perceive?
A hush ran through the assembly. The Empress lifted the corners of her lips in a sarcastic, defiant smile and settled into her throne with glacial calm, utterly indifferent to all else, as if the hall itself were irrelevant before her presence.
Zeus thundered:
— Silence! We are here for something greater than petty disputes. There is no room for vanity. Here, we are the shapers of destiny.
Odin rose, Gungnir gleaming with cold light:
— We are not here to debate throne holders… — his voice echoed like a storm's roar, carrying wisdom beyond the ages. — I have come to warn you of what approaches. My eyes, which pierce the veils of time, have witnessed a vision beyond comprehension. I saw the abyss… a void that devours all. A formless, voiceless, hungry army. The Abyssae, devourers of worlds, awaken after ages of silence. I saw empires shattered, mortals and gods consumed like ashes in the wind.
Some laughed, others exchanged tense glances. Vishnu replied firmly:
— Words to scare us, Nordic? Forget that the universe is kept in balance not by fear, but by wisdom and action.
Odin gripped Gungnir, his voice thundering like never before:
— I have seen the death of gods. I have seen thrones fall. I have seen even the Supremes consumed, their essences dissolving into darkness.— War is coming. And when it comes, there will be no choice to fight or not. The only choice will be… to survive… or perish.
The silence that followed was almost tangible. The Empress's black cloak seemed to absorb the hall's light, her smile lingering—a warning more than a gesture.
Zeus's voice boomed like thunder across the skies:
— Then let the Summit decide… Will we remain divided? Or will we face together what rises on the horizon… as the gods we are?
The groaning of thrones and muted whispers were the only answer. Every soul in the Summit waited, hypnotized and fearful, for the impossible rising on the horizon—and none knew if they would survive to witness it.