35. The Fates Are Always Right
Kheos too lost in heartbreak. Too far from the core of himself to sustain his own energy – to stop the overflow. He would decimate everything he had created. He would murder her instead of saving her. This was how the worlds ended.
All Kheos’ efforts were wasted. His fists were tight at his sides.
Thirty segunds .
It was exactly as he’d seen it. He watched a crack race through Theos’ golden throne, from the crest rail to the shoe. He couldn’t interfere. The Fates never gave segund chances. The Fates saved neither mortal nor god. The Fates didn’t bend the rules. The Fates never cared. The Fates was always right.
Ten segunds.
Kheos entire soul threatened to crack in two as he waited for the end, for Theos to lose the love he had been waiting for since the beginning of this all. His nails dug into his palms. He shouldn’t interfere. The Fates was always right.
Five segunds.
The Fates was always right.
But Kheos wanted to be wrong .
Kheos needed to be wrong.
Lunging forwards across the gaps in the glass floor, he dropped himself to his knees, grunting only slightly as the shards of Olympian glass pierced him. His hands flew up, immediately straining under the pressure of the disintegrating energy all around him. Palms splayed, he dug into every atom in his body, expanding himself to take on the onslaught of decaying creative force in the universe. Eyes flaming blue, the flames licked at his skin, flashing between deep, oceanic blue and hot, white light. Theos’ energy was blinding hot, raging and untamed. Suddenly he understood. In their fight, all those millennia ago, Theos hadn’t even used half his energy to defeat him. He would have killed him in a segund. He’d entertained the challenge out of courtesy. All that power. All that control.
Every muscle in Kheos’ body strained as he channelled the energy in through his left hand and back out through his right. His heart threatened to collapse as the corrupted energy pierced it over and over before coming out of his body, reordered and stable, the opposite of what he’d been engineered to do as a god.
After houyras, he’d undone the damage Theos had created in his violently abrupt departure that had sent dissecting shockwaves through the universe. His arms dropped to his sides, torso slumping forward to hit the ground. He didn’t wince when razor-sharp shards dug into his palms, scoring them deeply, drawing deep blue blood that pooled around his hands where they pressed against glass to hold himself up. He’d known the consequence of interfering with the universe without the permission of its maker when he’d made the decision. It only ever responded to its maker. All else who tried to command it would perish. Kheos fell into a deep dreamless sleep, the unbearable drain of exertion settling into his bones.
“Fata Viam Invenient,” he mumbled as he slipped under.
───
Regos
Behind him, encased in the shadows, Regos watched his brother fade into black unconsciousness. The lump in his throat refused to move.