A Tale of Hope – Part 2

POV: Cain

My life changed in the blink of an eye. One moment, I was whole—four arms, four legs, two heads. Perfect, just as Lord Kronos had made us. And in the next… something was ripped away. Torn from my side like flesh from bone. I watched my other half collapse onto the ground, trembling from the cold, so fragile, so… lost.

I tried to hold him. Tried to press my back to his, willing the emptiness to fade. But nothing worked. The hollow space inside me remained, wide and echoing.

Then came the scent—Zeus. His divinity was all over it. Rage surged through me, a primal fury I couldn't contain. Why had he done this? What right had he to tear us apart?

I followed the trail of his divine essence, not knowing what I'd do when I found him. Would I beg? Would I fight? I only knew I had to try.

And in trying… I died.

But death wasn't the end.

Lord Hades gave me a purpose. He didn't need to. Yet, in his voice, I heard compassion—genuine care. He didn't just give me a name... He gave me direction.

I can feel the Underworld's power reshaping me as I ascend toward the mortal realm. Wings, featherless and scaled, stretch from my back—more reptilian than avian, perhaps a creature that has yet to be born. Violet flames flicker along my limbs, forming a living armor that shields me as I pass through the veil between worlds.

I don't understand exactly how this works. But I know who I must find.

My Dante.

With a cry that tore the silence apart, I burst from the Underworld. Flames spiraled outward from my body, flinging a Titan—who had been observing the mortal realm—backward into the trees. The nymphs around him shrieked, vanishing into the forest, leaving behind only a single mortal girl who instinctively shielded something behind her.

A box. It pulsed with divine energy—Zeus's unmistakable presence. But as I drew closer, I also sensed Hera's mark intertwined with his. Something dark and heavy lingered beneath the surface—an antithesis to mortals like me. And yet, the object radiated an alluring aura that pulled at the curiosity of all who beheld it.

My mortal flesh had become a vessel for my spirit. My wings now shimmered with violet fire, a pair of horned flames curled from my brow, and the fiery armor around me had solidified into sleek, dark metal traced with silver and gold lines—complex, ancient, alive.

The Titan watched me with wary suspicion. The mortal—curious but cautious. I turned my gaze to the one who had slain me. I had the power now to confront him. But I felt no anger. In truth… a strange gratitude swelled within me. Without that moment of death, I would never have received this chance.

This new hope.

"Speak to the woman," Lord Hades' voice echoed through my mind.

"Her name is Pandora. Tell her to be careful with those she allows near her."

I ignored the Titan's shifting stance and focused on the woman. As I moved forward, he instinctively stepped into her path, placing himself protectively in front of her.

"Pandora," I said, my voice emerging with an unnatural rhythm—almost lyrical, as though some deeper force within me had rehearsed this moment long before I arrived. "Lord Hades sends his greetings… and a warning: be wary of those who come too close."

She froze at the mention of his name, but her fear didn't overtake her. Swallowing hard, she met my gaze.

"I thank you for the warning," she said, her voice cautious, but steady. "Could you tell me more?" Her fear was softening—replaced by genuine curiosity. "I greet the brother of Zeus… and God of the Dead."

I felt Hades chuckle faintly through our connection. She had addressed him in a way few dared—with respect, but no reverence. Amusement lingered in his silence.

He prompted me again. My eyes shifted briefly to the Titan, catching Pandora's attention without alerting him.

"My time here is short," I said. "But remember this…" I locked eyes with her once more, and then, with meaning, glanced again toward the Titan. "Be careful who you trust. Not everyone near you wishes you well."

I turned, ignoring the voices calling after me—hers and his—and followed the pull that guided me forward.

To him.

To my Dante.

It was time to name the first Oracle of Hades.

POV: Prometheus

Inside a cave at the peak of a mountain—one where I know I will one day be chained—I continued to paint using the essence of my divinity. The scene depicted my brother, Epimetheus, and Pandora, standing side by side as they opened the box to glimpse what lay within. Her curiosity and Epimetheus's divine authority intertwined, making the release of the evils sealed inside all but inevitable.

As I refined the expressions on their faces, my hand paused. My gaze drifted to the place where their destined meeting was meant to occur. Epimetheus was meant to save Pandora, and together they were meant to fall in love. But now the future was shifting.

Pandora no longer loved Epimetheus.

And yet… he still loved her.

I could feel the future growing unstable, its threads fraying. I needed to know what was corrupting the design. Wrapping myself in the flames of knowledge, I cast my essence toward the domain of the daughters of Nyx.

In a place just a step removed from reality, half a blink closer to time itself, stood the Temple of the Moirai—a twisted, towering spire from which tens of thousands of threads were spun and cast across the cosmos.

I could sense my own thread among them, tangled and knotted within the tapestry. And at the gate, the three sisters were waiting.

"Clotho. Lachesis… Atropos."

My greeting was met with silence from the first two. Only Atropos smiled faintly and stepped forward.

"Little Prometheus," she said in a tone that was both amused and sharp, "how wonderful of you to visit. It's been ages, hasn't it? The last time you came was when your gift of prophecy first awakened, was it not?"

Atropos's hair nearly dragged across the floor—long, black strands braided with countless colored threads. Lives she had deemed unnecessary or tedious, cut short within the permitted bounds of fate. Her skin bore the dark hue of ancient oak, and she exuded the same terrifying allure I remembered from our first meeting: unyielding, brutal, and captivating.

"You swore then never to set foot in our domain again."

"Circumstances have changed," I answered evenly. "The future is shifting, and I no longer understand what I see."

Her eyes scanned me like scalpels dissecting flesh. I resisted the urge to flinch or show the confusion—or the pull—I felt in her presence.

"I see." She turned her head slightly. "Sisters, leave us."

As before, she kept me at just the right distance to prevent me from glimpsing the faces of her siblings. She raised her hand, and a wave of energy pulsed outward. In an instant, we were somewhere else.

A circular stone chamber with no windows. No light, save for the glow of a massive mirror that reflected our true forms. I appeared as a torch held aloft by a formless figure—the path of reason before instinct, the origin of what mortals would someday call the scientific method.

She, on the other hand, was a veiled woman, faceless and severe. A pair of her arms held two scales. Six more bore blades—scissors, knives, razors. A final, smaller pair of hands cradled a single, thick thread: the thread of our universe's longevity.

"What do you know of the universe beyond our own, Prometheus?"

Her question caught me off guard. I blinked and stared at her, confused.

"The universe is vast," I replied slowly. "There are other worlds. And in some of those worlds… other gods."

That was no revelation. From time to time, I had visions—brief glimpses of events destined to occur far from our own realm.

"You're suggesting one of those gods has entered our world?" I asked.

"Don't be a fool," she snapped. "If another god had crossed into our reality, the Primordials would have united to destroy it. No. What we face is something far more dangerous… and more subtle."

She pointed to herself, continuing, "There is a type of being called a Mortal God. Someone who, while still mortal, touched the laws of reincarnation and managed to carry their memories between lives. These individuals are often sent to other worlds, where they reincarnate as gods of death—or those closely tied to its domain. Their existence distorts fate, but not so drastically that it triggers alarm. As of now, three members of our pantheon hold the essence of a Mortal God."

My attention sharpened.

There it was.

The answer.

Why the war with the Titans had been easier than the fates once predicted.

Why Pandora didn't fall for Epimetheus.

Why the future had grown harder and harder for me to read.

"Thanatos is in his third life as the Personification of Death," she said coldly. "He was directly responsible for the destruction of his previous two worlds."

My breath caught. My suspicions took shape. A suspect emerged from the haze.

But she wasn't finished.

"I, Atropos," she said without hesitation, "am in my first life as a Moira… but in my thirteenth life as a vessel of Death's domain."

Her revelation, and the one about Thanatos, shifted my priorities. But the next name she spoke silenced all thought.

"And Hades… is in his first life as God of the Dead."

My brow arched at the mention. Hades had interfered with destiny before—during the matter of Metis—but that seemed born of logic, not manipulation. Still…

"And can you tell me," I asked cautiously, "which of you is altering the threads of fate?"

Atropos looked at me as one might look at a naive Titan child, barely grasping the first hints of prophecy.

"A foolish question," she said, her voice final.

And I lowered my head in shame.

Because she was right.

POV: Hades

I returned to the castle only to notice that Hestia was already among the gargoyles—those stony ladies of the night carrying her gently toward the "sky" of the Underworld. There, suspended above the cavernous realm, she had begun the delicate work of igniting the stars.

Demeter awaited me in the throne room.

She had changed her appearance for the occasion—and she was simply radiant.

Her hair, once golden like ripe wheat, now shimmered in deep chestnut tones that gradually transitioned into verdant green at the tips. Her amber-toned skin glowed softly in the dim underworld light, and her eyes—autumnal in hue—mirrored the color of fallen leaves. Her face appeared younger, softened by a blush on her cheeks, like the early bloom of spring returning to the land.

New to her appearance was a set of antler-like horns, delicate and branching, growing from her temples. They resembled tree limbs, formed of a bark-like material and adorned with tiny living leaves, giving her an otherworldly, natural grace that felt both sacred and wild.

Her attire had also shifted. Over her shoulders hung a thick, fur-lined cloak, enveloping her body in shadow and mystery. But as she moved, the cloak parted just enough to reveal a finely woven linen dress underneath. The fabric clung to her skin and fell well above the knees, thin enough that even the gentle light of the Underworld made visible what ought to have remained private. Every glimpse stirred something ancient within me.

I caught myself staring—my divine senses savoring every visible inch during the fleeting moments her movement allowed. My body responded, warm blood rushing to my face in a way I hadn't felt since my mortal days. It was only the second time in existence that even my metamorphic abilities failed to suppress such a visceral reaction to her.

I ignored it. Or tried to.

"Demeter," I greeted her with a smile, the scent of her reaching me at last—a fragrance of rich earth and harvest, tinged with something wilder. I silently cursed the divine senses I had once been so proud of. Perhaps visiting Zeus had been a mistake. Perhaps Olympian promiscuity was contagious.

"Hades," she replied, her voice a velvet melody. "I'm glad to steal a moment of your time. The last time I came to you, I feared tragedy. But now I find myself with the luxury to simply… talk. I've missed speaking of our domains, the constancy of time, the stillness in all things. We shared eras together. It feels strange to be apart."

She stepped closer.

I felt her hand press gently against my chest, warm and grounding. I instinctively stepped back, but she followed, closing the distance again. Each step brought us nearer to one of the obsidian pillars lining the room.

"How is life in the Underworld treating you?" she asked, her tone casual, but her eyes searched mine with pointed intent. "Tell me, have you found anything to fill the long silence? I still remember your secret experiments…"

"Eh…" My thoughts scattered. My divine clarity faded, clouded by the moment and her presence. But my mortal side—that ever-observant, grounded piece of me—seemed to know what to do. I took another step back, letting instinct take the reins. "I've started a few projects. Life here has been… calm, fulfilling in its own way. But it lacks something. It lacks you. I've missed your presence."

Her eyes widened, just for a second—a flicker of genuine surprise.

I seized the moment.

Before my back could touch the pillar, I summoned the metal-rich stone beneath the palace floor. With a twist of divine will, it shifted and spun, placing Demeter where I had stood just a heartbeat ago.

I stepped forward. She gasped softly as her back met the cold pillar.

"Well, well," she murmured, a playful smile curving her lips. "You? Admitting you missed me?" Her voice dropped a note, intimate and low. "Then tell me… why do you desire my company?"

She reached forward, fingers curling into the fabric of my robe. With gentle insistence, she pulled me a little closer, her eyes fixed on mine.