26 -

When the color of the heavens shifted, time itself seemed to falter for a breath. Shadows trembled, stars fell silent, and within the heart of the eternal darkness that cloaked the Shadow Realm, a stir began to rise. V sat upon his throne of stone slabs; above his head, the endless void stretched like an abyss that swallowed all light. In his left hand, chains of darkness writhed as if rebelling against his will, while in his right, a crack in space pulsed—like veins of time throbbing all the way down to his fingertips.

But then… the shadows whispered.

“There comes a light. Blinding. A composition of words gilded in pride…”

V’s mind split in two. As always.

“Athena,” said the first voice within him, mocking and forked.

“Athena…” whispered the other—timid, yet teetering on the edge of madness. “Does she seek wisdom… or victory?”

A gate opened in the Shadow Realm. Not of fire, nor darkness—this time it was woven from golden light, threaded with vibrations of pure truth. With a divine stillness, footsteps soft enough to drown echoes were heard. Then she appeared.

Athena.

Her silver armor shimmered as if dipped in stardust. Her dark-golden hair flowed over her shoulders, like a remnant of untouched myths. The spear in her hand seemed to carry the wisdom of the past and the judgment of the future. Her eyes—rare even among gods—did not seek judgment, but understanding. And yet, her expression bore the unrest of pre-battle silence.

“You’ve finally arrived,” said V. His voice echoed through the hall—split in two: one deep and shadowy, the other the murmur behind a deranged laughter. “Virgin of the skies. Wisdom of Olympus. How many years have you been gone? Or… how many have you simply slept through?”

Athena stepped forward. Her gaze was locked, as though she stared into the depths of V’s soul.

“You rule over a dominion veiled in shadow. But the void within you—V—is as vast as those who worship you. This darkness… it has changed you.”

“No,” V answered, his tone suddenly softening. He rose from his throne of shadows, his steps cracking the ground beneath. “The darkness did not change me. I… reshaped the darkness. The shadow is now my reflection.”

Athena watched him without narrowing her eyes. The air between them was electric with tension; words alone were almost too fragile to bear it.

“The gods see you as a threat.”

“The gods don’t understand me,” V hissed. “Because I was not born of gods. I am the child of their forgotten fragments. I… am the echo of Oblivion.”

Athena stepped closer. Her armor bent the light, and in her eyes, a shadow flickered.

“And if your echo reaches Midgard? Will humans pray not to gods, but to you?”

“They already pray to dead gods,” V said. “At least I answer.”

At that moment, the second voice in his mind screamed:

“Kill her. Devour her light. Silence the stars.”

But the first voice whispered:

“No. Speak to her....."

Athena bowed her head, her gaze lifting briefly skyward—though there was no sky here. But for gods, directions were merely symbols. Then her eyes returned to his.

“There’s a spark in you. Something even light cannot recall… But this darkness is consuming you.”

V stepped forward. Only a shadow’s thickness now separated them.

“And you’ve come as the gods’ envoy, haven’t you? To fight me?”

“No,” said Athena. Her voice rang like a bell of resonance. “I came to speak. Not to judge you, but to understand you.”

“Then… listen.”

And V spoke. But it was not a conversation—it was a monologue spilled from the dark. The hum of black holes coursing through his veins.

“Each god hid within their temples. They were forgotten. I, on the other hand, built a kingdom from the blood of the forgotten and those who forget. I carved the cries of the fallen into the skies. I did not kneel before a people shaped from shadows—I became their path. And you… seated on your golden throne, have come to judge me?”

Athena remained silent. Then slowly, she drove her spear into the ground. The entire realm trembled. The shadows recoiled. For a fleeting moment, light overpowered the dark.

“I did not come to judge you… I came to test you. To see if there’s still something human left in your soul.”

In that moment, V’s eyes changed. One shone inward, radiant and thoughtful. The other dimmed, burning with rage. The voices within him twisted together.

“A test? A game of wisdom? Are the gods still playing chess?”

“Your words hold power, Athena,” he said in his darker tone. “But mine… mine fracture dimensions. My summons… drown dreams.”

And for an instant, the surrounding darkness rippled. Griffon merged with the heavens; Nightmare hovered like an illusion above; Shadow silently trailed their steps.

Athena watched without flinching.

“These summons are your shadows. But I still see a spark of light. It doesn’t threaten you, V. It… saves you.”

A scream echoed within V’s mind.

“LIES! THERE IS NO LIGHT! ONLY ME!”

But the other voice whispered:

“…And what if there is? What if a piece still remains?”

In the fracture between darkness and light, V lowered his head for the first time. His eyes drifted toward the void. Time, dimension, and shadow—everything paused.

“Your words… they are a strange echo, Athena,” he said. “But I… I am no longer an echo. I am… a new divinity. And the war between me and the gods—I did not begin it. But I will be the one to end it.”

Athena bowed her head. Was it respect—or resignation?

“Then our paths shall cross again. Perhaps as foes… perhaps as allies.”

And with a beam of light, she vanished. The darkness around V thickened. But this time, it was heavier than ever before.

“That voice… was it me?” asked one voice within.

“No,” said the other. “It was the voice of Oblivion.”