After spending a quiet hour beside Pandora’s bedside, Nathan finally stood and left her to rest. Her grip on his wrist had loosened gradually, her eyes fluttering closed from exhaustion rather than peace. He lingered for a mont longer beside the bed, studying her face in that half-light—the faint rise and fall of her chest, the fragile line of her body beneath the silk covers, and the faint shimr of silver strands that spilled over the pillow.
Worry tugged at him even as he turned to leave. He knew what awaited once she regained her full strength—the inevitable storm of emotion, the renewed fixation that might beco dangerous if left unchecked. But for now, that was a problem for the future. He had taken the first step to prepare her, to gently plant in her mind the understanding that he would not—could not—belong entirely to her. His life carried other promises, other lives tethered to it, and Pandora, however much she might want him, would eventually have to face that truth.
Stepping outside, Nathan drew in a deep breath of Deter’s air—rich, almost intoxicatingly alive. The garden surrounding him shimred with the warmth of eternal spring: sunlight filtered through flourishing trees, casting liquid gold onto beds of blossoms. No mortal place held colors like these, or air so sweet it almost humd in the throat.
He didn’t have long to himself.
A sound further along the cobblestone path drew his attention, and when he turned, he saw that he was no longer alone. Athena and Deter had arrived, walking side by side across the adow. Their voices were quiet but asured—tones of two goddesses discussing matters of importance.
Yet they were not the only ones who had co.
Euryno stood nearby, radiant and poised as though she had stepped straight from the dawn itself. Her presence carried that sa subtle majesty that all primal gods wore—the quiet reminder that they had existed long before Olympus or mankind, from a ti when the world was still being shaped from chaos.
Athena and Deter acknowledged Nathan’s presence with a brief nod before resuming their conversation, clearly deep in discussion about Pandora’s containnt wards or sothing equally crucial. Euryno, however, drifted toward him, her lips curving into an amused smile that made her seem at once youthful and tiless.
"The famous hero of Ro," she said lightly, her tone infused with a teasing warmth. "You’ve made quite the impression among our kind, Nathan. News of your deeds travels even between realms, you know."
"I hope it’s not in the wrong way," Nathan replied, his tone caught sowhere between wariness and humor. "I’ve had enough gods and politicians equally angry with for one lifeti."
Euryno chuckled softly, the sound like rippling silver water. "Not in the wrong way. Intrigue, perhaps, but not outrage. We gods find it difficult not to be fascinated by humans who rise above the ordinary. It reminds us of what we no longer are—finite, imperfect, yet capable of greatness despite those limits."
She tilted her head, her gaze distant for a mont, as though peering through ti itself. "There have been others like you in the eras past. Heracles, Perseus—heroes touched by the divine blood of Zeus. They were destined for greatness before they ever drew breath. But there are rarer figures still... n like Alexander, whose veins held no ichor, whose souls were entirely human, yet whose spirit burned bright enough to rival even the offspring of gods."
Her eyes returned to him—sharp now, inquisitive and discerning. "You, Nathan, strike as one of those."
Nathan arched a brow slightly. "Are you counting among them, then?"
"Perhaps." The corners of Euryno’s lips curved upward again. "Or perhaps you will surpass them."
The complint was delivered without flattery, as though it were simple prophecy, and that made it all the more striking.
Nathan studied her for a long mont before asking, "So why are you here, really? Sohow I don’t imagine soone like you simply wandering into Deter’s garden to admire the horticulture."
Euryno placed a delicate hand over her heart, feigning offense. "Deter’s garden happens to be one of the few peaceful places still left in existence. Surely even eternal beings are allowed to seek rest now and then?"
His expression suggested he didn’t believe a single syllable of it, the faint narrowing of his eyes making his skepticism perfectly clear.
Euryno’s regal composure cracked as she laughed—an elegant, musical sound that seed to blend with the lody of birdsong and wind around them. "All right, I admit it. Athena requested my assistance in strengthening the magic around the dwelling where Pandora rests. She wanted an additional layer of reinforcent, sothing not even divine interference could easily breach."
Nathan nodded, satisfied at last. "That makes more sense. You’re quite talented at such things—I rember that shield you crafted for , the one Athena commission. It was quite a piece of art."
"It is," Euryno said with a note of pride, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve. "My craftsmanship is among the finest in the cosmos, though I rarely boast about it openly. Perfection is simply my nature."
"You’re modest, then," Nathan said dryly.
Her laughter was quiet, like wind through chis. "Rarely."
He stood in silence for a few monts, thinking, before turning to her with a new expression—sothing sharper, heavier with intent. "Then, hypothetically... if I were to ask you to create sothing new for , could you?"
Euryno’s curiosity visibly piqued. She shifted her weight slightly and regarded him with renewed interest, the gold of her eyes shimring faintly. "I can create many things—anything that can be conceived, truly. But the question, Septimius, is why would I? I do not owe you any favor, nor act on whim. The shield I made was Athena’s request, not yours."
Nathan inclined his head slightly, accepting her statent as fair. Between them, truth was currency, not courtesy. "You’re right. You owe nothing. But everyone desires sothing, Euryno. Even gods have their hungers, their curiosities, their quiet wantings. So tell —if I were to ask sothing of your craft, what would be your price?"
Her brows rose slightly at his boldness. Few mortals, no matter their strength or reputation, spoke to primordial deities in such direct terms. Yet she could see the seriousness in his gaze—the weight behind the request. He wasn’t asking lightly.
"What might you need built," she asked at last, "that gives your voice such gravity?"
"Ho," Nathan said simply, his eyes drifting toward the endless horizon of Deter’s garden. "A safe ho. A place where my won and children can live without fear, no matter what storms break elsewhere in the cosmos."
He let the words sink into the air, their sincerity unsoftened.
"I’ve crossed too many Kingdoms to believe safety can be bought or borrowed," he continued quietly. "But if you, who have shaped so many things it seems, could help build one—help design sothing that endures—that’s what I want. A a true ho. A haven anchored outside the reach of war, and enemies."
Euryno studied him in absolute silence. For a mont, all the gentle sounds of Deter’s garden seed to fade—the wind stilling, the leaves holding their breath. When she finally spoke, her tone had changed; the teasing warmth was gone, replaced by seriousness.
"You are more thoughtful than I initially gave you credit for," Euryno said slowly, her voice carrying a note of genuine reassessnt as she studied Nathan with fresh eyes. "It seems you aren’t solely composed of violence and bloodshed after all. There’s sothing softer beneath that warrior’s exterior—sothing worth preserving."
The admission ca without condescension or mockery. She spoke as one ancient being acknowledging an unexpected discovery in another, the surprise genuine rather than performative.
"I only want my children to live together without the constant fear of being killed by anyone—mortal, divine, or otherwise," Nathan replied, his voice stripped of pretense or embellishnt. The raw honesty in those words made them more powerful than any elaborate speech could have been. "I want them to wake up each morning knowing they’re safe. I want them to play without looking over their shoulders. I want them to grow without wondering which war or vendetta will tear their family apart."
Euryno’s expression softened considerably at his words, sothing deeply maternal flickering across her ageless features. Her smile transford from amused curiosity into sothing warr, more sympathetic—the recognition of one parent seeing their own fears and hopes reflected in another.
"I may understand that feeling better than most," she said quietly, her gaze drifting montarily toward so distant point only she could see. "I also have three daughters whom I care for very deeply. Despite their divine nature, despite the protections their status affords them, I still worry for them. I still fear what this cruel cosmos might do to them if I’m not vigilant."
Her eyes returned to Nathan’s face, and in them he could see the weight of millennia spent guarding those she loved.
"So yes," Euryno continued, her voice taking on a firr quality, "I understand completely what drives you to seek this haven. I understand the desperation behind wanting to create sothing inviolable, sowhere that stands outside the reach of cosmic conflict and divine politics. A father’s love—or a mother’s—transcends even the boundaries between mortal and immortal."
"Then you understand why I need this ho to be truly safe?" Nathan pressed gently, not wanting to lose the montum of her empathy. "Not rely defended, but fundantally protected at a level that makes attacking it unthinkable?"
"I do," Euryno confird, her steady gaze holding his without wavering. "I understand both the desire and the necessity."
Silence settled between them then—not uncomfortable, but weighted with consideration. Euryno’s eyes never left Nathan’s face, studying him with an intensity that suggested she was seeing far more than his physical form. Perhaps she was glimpsing the threads of fate that surrounded him, the possibilities branching out from this mont like roads diverging into infinite futures.
Nathan remained perfectly still, allowing her the ti and space to think without pressure or interference. This was too important to rush, too significant to risk through impatience.
The timing of Euryno’s appearance felt almost providential, as though so force beyond re chance had orchestrated this eting. He had been contemplating this very problem for longer than he cared to admit—the question of how to give his scattered family a true ho, a genuine sanctuary where they could exist together rather than separated by the boundaries of different worlds and tilines.
The image of his wives and children spread across various realms haunted him during quiet monts. Each was safe enough in their current circumstances, protected by whatever asures he’d been able to put in place. But safety wasn’t the sa as ho. Security wasn’t the sa as belonging.
He could still rember with painful clarity the sadness that had shadowed Nivea’s young face when she’d spoken about her inability to leave Khione’s isolated world, her longing to et the siblings she knew existed but had never been able to embrace. The separation wasn’t cruel by design—it was simply a necessary precaution in a dangerous cosmos. But necessity didn’t make it hurt any less.
His children deserved better than that. They deserved to know each other, to form the bonds that siblings should share, to grow up surrounded by family rather than isolated by circumstance. They deserved a childhood where "ho" ant more than just "the place where I happen to be safe at the mont."
Nathan had originally planned to wait until after dealing with the Light Empire before pursuing this dream—to finish eliminating that particular threat before turning his attention to more constructive projects. But now, with Euryno standing before him and apparently willing to consider his request, the opportunity seed too valuable to postpone.
There was no rule stating he couldn’t begin building his future even while still fighting to secure it. Perhaps starting this project now would even give him additional motivation, an even more tangible reason to survive whatever conflicts lay ahead.
"How far would you be willing to go to obtain this ho you desire?" Euryno asked finally, breaking the contemplative silence. Her tone had shifted slightly, taking on the formal quality that accompanied serious divine bargains. "What price would you consider acceptable? What tasks would you undertake? What sacrifices would you make?"
Nathan didn’t hesitate even for a heartbeat, his response imdiate and unequivocal.
"If you promise to do what I’ve asked—to help create this sanctuary—I will go as far as necessary," he stated with absolute conviction, his voice carrying the weight of an oath even though no formal binding had yet been invoked. "Whatever you require of , whatever challenge you set before , whatever cost you na... I will et it. This matters too much for half-asures or reservations."
Euryno’s eyes widened fractionally, genuine surprise flickering across her divine features. She had expected determination, certainly—mortals rarely approached gods without strong motivation. But the sheer totality of his commitnt, the complete absence of bargaining or attempts to negotiate limitations, clearly caught her off guard.
Most beings, when entering agreents with deities, hedged their promises with careful qualifications. They set boundaries around what they would or wouldn’t do, inserted escape clauses and conditions to protect themselves from being exploited. It was simply prudent when dealing with immortal powers whose sense of proportion could be dramatically skewed by their cosmic perspective.
But Nathan offered no such protections. He simply laid his commitnt bare and invited her to test it however she saw fit.
"So be it," Euryno said at last, her voice resonating with a power that made the very air around them seem to thicken and shimr. "I will build your ho, Septimius-"
"Nathan," Nathan cut her off saying his true na as proof of trust which clearly pleased Euryno as she smiled.
"I will craft for you a sanctuary that exists beyond the reach of casual destruction, a haven anchored in reality but separated from the normal flow of cosmic conflict. It will be a place where your family can gather without fear, where your children can grow in peace, where the wars that consu the wider universe cannot easily penetrate."
Relief washed through Nathan so powerfully that he almost staggered under the weight of it. This was happening. This impossible dream he’d barely dared articulate was actually going to beco real.
"And what do you want in exchange?" he asked, forcing himself to address the practical matter even as his mind raced ahead to imagine what she might create. "Na your price, Euryno. What task or treasure or service will balance this divine favor?"
Euryno’s lips curved into an enigmatic smile, amusent dancing in her eyes alongside sothing deeper—perhaps respect, perhaps curiosity about how he would react to her answer.
"Does it truly matter what I ask?" she replied, tilting her head slightly. "You’ve already committed to going ’as far as necessary’ regardless of what I require. So whether I demand you retrieve a star from the edge of reality, or slay so cosmic horror threatening existence, or simply bring a particular flower from a forgotten garden... you’re going to do it anyway, aren’t you?"
Nathan t her gaze steadily, not backing down from the implicit challenge in her words.
"If you fulfill your part of this bargain—if you genuinely build what I’ve asked for and do it properly rather than finding so way to technically comply while undermining the spirit of our agreent—then yes, you have my word," he said with unwavering seriousness. "I will complete whatever task you set before , no matter how difficult or dangerous or inconvenient it proves to be. My word, once given, is not sothing I treat casually."
The weight he placed on that final statent made clear just how sacred he considered such promises. In a universe where gods could be capricious and mortals often broke their vows at the first sign of difficulty, his absolute commitnt to keeping his word was itself a form of power.
Euryno studied him for several long monts, her divine perception surely reading far more in his statent than the surface words conveyed. She was assessing not just his sincerity but his capability—determining whether he truly possessed the strength and determination to follow through on such an open-ended commitnt.
Whatever she saw in him must have satisfied her concerns.
"Then it is settled," Euryno declared, her voice carrying the finality of divine pronouncent. The words seed to echo strangely, as though reality itself was taking note of the agreent being forged. "I will begin planning your sanctuary imdiately. The work will take ti—even divine craftsmanship cannot rush perfection—but I promise you it will be everything you hope for and more."
She extended her hand toward him, palm up, in the ancient gesture of covenant-making.
"When the ti cos for you to fulfill your end of our bargain," she continued, "I will call upon you. Until then, consider yourself under my patronage in this matter. Your ho will be built, Nathan. That much is certain."
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