[Oliver's PoV]

  “Where’s the Red One?”

  Oliver’s voice broke the silence as he looked toward the far end of the chamber, toward the third throne.

  It stood beside Athena’s, carved from cold steel rather than marble or vines. It wasn’t elegant like hers, nor alive like Cernunnos’. It was brutal.

  The throne was made of weaponry, its frame forged from weapons. Swords, axes, and lances jutted out from its sides, as if ready to impale anyone foolish enough to approach.

  “He’d hate hearing you call him that,” Cernunnos said, his deep, rumbling voice echoing through the hall. The faintest hint of amusement curled at the edge of his tone, and the ground itself seemed to vibrate with his chuckle.

  Athena smirked. “Yes, he would. Especially after what he’s done.”

  Oliver nodded slowly. “Then tell him... thank you.”

  Athena’s expression softened, her posture shifting slightly on her throne.

  “I will,” she said, her voice calm but touched with something almost human. “Though it will take time before he recovers.”

  “Recover?” Oliver frowned.

  “There’s a heavy price to pay when one forces a mortal to ascend beyond their limits,” Cernunnos explained, leaning forward. “He used his power to push you through a mythological threshold. He made you something more than human. Something close to a demigod.”

  Oliver felt the weight of it settle in his chest.

  “I owe him my life,” Oliver said quietly. “But why? Why would he save me? Up until that moment, I thought he hated me.”

  “He hated the way you behaved more,” Athena explained.

  “No, no. He hated you,” Cernunnos interveaned. “Especially with all the attention you receive from her.”

  For a moment, Oliver thought he saw Athena sigh.

  “My brother,” she said softly, “has a weakness for heroism.”

  Oliver’s brow furrowed. “Heroism?”

  Athena nodded. “He was the first to leave the Grand Game. He was the one who introduced the idea of the Crystals, giving mortals a glimpse of divinity. To let them grow, to fight, to strive. He wanted to watch them rise beyond their limits. In exchange, he would grow as well.”

  Her gaze shifted toward the empty steel throne, her tone wistful now. “But over time, he grew too attached to those he observed. To the heroes and heroines who dared to defy the impossible.”

  Cernunnos chuckled again, shaking his head. “He always did have a soft spot for mortals who refused to die quietly.”

  'Brother.' Oliver stayed quiet, noting Athena's reference to Ares as brother. It wasn’t something the other Sovereigns did, but he chose not to bring it up.

  “But that’s not why we called you here,” Cernunnos mentioned.

  “We’ve been observing your journey, Oliver. By now, it's clear who the Sovereign of Humanity is," Athena said.

  “Especially after you’ve thinned the field,” Cernunnos said, laughing hard.

  “We always believed it was likely,” Athena continued. “But now it’s obvious. The Purple Crystal is his.”

  Oliver nodded in agreement. “He must be supplying Crystals to the Emperor, keeping him safe with his imperial guard.”

  “That makes our lives much easier,” Cernunnos remarked. “Since you’re carrying an important piece of the puzzle.”

  Oliver frowned, glancing down.

  Cernunnos raised one hand, his tone dropping to something that resonated deeper than sound.

  [Shackles]

  The word rolled through the chamber like thunder.

  The air changed.

  It wasn’t Energy. Oliver felt it immediately.

  He was used to sensing Energy, but this time it was different. It took him a few seconds to recognize it.

  'Mana. That's magic.'

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  “The most powerful spells are formed of a single word,” Athena said.

  “Magic is a direct command given to nature itself.” She continued while watching it unfold. “More words make the command complex and easy to resist. Fewer words, however, demand more from the caster.”

  Oliver listened carefully. He understood—at least, he thought he did—but there was still a distance between understanding and mastery.

  He had used magic before, but only sparingly.

  'Three words,' he recalled. 'That was all I managed that day.'

  He remembered the strain, how tiring it was.

  Green and blue threads coiled across the entire surface of the Crystal before fading away.

  Cernunnos’ voice broke the silence. “It will remain dormant until someone tries to use it.”

  The Sovereign leaned back on his throne of living vines. “It cost us much to prepare this trap,” he said, his tone solemn. “But if you can make him consume it, Odin's strength will falter. Perhaps enough for you to strike him down.”

  Athena looked at Oliver. For the first time, she looked less like a goddess and more like something human. Her expression softened, her eyes filled with something that almost resembled sorrow.

  “Boy,” she said gently, “this is as far as we can go.”

  Oliver looked up at her, unsure what to say

  “I—” she started, then stopped, her lips parting as if searching for the right words. The silence stretched between them.

  Finally, she smiled—a small, sad smile that carried centuries of wisdom and regret.

  “I wish we could have done more,” she said softly. “But I think you’re ready for what’s coming. Have courage, Oliver.”

  Her voice was calm, but there was something else beneath it.

  He nodded once, his throat tightening. “Thank you.”

  From his throne, Cernunnos exhaled. “You should go, boy,” he said, his tone gentler than usual. “Before she remembers what it feels like to be mortal again.”

  As the world dissolved, Athena shot Cernunnos a glare.

  When the world reassembled, he was back inside the Red Citadel.

  The cold steel floor vibrated faintly beneath his boots, and the crimson glow of the Citadel’s Energy conduits pulsed along the corridor walls.

  He blinked, steadying himself as the vertigo hit.

  His vision swayed for a moment. The sudden shift between realms always left him disoriented, like stepping out of a dream and into a battlefield.

  “Just got back?”

  The voice came from his right. Thalos stood there.

  “Yeah,” Oliver said, pressing a hand against the wall for balance. “Just a little dizzy.”

  “You sure you’re fit for this?”

  That was Pyro. Despite the synthetic tone, there was something almost human in his concern.

  Oliver managed a faint smile. “I’m fine. Don’t worry, it’s always like this.”

  He pushed off the wall, forcing himself to his feet. The corridor tilted for a second, then steadied.

  Oliver walked toward the hangar. “Where were we?” he asked, voice rough but steady.

  Talos fell into step beside him. “Auxiliary strikes are in position.”

  “And the main assault?” Oliver asked.

  “Moving into formation now.” Pyro’s optics flickered as he received a data feed. “We’re waiting for you to start.”

  Oliver nodded, his mind already shifting back into command mode. The dizziness faded, replaced by focus.

  “Any chance of reinforcements?”

  Talos’ response was immediate—and grim. “None. All Great Houses are under attack. Every one of them.”

  Oliver’s jaw tightened. “It's just us.”

  “Seems that way,” Pyro said. His tone carried a faint edge of irony. “Though we did get one message.”

  Oliver raised an eyebrow. “From who?”

  “The Lot."

  Talos coughed into his hand, as if suppressing a laugh, but Pyro continued.

  “Mask Boy, don’t you dare finish them off without me. I’m on my way.”

  Oliver blinked. “What the hell?”

  “That’s exactly what he said,” Talos confirmed, unable to hide the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Direct transmission from the President himself.”

  “He's insane,” Oliver said as he adjusted the metal case in his hands.

  “We planned for this from the start,” he continued, glancing toward Pyro, who stood beside him. “If it comes down to just us, we’ll make it work.”

  Pyro’s optics flickered. “Are you taking all the Crystals?”

  Oliver nodded. “All the ones I’m used to handling, plus the extra. And the weapon.”

  “Good,” Pyro said, his tone pragmatic. “The Hoplites are already prepped and waiting.”

  They reached the hangar doors. Through the walls came the roar of machinery and barked orders.

  Pyro stopped at the threshold, turning toward him. “I’ll return to the command center. Good luck, sir.”

  Oliver gave a short nod, his grip tightening on the case. “Thank you, Pyro.”

  He stepped through the open doorway, the metallic hiss of the hangar doors sliding shut behind him. Thalos followed close behind.

  “You need to stay,” Oliver said as they walked, his tone firm but not unkind.

  Thalos frowned. “I know, but I could still help you in combat.”

  “Not this time,” Oliver replied, his voice quieter now. “I need you in Aquarius. Someone has to help Command. I’m counting on you.”

  Thalos hesitated. Still, he nodded. “Understood, sir. I’ll make sure they have everything they need.”

  Oliver stopped at the edge of the hangar’s main platform and turned to face him.

  “Take care of yourself, Thalos,” Oliver said.

  “And you, sir,” Thalos replied, stepping back. “Good luck out there. Have a safe jump.”

  Oliver smiled faintly. “Until next time.”

  He turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing against the steel floor. The hangar stretched out before him. Rows of ships lined the walls, their hulls gleaming beneath the overhead lamps. Engineers and technicians moved in perfect synchronization, securing cargo, fueling engines, and running final diagnostics.

  At the center of it all stood his Hoplites, his soldiers.

  They were already sealed inside their Ranger Armor. The blue insignia of the Aquarius blazed across their chests, a mark of loyalty and defiance.

  They turned as one when he entered, movements precise, disciplined.

  “Prepare to jump!"

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