"Holy Zeus," Hermes exclaimed after taking a long drink of the pomegranate juice Caelum had made. "This is really good."
"Thanks," Caelum said, unable to hide the small spark of pride in his voice.
Nyxar cleared his throat—sharp and deliberate.
Caelum glanced at him, the moment snapping back into place.
Right.
Gods didn't just drop by for refreshments.
"Tell us why you're here, Hermes," Aelion said.
"Yeah," Caelum added. "You mentioned something about us being late or whatever. What's that supposed to mean?"
Hermes glanced at the triplets as he finished chugging the juice.
They mean business, he thought.
"Alright, mortals," he said. Then he paused. "Well… kinda not anymore."
The boys stiffened.
"What you remember is… incomplete," Hermes continued. "Not your fault, though."
Nyxar frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Hermes sighed. "What I mean is—something noticed the way today unfolded."
The confusion didn't leave their faces. If anything, it deepened. Caelum's jaw tightened, frustration bubbling up fast.
"Why does everything keep coming in riddles?!" Caelum snapped. "First it was the warning on the wall—"
"That was me, by the way," Hermes interrupted.
Caelum shot him the dirtiest look imaginable. Hermes immediately held up his hands.
"As I was saying," Caelum continued, his voice sharp, "first the message on the wall, then the voices, and now this? Another cryptic god dropping hints? Will it ever end?"
At the mention of the voices, Hermes flinched—just slightly. He suspected what Caelum meant, but said nothing.
"So I'll ask again," Caelum said firmly. "Why. Are. You. Here?"
Hermes leaned back into the couch, suddenly far too relaxed.
"I'm just a messenger," he said lightly. "That's all."
He stood up and began pacing.
"I wanted to make one thing clear," he continued. "What happened today was real. Very real. And it can happen again."
The boys exchanged uneasy looks. The frozen world. The power. The fragments of memory they couldn't fully grasp—it hadn't been a dream.
"Most people don't walk away from a day like the one you had," Hermes went on. "Situations like that can be… deadly."
The air in the room shifted. Heavy. Wrong. They all felt it.
Hermes stopped pacing.
"Here's my advice," he said, his tone changing. "Stay together when things get dangerous. Always."
He glanced at each of them.
"Some things notice patterns," he added. "Three of you. Always in sync. That's a pattern."
Before anyone could respond, a bright light filled the room. When it faded, a pegasus stood behind Hermes, wings folded.
He mounted it and looked back at the brothers.
"You're early in this story," Hermes said quietly. "That's the dangerous part."
Aelion swallowed. "What does that mean?"
Hermes' expression turned serious.
"That's enough," he said. "For now."
The pegasus neighed, and in a flash of light, both it and Hermes vanished—leaving the room silent once more.
Far from the mortal world, three figures stood before the loom.
The threads tied to the triplets trembled — not tangled, not broken, but no longer still.
They sensed that something had gone wrong.
And yet, they also sensed opportunity.
A golden ruler glowed above them, marking the one who would speak. The figure lifted it and laid it across the loom.
"Hermes is onto us," the figure said. "He has given them more information than intended."
Another figure summoned golden scissors, their edges gleaming.
"But they are still mortal," it replied. "They do not yet understand what any of it means."
The third figure steadied the trembling threads with careful hands.
"We can continue," it said calmly. "Let this become a test."
The figure with the ruler tightened its grip.
"Then we must act quickly. Time is no longer on our side."
The three figures turned back to the loom and joined hands.
A surge of golden light spread through the realm — and in the next moment, they were gone.
Back on Earth, the boys tried to distract themselves from everything Hermes had said.
Aelion sat on the couch, sewing the rip in his pants. Caelum settled at the table, sketching aimlessly, while Nyxar cut cardboard into rough shapes on the floor.
Without thinking, Aelion wrapped the thread around his fingers
.
Caelum reached for his ruler, lining it up as he began drawing something more structured.
Nyxar picked up his favorite—his only—pair of scissors.
The moment the objects settled into their hands, something stirred.
A strange, familiar sensation washed over them all at once.
Flashes hit their minds—golden light, frozen streets, the white realm, the sirens screaming as the world bent around them. Their heads throbbed, sharp and sudden, forcing all three of them to wince at the same time.
The air shifted.
Across the world, clocks skipped a minute.
Microwaves finished a second early.
People lost their train of thought mid-sentence, tiny gaps forming in their memories—moments erased before they could even be questioned.
No one panicked.
A calm settled over humanity, smooth and unnatural, convincing everyone that nothing was wrong.
Back in the house, Aelion and Caelum barely noticed anything had changed. The strange feeling passed, leaving behind only mild confusion.
Nyxar froze.
His scissors hovered in mid-air.
Something was missing.
Not broken. Not cut wrong. Just… gone.
It felt like standing in a room after someone had left without closing the door—no noise, no sign of struggle, only the certainty that something should be there and wasn't.
Nyxar's chest tightened.
"Did you guys feel that?" he asked quietly.
Aelion glanced up. "Feel what?"
Caelum shrugged. "Probably just the stress catching up to us."
Nyxar looked back down at the cardboard, at the clean edge where he had just cut.
The cut was perfect.
Too perfect.
Uneasy, he lowered the scissors and said nothing more.
Whatever had disappeared, the world clearly didn't want him remembering it.
Nyxar rubbed his temples, a sudden tightness spreading across his head. It wasn't just a headache — it was like the world was pressing down on him unevenly, right behind his eyes.
He staggered slightly, the scissors trembling in his grip. For a brief second, he felt the thread of his own life stretch taut — like someone was pulling on it from somewhere far away.
His breath hitched. "Guys… I don't know how to explain this… but something is pulling."
Aelion and Caelum exchanged worried glances.
"I think… it's nothing," Aelion said quickly, though his voice lacked conviction.
Nyxar ignored him, focusing on the pressure in his head. It was subtle, but undeniable.
Back to the empty realm, the three figures watched the thread loom tremble.
One of them frowned, the spinner hovering mid-air. "The cutter senses it," it whispered.
"Already?" the second asked, raising the scissors. "He shouldn't be able to notice yet."
The third tightened their grip on the ruler. "It's inevitable. Once one of them reacts, the others will follow."
A golden glow flickered along the threads of the loom, tracing the faint pull Nyxar felt across the mortal world. The Fates joined hands briefly, stabilizing the strands… for now.
Nyxar lowered his scissors, still feeling the invisible tug on his thread. He glanced at his brothers, who were quietly absorbed in their own tasks, oblivious to the subtle disturbance he alone could sense.
He shook his head. "Something's off. I… I can feel it," he said quietly.
Aelion frowned. "Feeling it how?"
Nyxar didn't answer. He only stared at his hands, half-expecting them to twitch of their own accord.
Outside, the air was calm, the world still. But in the quiet, the threads of fate shimmered faintly, visible only to forces beyond mortal sight.
Far above, the three figures watched, unseen, unmoving, yet ready. The loom trembled ever so slightly — a reminder that even the smallest action could ripple through destiny.
And in that stillness, Nyxar realized: something had changed. He didn't know what yet, but he knew their story was far from over.
The room was quiet once more. The scissors lay on the table. The ruler rested against Caelum's sketchbook. The thread wound itself neatly around Aelion's fingers.
All seemed normal. Too normal.
And that's exactly when the Fates smiled.