The moment Zeythara crossed the threshold, the village ceased to exist.
There was no sensation of falling. No pain. No rupture.
The universe simply forgot where she was—and remembered her somewhere else. Kaelric followed a heartbeat later. The passage closed behind them like an exhalation.
There was nothing beneath their feet.
Yet this was not darkness.
It was intentional emptiness.
The plane stretching below them resembled stone from afar; but when Zeythara knelt and reached out, her fingers passed straight through it. Beneath the surface lay layers upon layers of images: dying stars, newborn universes, civilizations rising and vanishing without leaving a trace. Time did not flow here. It had piled up.
Lyssara appeared beside them. She was still solid, still real, but something in her expression had changed. The calm from before was gone, replaced by a taut vigilance.
"Beyond this point," she said, "I cannot intervene."
Kaelric turned to her.
"So you bring us here and then step back?"
"Yes," Lyssara replied.
"Because this is where the authority of gods ends."
The air shifted.
It did not shake. It did not tear.
It decided.
Something became aware of them.
Zeythara straightened.
Before them, a structure emerged—resembling a scale. Neither metal nor stone. Two pans, suspended without chains, hanging in the void. One pan was not filled with darkness but with possibilities. The other was silent. Too silent.
Kaelric's voice dropped.
"So this is… the other pan."
Lyssara inclined her head.
"Yes. The balance of the universe."
Then the voices came.
Not from a single mouth.
But not chaos either.
The Voids.
This time, they did not appear. They had no form. Their voices fell directly into existence itself.
"Zeus's crime remains unfinished."
Zeythara clenched her teeth.
"You've already said that."
"Because it remains true."
One pan of the scale grew heavier. The possibilities within it darkened.
"Zeus," the voice said, "opened a forbidden passage. He pierced the balance between universes."
The other pan trembled.
"His punishment was exile."
The dark pan sank further.
"His death did not restore balance."
Zeythara stepped forward. Her power stirred instinctively—the pressure in her chest that always came before lightning.
"I killed him," she said clearly.
"That responsibility is mine."
The scale froze.
Then—the balance shifted.
For the first time, the silent pan gained weight.
The Voids spoke.
"Incorrect."
Zeythara's eyes narrowed.
"What do you mean, incorrect?"
"Guilt is not singular."
The scale turned translucent. Images surfaced within it: the passage Zeus opened. Zeythara's power. And also—Kaelric.
Kaelric stepping into a universe where he should not exist.
Kaelric existing where existence itself resisted him.
Kaelric remained silent.
Then he spoke.
"You mean me."
"Yes."
"You," they said,
"were outside the equation."
Both pans of the scale grew heavy.
Zeythara turned to Kaelric.
"Did you know?"
Kaelric shook his head.
"No. But I felt it."
Lyssara intervened for the first time, her voice sharp.
"This is not just."
The Voids answered instantly.
"Justice is irrelevant here."
"Here," they said,
"only balance speaks."
The scale moved again.
And this time, the words came—clear, unavoidable.
"Zeus's punishment must be completed."
Zeythara's voice was ice.
"How?"
There was a pause.
Then the answer.
"The void he left must be filled."
Kaelric's hand curled into a fist.
"You want us to create a god?"
"No."
Zeythara's chest tightened.
"We want a bond."
The two pans of the scale merged.
And the truth surfaced.
"Balance," they said,
"requires two beings to produce a single outcome."
Zeythara froze.
Lyssara's gaze hardened.
"You cannot demand this."
"We are not demanding,"
the Voids replied.
"We are presenting a choice."
The scale stilled.
"Either this balance is born," they said,
"or the universes unravel."
Zeythara closed her eyes.
Zeus's words.
Exile.
Power.
Doors opened the wrong way.
Everything aligned.
She opened her eyes and looked at Kaelric.
"This," she said quietly,
"is not our mistake."
Kaelric nodded.
"But it is our consequence."
Zeythara drew a deep breath.
Then she spoke.
"If there will be a price," she said,
"we will choose it."
The scale trembled.
The Voids fell silent.
And the universe—
held its breath.
The silence lingered.
But it was not an empty silence; it was the kind that waits after a decision has already been made—not uncertain, but echoing. The scale was gone. The Void had dispersed. Yet the weight remained—pressed into Zeythara's chest, settled across Kaelric's shoulders.
The place they stood in began to take shape.
There was no longer "nothing" beneath their feet. It was solid. Cold. As if stone had been compressed into bone by the pressure of time itself. The horizon was indistinct; there was no sky, no ground—only a pale vertical line of light stretching from above to below, pulsing like a heartbeat.
Lyssara had withdrawn. She was no longer visible. The boundary of the gods had been crossed.
Kaelric spoke first.
"They forced us toward an outcome," he said. His voice was calm, but tension lay beneath it. "But they never told us the path."
Zeythara nodded.
"Because the path isn't a rule," she said. "It's a choice."
The line of light trembled.
Then… another presence made itself known.
It was not the voice of the Voids.
It was deeper. Older. It did not speak in words, yet it carried meaning. In Zeythara's mind, a single concept echoed:
Inheritance.
Kaelric stiffened at the same moment.
"You felt that too," he said.
"Yes."
Zeythara stepped forward. The light responded—its intensity increased. She did not summon her power. Instead, she listened to it. For the first time, lightning did not feel like something that belonged to her, but like something she belonged to—part of something far greater.
"They don't want a god," Zeythara said slowly. "Not even an heir."
Kaelric frowned.
"Then what do they want?"
Zeythara stopped. Drew a breath.
"A point of balance."
The line of light widened. Images formed within it: universes, gates, the rift Zeus had torn open. It had never truly closed—only stabilized, like a temporary knot holding something far too large together.
"Zeus forced the passage," Zeythara said. "We are the consequence of that passage."
Kaelric's voice dropped.
"And now they want us to make that consequence permanent."
"Yes."
They took another step.
The ground dissolved—but they did not fall. Instead, they were carried.
A new place emerged.
It was not a world. It was a core.
At its center rose a structure—neither temple nor throne. Interlocking rings of light and shadow, entwined and constantly shifting places. At the heart of those rings lay an empty space—deliberate, intentional.
Kaelric swallowed.
"This is… incomplete."
Zeythara inclined her head.
"Yes. And to fill what's missing, two extremes are required."
The rings of light and shadow stilled.
The Voids spoke again—less, but clearer this time.
"One of you is lightning," they said.
"The other stands outside the equation."
"One of you is power."
"The other is continuity."
A chill ran through Zeythara.
"You don't get to trap us in roles," she said sharply.
"Not a role," they replied.
"A bond."
The empty center pulsed.
Kaelric turned to Zeythara.
"What are they saying?" he demanded. "Let them speak plainly."
Zeythara's voice was low, but unwavering.
"They want an anchor—something to stabilize inter-universal passage. Not something that rules like a god… but something that balances simply by existing."
Kaelric's gaze sharpened.
"And that anchor can't be a single person."
"Yes."
For the first time, the truth was spoken aloud:
"Two beings. One outcome."
The rings of light drifted toward Zeythara.
The rings of shadow moved toward Kaelric.
They did not touch.
They did not force.
They waited.
The Voids issued their final warning:
"This bond is not a sharing of power."
"This bond is a sharing of fate."
"If no choice is made—"
"Balance will collapse."
Silence.
Kaelric drew a deep breath.
"Zeus did this," he said. "But the cost is being left to us."
Zeythara nodded.
"Yes. But there is a difference this time."
Kaelric looked at her.
"What difference?"
Zeythara lifted her gaze. The light reflected in her eyes—but did not consume them.
"This time," she said,
"no one is giving orders."
She stepped forward. Kaelric moved to her side.
They stood together.
For the first time, the Void hesitated.
"Together?" it asked.
Zeythara answered without delay.
"Together," she said.
"But on our terms."
The rings trembled.
The empty center began to contract—but did not close. Not yet.
The universe had not made its decision.
But for the first time…
it was listening.