Aron had asked himself the same question over and over: why? Why did Hermez take Peter? Why did the goddess Freya know about him? And the way Hermez had spoken of him, it was as though he had known Peter long before Aron ever did. He had met the boy the moment he time traveled. Was it fate? Something felt missing, a piece that refused to fit, but he could not see what it was. He huffed as he gazed at the scanner.

  It glowed softly, a thin crescent of warm gold that had not flickered once since Hermez slipped away. The signal held steady even through all the distortion: folded into layers, yet it remained clear as Freya's magic was working overtime.

  James kept pace half a step behind him, boots grinding against crusty snow and ice that shimmered faintly blue in the cracks. He glanced back toward where the fight had taken place, now far behind them. How quickly his life had changed. He had forgotten the power of faith, the power of acceptance, but now the memories returned. He finally knew how much his anger had blinded him to such a degree.

  'It's okay now. He's here,' he thought, looking at Aron's wide back.

  "Still got him?" James asked, voice low.

  Aron dipped his chin once. "He's not even trying to hide."

  "That's not his style."

  "Exactly." Aron kept his eyes forward. "So he wants us to follow. Well, I have what he wants," he said, holding the golden staff of transit.

  The treasure James had also wanted, for the incredible speed it granted its user. For a god like Hermez, born with the law of speed itself, this treasure was utterly dangerous in his hands. But James did not bother grumbling. After enough encounters with beings who called themselves gods, you stopped treating their antics seriously.

  They crossed the frozen plateau in quiet for a while, only the crunch of boots and the distant blow of wind through stone. Then James spoke again, quieter this time.

  "My lord, shouldn't we wait for Khorn? I want to apologize to her as well," he muttered.

  Aron turned back with a hefty smile. "You think she will forgive you after she knows you laid your hands on me?"

  James could not help but look down. Those words still hurt. Indeed, he had done the unthinkable, and as Aron saw it. His smile grew wider than before.

  "We don't have time, James. Hermez has taken someone else. Our target is to save him, save your new brother."

  James's stride hitched for half a heartbeat. "...Another herald?"

  "Yeah."

  "Who?" he asked in awe.

  "His name is Peter. A rookie in all aspects, but a man of hidden talent." Aron's tone stayed level, but something raw lived underneath it. "But I'm starting to feel he is more than meets the eye, as he already has more eyes on him than me myself."

  James stayed quiet. The thought ran through his mind that his lord had come for him or this new herald of his, but it did not matter. The only thing that mattered in the end was that his lord was here, and he was with him.

  The scanner blinked faster and faster. Hermez flaring his divinity. Like a taunt. James's jaw muscles bunched. "After what he pulled with me, he still has the nerve..."

  "He has the nerve because he thinks he's figured me out," Aron cut in, soft but final. "Thinks I won't burn what I have to burn."

  James slid a sideways glance at him. "Will you?"

  Aron did not answer right away. His fingers shifted on the broken staff he carried, the same one Hermez had clutched like a lifeline. Fine cracks webbed through the twin serpents carved into the wood. The light inside it had faded to a dull throb, but it still murmured with faint traces of transit power.

  "Truth be told, I'm not in the condition to go all out like that, but it will not be me who will take him down." He voiced, throwing the staff toward James.

  James caught it. "My lord?"

  "It's yours. Use it well in my name." He beckoned.

  James gripped the staff. It glowed more brightly, as though the staff liked James more than Aron himself. "My lord, if you only give and give and give, how can I repent?" he said, his heart still heavy with what he had done.

  "You are one of mine, James. That guilt you carry, the things you did and the things you will do, you do because of me. So take what I give with grace and never doubt yourself again." He beckoned, as his scanner shone blue all of a sudden.

  He was searching for Peter in the scanner, but it never showed. The doubt lingered: was he alive or dead? But with this...

  "Peter's still alive," he said at last.

  James's face turned to stone. "Then we pick up the pace. My lord."

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  Aron gave the smallest nod. "Are you sure, James? You don't know him, and you still want to save him?"

  There was no pause, no ceremony in the reply. "Anything for a new brother."

  Just plain truth, spoken like the weather. Aron looked at him for a single second, then faced forward again.

  "Good."

  They crested the last ridge and the ground dropped away. What lay below should not have been possible.

  A valley of living green cradled between claws of white mountain. Grass rippled under a soft breeze. Trees stood thick and heavy with leaves. A river slid clean and bright through dark soil. Sunlight poured down into the bowl, warm and golden, while the blizzard howled uselessly against the surrounding peaks. Someone had sliced a piece out of a kinder world and dropped it here like a secret garden.

  James stopped at the rim.

  "That's... not right."

  "No," Aron said simply. "It isn't."

  The scanner brightened suddenly.

  Hermez's signal beat strongest from the very heart of the valley.

  Aron started down first.

  The moment his boot touched grass instead of snow, warmth rushed over him. The air grew thick with green smells: sap, wet earth, and living things. It felt deliberate. Too perfect to be true.

  [Heavenly Entity approaching.]

  The notification blinked before him. He felt something similar to the angel approaching, but it was no angel. The smell did not belong to the feathered beings.

  Then the sky split.

  Light poured down in a single clean sheet.

  A figure touched the ground between them and the valley floor, not falling, just a clear landing, wearing a hood with no wings and no halo. The being's eyes shone with something more than light, looking ancient and tired. The robes moved as though breathing on their own.

  "Aron ben Adam," the prophet called.

  James went rigid beside him.

  Aron did not break stride. "Didn't know you could come here," he lied.

  "The times are nigh, Aron," the prophet went on. "For some reason the time continuem is coming apart. Heaven does not want you to keep walking. I... Don't want you to keep walking."

  Aron saw him. His golden eyes bored into the prophet. He nudged James to keep moving, walking past without slowing. James did not know what to do. The beings before them were rare, the mouth of creators. Every word changed history and future alike.

  The prophet huffed, seeing him walk right past. He turned at their backs.

  "Why do you disobey the creator and his plans? You were not created for victory. You should know that by now!"

  Aron stopped.

  Silence stretched thin across the boundary between snow and grass.

  "You were created..." the prophet said more quietly, "to stand when everything else collapses..."

  Aron turned. No smile. No mask of calm.

  "And That... has to be enough," the prophet continued. "That is your role, same as Adam and Ev..."

  "Enough?" Aron voiced. The word landed flat, a roar in that silent world. He looked at the prophet in those all-knowing eyes. "I know my role, very very clearly."

  "You don-" the prophet muttered, but Aron continued. Something inside him refused to hold back any longer.

  "You haven't seen the end," he said, voice gaining an edge. "I have."

  The prophet kept shut. Those golden eyes bore down on him. Even though the words were calm, they echoed with grief, with a voice much louder than his own.

  "Heaven has lost nothing," Aron continued. "But I have."

  His jaw flexed.

  "And I will be damned if I lose it all again," he muttered, defiance radiating from his whole being. James stayed motionless, eyes locked ahead, but he could feel the air changing weight.

  "I won't lose everything again," Aron said. "Call it selfish. Call it Arrogance. I don't care."

  His eyes flared bright gold.

  "Go home," he finished. "And tell whoever sent you they can fuck right off."

  The valley went still. The prophet did not flinch or frown. He simply watched Aron the way someone might watch a new species step out of shadow: curious, uncertain. He should have predicted this. Should have known exactly how the conversation would end. He had not.

  For the first time in longer than most calendars could count, the future right in front of him refused to sharpen. It refused to turn toward him. A sensation he had never felt before.

  "This is the world of consequence," the prophet said at last, gentleness gone from his tone. "What you give returns."

  His gaze dropped briefly to Aron's chest. "I know what burden you carry."

  Aron did not move.

  "You're close," the prophet added. "Closer than you realize." His eyes saw the red glowing karma above Aron's head. The air shivered once.

  "That is all. Good fortune," he said, with no warmth left in the words. Then he was gone.

  James let out a long, slow breath.

  "You just told Heaven to go to hell."

  Aron turned his attention inward. Sensing that gaze of the prophet. He did not like them, one of the reasons being that they could see what he saw.

  'Status.'

  [Administrative Interface — Restricted Access]

  Access Granted: Bearer of the System

  User: Aron

  Authority: Bearer of the System

  Status: Active since Genesis Day 1

  Missions Completed: 97% (∞ recorded · 8 failures · 0 abandonments)

  True Age: █████████████

  Apparent Age: 33

  Identity

  True Name: Aron ben Adam

  Titles: Slayer of All Things · The Last Man Standing

  Core Parameters

  (Tier 2 planetary cap in effect. Higher values suppressed.)

  Strength: 456,347 (-18%)

  Dexterity: 197,585 (-18%)

  Constitution: 615,547 (-18%)

  Intelligence: 195,975 (-18%)

  Wisdom: 488,376 (-18%)

  Charisma: 718,205 (-18%)

  Divinity: 803,999+ (-18%)

  Karma: -24,655

  Luck: Locked

  [Warning: Pathway to Hell detected]

  [Unauthorized Authority Monitoring Active]

  [Escalation Consequences Imminent]

  Aron stared at the karma figure.

  Negative twenty-four thousand six hundred fifty-five.

  James did not need to see the numbers. He already understood what they meant, as he had felt it beforehand.

  "The prophet is right," he said quietly. "You are close."

  "Yeah."

  "If it drops much lower..."

  "I know what happens."

  Aron dismissed the panel. "Keep it between us," he said.

  James nodded once. "Always."

  They stepped fully into the green. The illusion held another three heartbeats. Then the alerts started. Notifications popped once more.

  One. Two. Ten. A hundred. They poured across his vision in a silent avalanche.

  [Olympian Demigod Signature Detected]

  [Warning: Multiple Hostile Entities Within Range]

  The grass shivered. The trees leaned at wrong angles. The river froze mid-flow. Aron swept his gaze along the tree line.

  "They're already here," James murmured.

  "Yeah."

  Figures stepped out from the shadows of the leaves. Not a handful. Not even dozens. Hundreds. Bronze armor caught the false sunlight. Spears crackled with bottled lightning. Eyes glowed like cooling metal. Each one carried a piece of divinity: less than true gods, far more than human. War-forged. Obedient.

  The valley was not a refuge. It was an arena. James rolled his shoulders once, a soft crack sounding from his neck.

  "How many?" he asked. Aron's system blinked.

  [Hostile Signatures: 456+ Confirmed]

  [Additional Signatures Emerging]

  He did not bother saying the rest out loud. They both already knew.