At the very end of the wedding, the gods finally descended one after another, as promised.
Perhaps they understood that the resentment between them and Epimetheus had never truly been resolved, for the gods did not linger long to risk unpleasantness.
After offering their blessings, they left without hesitation.
After that, it was naturally time for the most important step for Epimetheus and Pandora as husband and wife, the long-awaited wedding night.
At least, that was how it should have been.
Yet, before the two could begin, Pandora's heart was not filled with longing for her first time, nor with love for her husband.
Instead, what occupied her thoughts was that man's look of disdain, his pity for her, and his terrifying prophecy. It was hardly surprising.
Though the gods had arranged her fate to marry Epimetheus, Pandora had only been created a few days earlier, and there was no real bond between them.
It was only natural that this future husband of hers left less of an impression than a stranger who had so deeply marked her memory.
If everything had gone smoothly tonight, and they had truly become husband and wife, perhaps Epimetheus might have found a place in Pandora's heart.
After all, everyone knows the path that leads to the depths of a woman's heart, especially for Pandora, the first woman in the world.
In the myth, they took that step, and as a married couple, they lived happily for a time, even having a daughter: Pyrrha.
Unfortunately, the wheel of fate had already been thrown into chaos the moment the traveler arrived.
Each time Pandora recalled that man's words, her vanity unsatisfied, she yearned to prove him wrong.
But Alaric's and Zeus's repeated warnings not to open the box only made this woman's boundless curiosity itch all the more.
She grew increasingly desperate to see what lay inside.
And so, before the wedding night, Pandora quietly opened the box.
She did exercise the barest amount of caution, only cracking the lid open just enough to peek inside before closing it.
But could she truly shut away a calamity decreed by the gods?
As soon as the lid was lifted, something darker and more corrupt than the deepest night began to seep out.
The dreadful aura sent Pandora collapsing to the ground, scrambling backwards in terror.
Yet those things paid her no mind. The instant they were freed, they surged outward like prisoners released after years of captivity, racing toward the wide, open world beyond.
What were they?
They were plague, madness, envy, sin, war, locust swarms, famine… countless disasters and curses poured from the box, spreading across the land, threading themselves through the hearts of mankind.
Even Alaric could feel the invisible curses trying to settle upon him, twisting his mind, dragging him toward corruption.
Fortunately, though divine curses were immensely powerful, their reach was too vast, and their strength was thinned when scattered among so many.
For Alaric, resisting them was effortless.
But while a mage with keen mental discipline could withstand them, ordinary mortals could not.
Before long, humanity began to fall into ruin.
Among the naturally short-tempered, some suddenly erupted into shouting matches, and others, as if seized by madness, attacked one another with wild abandon.
Those untouched were quickly dragged into the brawls, and every human settlement dissolved into chaos.
Meanwhile, disasters of every kind began to descend upon sky, land, and sea, plagues, locust swarms, flash floods, earthquakes…
They came without warning, cutting down countless lives like the silent scythe of Death.
Heaven's wrath and man's cruelty together turned the earth into a living hell.
Pandora did not know what exactly she had unleashed from the box, but she instinctively sensed the danger.
She leapt forward, slamming the lid shut, desperate to prevent more from escaping.
Tragically, in doing so, she stopped the only thing that could have saved mankind, the power of hope bestowed by Athena.
Hope remained trapped within the box, and this generation of humanity was doomed to extinction.
Pandora could not see what had escaped, but Epimetheus, a Titan, understood all too well.
When he saw disaster sweeping the mortal world, countless people driven to madness, the "afterthinker" who had once guided and taught humankind finally grasped the gods' plot.
He even came to believe Pandora herself was part of the scheme, an infiltrator, a planted agent, the very culprit who had loosed these calamities.
He was wracked with guilt toward his elder brother, ashamed that he had failed to protect the humans left in his care, and tormented by regret for not heeding his brother's advice.
Lost in remorse, he laid all blame on Pandora, roaring at her, "Get out! Get out of my sight, you scourge sent by Zeus!"
Wife? Wedding night? He wanted none of it.
His ruthless words left Pandora stunned.
She could never have imagined that the man who had just been whispering sweet nothings and urging her to bed would now treat her this way.
Terrified, Pandora clutched the box and fled, driven from the house by Epimetheus.
But it wasn't just him. Those who had once praised her and adored her no longer spoke kindly.
Once they learned she was the source of disaster, everyone began to spit upon her name, driving her away.
From being the center of admiration to the target of universal loathing, Pandora could not understand how her fate had plummeted so suddenly.
Then, she remembered Alaric's earlier warning, remembered the man who had told her Zeus harbored ill intent.
Doubt toward the gods who had created her began to take root.
So she carried the box to Zeus's temple, seeking to question the King of the Gods himself.
Perhaps out of guilt, perhaps out of contempt, not a single god answered her prayers.
At last, Pandora broke.
She understood now, she was not the darling of the gods, not the blessed recipient of divine favor.
She was nothing more than a pawn, created for the sole purpose of bringing ruin to the mortal world.
And her own feelings? Who would care about those?
Crushed by despair, Pandora wandered alone into the wilderness, far from human habitation.
By now, her name was beyond salvation. Among mortals, she was branded a witch; anyone who saw her would shout at her or even draw steel.
Thus, the broken woman could only live apart from mankind.
Fortune, if it could be called that, lay in the fact that her body, crafted by the combined hands of the gods, possessed not only beauty to rival the divine, but also strength and vitality far beyond mortal limits, approaching that of the gods themselves.
In the wild, she took to the labors she had once scorned, fighting beasts, gathering dry wood, living like a savage.
Her hatred for the gods, especially Zeus, simmered quietly in her heart.
Perhaps in another life, she might never have found release, dying with that hatred still locked inside her, her existence insignificant to the gods.
But one day, her salvation arrived.
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