The story ended without words. There was no final breath, no grand declaration to mark its conclusion.
Just silence.
Pan had gone still, the reed flute resting in his lap, his fingers curled gently around its shaft as though still remembering the shape of Syrinx. The rotunda held its breath with him. Even the waterfall that fed the small pond had quieted, its trickle subdued into a soft murmur, as if it, too, knew not to interrupt.
Lucas remained at the entrance. He hadn't moved once during the tale. He hadn't sat. He hadn't spoken. The silence that followed wasn't heavy, but it certainly wasn't light.
Pan sat with his eyes lowered, watching the dust drift in the beams of sun breaking through the ceiling. He looked older now. Not just in body, but in presence. The story had taken something from him, or perhaps returned it.
Lucas sensed it clearly: this was the final stillness, the last moment before the curtain call. Pan would not survive another day. Whatever deal had bound him was fulfilled. But even so, Lucas held his tongue. There were questions, yes, but they could wait.
A breath passed. Then another.
Pan turned toward him, eyes alight with something warm and tired. He smiled gently.
"It's alright. I'll have an eternity to drown in my past once I'm gone. Now's your time. Ask."
Lucas let out a slow breath. "Pan…" His voice was quiet. Not hesitant, respectful. "What is the Fool?"
Pan's smile didn't vanish, but it did pause. A line of thought crossed his face, brows pinched slightly, as though shaping the answer required care.
"To answer that," he said, "we have to begin earlier. Do you know of the Primordials?"
Lucas shook his head. His knowledge came from Athena's library or from Hecate's teachings. And in all of them, there had never been mention of such beings.
Pan nodded, unsurprised. "They are not gods, nor Titans. They are sentient aspects of the universe; absolute and ancient, the first and only true immortals. Chaos was the first, and from it came the rest: Gaia the Earth, Ouranos the Sky, Nyx the Night, Erebus the Darkness, and Pontus the Sea."
Lucas gave a slight nod. "I think I saw them. The murals from the temple before here, right?"
"Yes," Pan said. "But there are two more. The Pit and The One who watches. Tartarus... and the Fool."
Lucas frowned. "But I didn't see them on the walls."
Pan's expression turned serious. "You wouldn't. Tartarus is not a person, not in the true sense. He is a law. A system manifested. He is different from his siblings. And the Fool… he exists on the other side of the veil."
"The Veil?"
Pan raised a hand to gesture toward the air, like a curtain only he could see. "The Fool did not come from Chaos. He was not born in this world. He was... parallel. A sibling, if you will, born in a different place. A realm called the Spirit World, sometimes called the Realm of Mystery, known only to the old immortals."
Lucas stayed silent, processing.
Pan continued. "The Spirit World doesn't distinguish between directions, and the past, present, or future could even intersect there. The minds of mortals, gods, and even primordials contribute to its form as we are all connected to it in some way. Thoughts, beliefs, fears, everything imagined gathers there. It was different from the "world" as one would imagine according to usual concepts or logic, even for other Primordials, it was never a place they could witness without cost. And from it all, something formed. A consciousness not of one idea, but all ideas."
Lucas swallowed. "And it wants a host."
Pan tilted his head. "The Fool isn't a single thought, it is a myriad of thoughts, always changing and as such has no stable will, but that will change with you as an anchor, it intends to use you to stabilise itself, with you as the core, so you will still be you, just more."
Lucas's voice dipped lower. "And I'll survive that?"
Pan chuckled, coughing midway. His form flickered briefly, like a broken signal. "That's what the Sequences are for. Each step shapes you, strengthens you, and prepares you for the next. Sequence Four is the point where you transition from mortal to immortal. The moment you become divine, you will truly start accepting the Fool's powers."
He held up his fingers and twirled something between them. Lucas blinked. It was his Tarot card.
"You didn't even see me take it," Pan teased. "Good. I'm improving."
Lucas reached for his pocket. It was empty. Sweat prickled at his brow.
Pan's gaze returned to the card. "This artifact is your compass. When you reach Sequence Four, it will help keep you whole. Or try to. The mind is what the Spirit World tests. Not your strength."
He flicked the card with a snap of his fingers. It vanished, and Lucas felt the familiar weight return to his pocket.
Pan leaned back. "You were born from Hecate's bloodline for a myriad of reasons. Magic and choice. Both align with the Fool's domain. That gave you spiritual flexibility, a great advantage to have for what is to come."
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "One of the reasons?"
Pan winked. "Symbolic camouflage. I mean, if a child of Ares began conjuring illusions, or a child of Zeus began divining, people would notice. You? You're just another magician. Stronger than most, but nothing alarming. It bought you time. Bought you protection"
Pan's expression shifted then. He winced, doubling forward as his form flickered again. His hand trembled.
"I can't hold on much longer…"
He stood, stepping forward before Lucas could move. Then, with no warning, he gripped the side of Lucas's neck.
A burning seared through his skin. Lucas shouted, staggering as Pan released him. Smoke rose from his collarbone.
A mark remained. An eye, pupil-less and faintly glowing purple.
"What… what did you do-"
Pan steadied him. "Your key. The mark of the Fool. You'll need it for the ritual. When the time comes, you'll know."
Lucas staggered again, eyes rolling back. Pan caught him, easing him down onto the marble slab.
"Sleep now," the god whispered. "Your path is still long."
Pan stepped back. The edges of his form blurred into green light. One hand faded first, then his shoulder, his chest.
He smiled softly, watching Lucas.
The last breath left him as motes of golden-green light floated upward, dissolving like pollen on the wind, free to join nature at last.
The song of Syrinx played once more, singing him goodbye, and then all was still.