Outside the Waterside Treehouse, Themis lifted her hand. With a ripple of divine power, the collapsed fragments and debris reassembled on their own.
Daphne, who had been mourning her half-destroyed nest, now watched it gradually restored. Her sorrow flipped into joy, her mouth stretching into a wide grin as she happily tugged at Astraea's arm.
The scatterbrained little nymph didn't question her "cousin's" extraordinary display of power in the slightest.
After working for some time, the apologetic goddess of justice finally compensated the victim for her damage, even adding an extra gesture of goodwill. She expanded the treehouse, making it larger and more comfortable than before.
With the new and improved home completed, a group of nymphs who had come to help—led noisily by Daphne—went off toward the woods and marshes to gather food for a celebratory feast.
Tina, still childlike and playful, happily followed along with her nymph playmates under Samael's guidance, finding joy in picking berries and gathering mushrooms.
Phew...
Once all traces of the incident had been erased and the atmosphere returned to calm, two sighs of relief escaped almost in unison.
The serpent of original sin and the goddess of justice, partners in crime, turned in mild surprise, caught each other's gaze, and both broke into muffled laughter.
"Woof!"
In that moment, a strange sense of unspoken understanding began to form between them.
Cerberus, left behind by the nymphs because of his terrifying appearance, barked at his master with his tongue lolling.
Those three canine faces, all wagging with eager anticipation, looked utterly fawning as though awaiting praise for a job well done.
"Good boy, good boy. When we get back, I'll drag Hydra out and let you beat him up."
Samael turned back with a grin, scratching the spot where the three heads met. The tamed hellhound beamed with delight, squatting happily on the ground as it enjoyed both physical comfort and emotional satisfaction.
Amused by the look on Samael's face as he petted the beast, Themis grew curious as well. Mimicking him, she gently smoothed down the fur along Cerberus's back.
The notoriously territorial hellhound shifted uneasily at another's touch, letting out a low whimper.
But then, sensing the faintly threatening gaze looming from diagonally behind, and catching the familiar scent from its handlers, the beast caved under its master's authority. The hellhound obediently crouched in place, letting the two dog lovers indulge themselves.
It even shifted its weight, scooting its rear closer to Themis, clearly preferring her gentler touch, and plopped down at the feet of the goddess of justice.
What, looking down on me? I'll stew you one day.
Samael shot the silly dog a glance, watching its grinning, tongue-lolling face that just begged for a beating, and muttered curses inwardly.
And in that instant, as his gaze lowered, a familiar image from books of his past life flashed in his mind.
A veiled woman in white robes, holding scales and a sword. A wise serpent coiled at her side. A silly dog at her feet, tongue hanging out...
Wait a minute. Wasn't this the classic depiction of Themis herself?
So then... was I altering history? Or creating it?
Tch. No philosophy! No wrestling!
The man who loathed philosophy quickly crushed the thought, instead extending his claw to coil gently around Themis's pale wrist. He nodded in satisfaction.
Tsk, that's better. Now it looks right.
As the sunset bathed everything in its glow, Daphne—the self-proclaimed queen of the marsh—turned what should have been a simple house-rebuilding celebration into a grand carnival.
Crystal dew, fruits, meats, Magic Crystals, nectar, and all sorts of delicacies were brought in by the nymphs, creating a lively open-air feast outside the house.
In the cheerful atmosphere, even Samael and Themis drank a little, their heads pleasantly light.
Leaving Tina and the younger nymphs to their play, the two stepped back into the house. Their expressions grew solemn as they sat before the table, facing the troubles that awaited them.
Namely, the twin pressures of Mount Othrys and Mount Olympus.
Now that the barrier between them had been broken, Themis opened her heart.
Through simple discussion, Samael quickly confirmed that even without Zeus's gestures of goodwill, the goddess of justice would never side with Mount Othrys.
After all, Kronos, the so-called God King, was far more vile than Zeus.
Every year, countless nymphs perished under his cruel slaughter. He amused himself by watching monsters and gods fight to the death.
And as Olympus's power grew, Kronos—already corrupted by authority—was showing his true colors more and more.
These days he holed himself up on Mount Othrys, drinking and lashing out in paranoia, living in constant fear that his prophesied nemesis would appear and tear him from his throne.
In truth, even before Zeus and his five siblings escaped, Themis had already seen through him. She noticed the way he deflected his atrocities by pinning the blame on the nymphs.
With just a few words, she had persuaded him to abandon his hunt for Rhea's betrayal, to face his failure and leave himself a way out.
After a fit of false fury, Kronos had released Rhea from confinement once Themis departed, reducing her punishment to soft imprisonment.
Perhaps because of this, the Titans who should have shared in his glory found it easy to defect.
After all, if the God King himself quailed before battle, how could he expect them to fight to the death against Zeus—a man with whom they had little personal enmity?
In this age, brothers willing to die for each other were rare.
But stabbing brothers in the back for gain? That was the rule.
They had all risen through betrayal themselves. Once they sensed the tide turning, they jumped ship, cutting their losses. The fact they didn't openly join Zeus immediately was already more loyalty than expected.
In short, the broken vessel of Mount Othrys was destined to sink.
And in the Age of Gods, Samael and Themis—whose sense of principle surpassed most deities—would never be foolish enough to jump into the fire with Kronos.
But what troubled them now was that they had already drawn the ire of Zeus, the new king of Olympus.
And gods were notoriously petty.
It wouldn't be surprising if, once Mount Othrys was destroyed, the ambitious new king turned his attention on them.
The two debated late into the night, long after the feast had ended, but still found no way to break the impasse.
The night grew cool, the wind crisp. Samael rubbed his aching temples as he stepped out into the courtyard.
The ancient serpent gently lifted Tina, who had fallen asleep drooling on the table, and carried her back inside. He tucked a blanket around her with careful hands, a flicker of guilt in his eyes.
Truth be told, Samael hadn't planned for this. By drawing Zeus's attention prematurely without proper preparation, he had placed both Tina and himself in danger.
A serpent's deadliest threat lies in hidden fangs, striking from the shadows.
Exposed to the sun, it loses much of its terror.
But then the ancient serpent reached out, his fingers curling softly around Themis's delicate hand. His gaze was steady, gentle, and resolute.
He had no regrets. Never.