From the Council of the Hundred, only twenty-four survived. Remains of a divine war that crushed countries and silenced entire eras. Now, before the doors of the Dome of Pantheora, the sound of the hinges reverberated like omen: the destiny of the world would be decided by the new thrones. The doors were opening slowly, the screech of the metal carrying the weight of past eras.
The great circular hall was revealed, with the twenty-four seats distributed in three concentric rows. The atmosphere was dense. Each being that crossed the limits radiated power, rivalry and impatience. Among the templars that guarded the hall, they did not dare to move. To mortal eyes, the gods were distorted silhouettes, almost intangible, as if an ancestral magic prevented them from being fully visible.
"Excellencies, I am Moroz, demigod and organizer of this assembly." His voice was calm, almost frozen. His white eyes reflected a distant glow, as if they carried the weight of an eternal winter. "We begin the Council of the Immortals."
He made a pause, observing each throne.
"Before us are the gods that prevailed the old Council of the Hundred. It was they who subjugated humanity, ending the democratic era and restoring the monarchy over the ruins of the old world. Some stood out by overthrowing empires, conquering nations and consolidating their supremacy."
His eyes swept the assembly, impassive.
"The purpose of this meeting is more elevated: to reaffirm the pact of non-aggression between the gods present. This is a commitment of vigilance and order — not only of dominion."
A suffocating silence fell over the hall.
"Before the arrival of the Four Supremes, I clarify the order of the dome and the disposition of the twenty-four thrones. Each seat reflects the role of each majesty in the reconstruction of the world. The hierarchy is not symbolic: it is justice, obligations and power."
His voice became even colder:
"Moderate the use of your gifts, so that the Templar Knights here present can witness without that their safety be denied."
Once again, the hall plunged in quietude.
"With these words… is inaugurated session of the Council of the Immortals."
"The twentieth throne…" murmured Varuna, god of the waters, eyes color of sapphire undulating softly. "To be placed among the weakest is an offense. I am not inferior to the dogs that occupy superior rows."
A cold laugh resounded from the sixteenth seat. Anubis, guardian of the dead, leaning slightly, amber eyes shining under a golden aura.
"And you dare compare yourself to me? The classification that was given to me is an exact reflection of what you are, Varuna," said Anubis, with calm voice, but loaded with irony. "The Hindu gods speak of themselves as if they were superior, but they are only puppets of their own illusions."
Vishnu, from the ninth throne, extending himself to the voice, throwing a look of disdain:
"Anubis, your ignorance reflects the nature of those who think themselves great without comprehending the true essence of power," said Vishnu, serene voice, but full of authority. "Despising a Hindu god does not make you stronger. Perhaps you should reflect about the true meaning of order and respect before speaking."
Whispers spread through the thrones. Contained creaks, hands squeezing arms of wood, breaths suspended. Each unnamed presence exhaled tension, curiosity or skepticism — invisible to all, except Odin.
The doors opened again. A crushing aura poured itself over the hall, imposing immediate silence. The entrance of the Four Supremes brought authority and weight almost palpable. Even the most arrogant rose in instinctive reverence.
Odin advanced first, gray-silver eyes, runes shining softly on his mantle and on the spear Gungnir. At his side, Zeus, platinum hair with subtle electric strands, breathed like contained thunder. The other Supremes advanced in silence, each step resounding determination.
The templars felt a deep shiver, but could not distinguish expressions or details. Only when they accommodated themselves, the others sat. Some exchanged tense looks; others creaked discreetly their thrones.
Odin was seated, observing attentively. his eyes sweeping the assembly — except for the fifth seat, still empty. A murmur settled through the hall. Some bodies were stiffened; others furrowed the brow.
She entered. The Empress of the fifth throne crossed the door with measured steps, the long black mantle undulating softly. A veil hid her face. The dragging of the fabric sucked the sound and the air around. The whole hall feeling an icy cold running through the floor.
Varuna narrowed the eyes, the water of his aura undulating with firmness:
"At last, you decide to appear… for someone of position so elevated, arriving after the Supremes is like a late tide: without strength, without honor. An insult to the very currents that rule this hall."
Odin remains in his seat, attentive. On crossing the gaze with her, something in his expression transforms. He, accustomed to read the threads of destiny, now only saw emptiness before her.
"Who… really are you?" murmured, in a low and penetrating tone, like the whisper of an ancient secret, but audible enough to cross the whole hall. "Could it be that your existence is simple, or there is more than to reveal to mortal eyes?"
A silence crossed the assembly. The Empress raised lightly the lips in a sarcastic, defiant smile, and accommodated herself in her throne with a glacial calm, keeping complete indifference to the others, as if the whole hall were irrelevant before her presence.
Zeus spoke, his voice sounding like thunder:
"Silence! We are here for something greater than petty disputes. There is no space for vanities. Here, we are the forgers of destiny."
Odin rises from his seat raising, Gungnir that shone with cold light:
"We are not here to discuss holders of the throne…" his voice echoed like the roar of a storm, loaded with a wisdom that crosses eras. "I come to announce to you about what approaches. My eyes, capable of crossing the veils of time, witnessed a vision beyond comprehension, I saw the abyss… a void that swallows everything. An army without form, without voice, hungry. The Abyssae, devourers of worlds, awaken after eras of silence. I saw empires shattered, mortals and gods consumed like ashes to the wind."
Some laughed, others exchanged tense looks. Vishnu answered with firmness:
"Words to scare us, Norse? You forget that it is not with fears that the universe maintains itself in balance, but with wisdom and action."
Odin held Gungnir firm in front of him, and his voice thundered like never before:
"I saw the death of the gods. I saw the fall of the thrones. I saw even the Supremes being consumed, their essences undoing themselves in the darkness."
"The war will come. And, when it comes, there will not be choice between to fight or not. The only choice will be… to re-exist… or to perish."
The silence that followed was almost palpable. The black mantle of the Empress seemed to absorb the light of the hall, and her smile floated — warning more than gesture.
The voice of Zeus echoed like the thunder that resounded in the skies:
"Then, that the Dome decided… will we remain divided? Or will we face together what rises on the horizon… like the gods that we are?"
The creaking of the thrones and contained murmurs were the only answer. Each soul in the Dome awaited, hypnotized and fearful, the impossible that rose on the horizon — and no one knew if would survive to witness it.