They were sitting around the table in silence.
No one had spoken yet.
Even as several seconds passed, Aetherion sat quietly, watching Ananke with a trace of nervousness.
He wasn't exactly afraid—no, it was more like unease.
After all, he wasn't supposed to exist.
He knew that from Gaia herself.
And yet here he was, sitting across from the Primordial of Destiny—the one who governed all destinies and watched over the fates of all beings.
It was nerve-wracking just being in her presence.
She wasn't like Gaia, who made him feel at ease.
Gaia was essentially his guardian—the one who had raised him.
At times, he even forgot that she was a primordial, given how warmly she treated him and sometime her questionable… behavior.
But Ananke was different.
Her expression was entirely unreadable—calm, indifferent.
Her eyes, glowing with silver and gold, stared at him without blinking.
Aetherion could feel the weight of her gaze, a gaze that had likely seen countless timelines and possibilities.
Finally, he couldn't take the silence anymore and broke it.
"Lady Ananke," he said politely, "what have I done to deserve the honor of being in your presence?"
He was careful with his words.
It was never a good idea to end up on the bad side of a primordial.
That was common sense for all deities—even for someone like him, who was once mortal, now immortal, and a titan at that.
Ananke looked at him steadily.
Her voice was calm, but her words struck with the weight of inevitability.
"You've changed a lot of things, boy."
Her voice echoed slightly in the stillness of the room.
Gaia, standing nearby, simply looked on, her expression unreadable—somewhere between concern and cautious anticipation.
Aetherion blinked, taken aback by Ananke's directness.
"Gaia may have told you already," Ananke continued, "but you do not have a fate. Nor a destiny. You are utterly free, Aetherion. And because of that, your existence has changed many things—especially the way the future was meant to unfold."
Aetherion listened carefully, but he wasn't surprised.
He had suspected as much.
He had already deviated from many of the myths he remembered from his past life.
But even those myths—he knew—were incomplete, imperfect.
They were human stories, not divine truths.
And this world, though resembling the Greek mythology of Earth, may not have followed the same rules nor paths.
He looked at her and nodded.
"Yes, I'm aware," he said. "Gaia told me I wasn't supposed to exist. It was… a bit shocking at first, but I've accepted it."
And he had.
Deep down, he understood that his every action could have unforeseen consequences.
Every choice he made could ripple outward, changing the paths of others.
He was like a butterfly whose wings distorted the winds of fate.
In fact, the moment he was born, he had become that butterfly—unintentionally disrupting the destined flow of the world.
He had even begun to wonder if his presence could affect the primordials themselves.
Ananke continued to look at him, and for the first time, a faint glow came to her eyes.
They sparkled a little more—silver and gold pulsing softly.
"I've been observing you for quite some time,"
she said, her voice smooth and clear, like a still lake at night.
Aetherion blinked in surprise.
He hadn't expected that.
He had assumed she wasn't paying attention, that she had ignored his existence until now.
After all, she hadn't reached out to Gaia or spoken to him until this very moment.
So why now?
Why this moment?
He also wondered why she had summoned him.
Part of him couldn't help but think—wasn't she bothered by his existence?
A fateless being—someone who disrupted fate and destiny.
Someone who existed beyond her control.
Wouldn't that annoy her? His face betrayed some of that confusion.
"You're probably wondering," Ananke began, "why I haven't simply done something about your existence."
She paused, letting her words settle.
Aetherion looked at her attentively.
Even Gaia leaned forward slightly, curious.
They both wanted to know.
It was a question lingering in both their minds.
"It's simple," Ananke continued. "I do not choose to control fate. Nor do I force destiny upon someone. I do not fabricate the threads of destiny, or fate, for my own ends. I have chosen to simply watch—to observe as the world unfolds by its own will. I allow things to happen as they are meant to. Never forcing anything that should not be."
She looked into his eyes now, and a small, gentle smile appeared on her face.
"Whatever a being becomes—whether they choose a destiny, or follow a path of fate, whether they rise as heroes or fall into ruin—those choices are theirs to make. The fate they walk is the one they have chosen. That is their gift… and their burden."
Her expression shifted to something more serious.
Aetherion furrowed his brow.
He couldn't quite grasp the meaning at first. If beings had free will, then why were fate and destiny even necessary? What was the point?
But before he could speak, she continued:
"Every being's fate is the result of their own choices—their emotions, their intentions. They choose their path. Just as Kronos did."
She looked pointedly at him.
"Kronos' destiny was forever tied to Uranus—his father. He chose to rise against him. He chose to end his tyranny. But in doing so, he sealed his own fate. For Uranus cursed him, destined him to fall just as he had overthrown his father."
Aetherion listened closely now, completely immersed.
"Kronos," she said, "feared that fate. He feared his children. So what did he do? He chose to eliminate them—to prevent what had been foretold."
She gave a quiet chuckle, though her voice still held its somber tone.
"But here's the irony, Aetherion. Even if I were to remove Uranus' curse from Kronos… he would still do the same things. He would still fear his children. He would still try to devour them. Why? Because that is the destiny he chose with fear. He chose it with his own will. And so… he will be overthrown."
The weight of her words settled in.
And Aetherion finally understood.
Ananke had chosen to be a watcher.
She could change things—she could grant a new destiny, or rewrite fate itself—but she did not.
She allowed the tapestry of destiny and fate to weave themselves.
She simply observed the threads as they connected, tangled, unraveled, or flourished.
She gave the world freedom—and by extension, let luck, chaos, and choice govern it.
That was the mercy of Ananke—the Primordial of Destiny, and Keeper of Fate.
Aetherion looked at her with new respect.
His eyes shone with admiration.
He hadn't expected this.
He thought she would be colder, stricter, perhaps terrifying.
In fact, when he imagined the embodiment of destiny, he pictured someone who had written a book—a divine record—detailing every soul's life before it happened.
He wouldn't have been surprised if she had just read out his entire future like a list.
Of course that wasn't a possibility for him as a fateless, but for his family it was.
But instead, she had chosen not to write it at all.
She allowed it to be written by the lives of the people who lived it.
It was humbling.
And beautiful.
"You are… amazing, Lady Ananke,"
Aetherion said softly.
"I didn't expect this. Truly. I'm surprised,"
he added with a chuckle, the tension finally lifting from his shoulders.
But then he remembered something and tilted his head.
"Still… could you tell me why you were observing me? You mentioned it earlier, but didn't explain."
Ananke nodded.
"Yes. We were drifting off topic. I apologize."
Her tone shifted slightly, returning to a more serious register.
"I observed you because I needed to determine if you had any connection—direct or indirect—to the 32 Daemons of the Pit… or their primordial father."
Aetherion blinked.
His entire body tensed.
"What?"
His face twisted in disbelief.
"Did you say… the 32 Daemons of the Pit? And their primordial father?"
His thoughts raced, completely baffled.
'What the actual FUCK!!!'