The abyss fractured not only for Kairos, but for all who had chosen a new world. Scattered across infinite realms, other mortals-turned-gods opened their eyes for the first time.
Each was reborn with power. Each believed themselves chosen. Each felt the call of the Twelve Thrones burning above them like distant stars.
The Firebrand
In a land of molten rivers, a boy staggered to his feet. Flames erupted from his skin, racing up his arms like living veins. The ground beneath him bubbled and split, magma spewing in violent bursts.
He didn't cower. He laughed.
"My flames will consume everything. Mortals, gods, even the heavens."
The molten rivers surged, rising like serpents of fire at his command. His laughter echoed with arrogance, the sound of someone who believed the world already belonged to him.
The Frost Queen
Far from the fire, a woman stood in a crystalline wasteland. Ice coated the ground in jagged shards, spreading endlessly with each breath she took. Behind her, wings of glass-like frost unfolded, scattering shards of snow into the void sky.
She touched the frozen earth, and a mountain cracked in two beneath her hand.
Her eyes glimmered like frozen steel. Her voice was soft, but every word carried authority.
"They will kneel before my winter."
Her reflection shimmered in the ice — a queen without a crown, already envisioning subjects bowing beneath her frost.
The Stormbringer
On a storm-wracked plain, thunder cracked. A man stood tall, lightning crawling across his body, weaving through his veins like rivers of light. Each step he took was answered by thunderclaps that shook the ground.
He lifted his arms, and the sky itself bent. Black clouds swirled into a vortex, bolts of electricity raining down like spears.
His laughter rolled like thunder.
"The skies belong to me. And soon, so will the Thrones."
The Shadow Wraith
In a realm of endless dusk, a figure stood half-consumed by darkness. Shadows clung to his skin like parasites, whispering in voices only he could hear. His eyes glowed faintly, a sickly yellow, watching the void with patience.
He did not roar. He did not laugh.
He whispered.
"They think themselves gods. But shadows… shadows never die. I will wait. I will devour."
And the darkness thickened around him, swallowing his form until only his voice remained.
The Lightbearer
Where shadows lurked, so too did light.
A young girl awoke in a realm bathed in radiance. Her hair glowed like spun gold, her eyes like twin suns. The land itself bloomed wherever she stepped, flowers unfurling in her wake.
She trembled, clutching her hands to her chest. Her voice quivered like a prayer.
"Please… let me be strong enough. If I can sit upon the Throne, maybe… maybe I can save them all."
Her aura blazed brighter, filling her world with warmth. Unlike others, her ambition was not conquest but hope.
Yet light, too, could burn.
The Iron Tyrant
In a land of steel and smoke, a hulking figure staggered upright. His skin rippled as iron spread across his body, plates of living metal locking into place. His fists crushed stone like clay, each step shaking the ground.
He roared, his voice booming like hammers against anvils.
"Strength is godhood! I will build an empire of iron, and I will crush all who oppose me!"
The ground cracked as iron towers burst from the earth, reshaping the barren realm into a fortress of steel.
A Shared Hunger
Across every realm, the Thrones shimmered faintly in the distant heavens. Each candidate felt them — twelve colossal seats that burned with divine promise.
The firebrand laughed at the thought of burning his way to them.
The frost queen smirked at the vision of a frozen throne.
The stormbringer roared that he would seize the skies above them.
The shadow wraith whispered that he would consume those who sat upon them.
The lightbearer prayed she could reach one without losing herself.
The iron tyrant bellowed that the Thrones were his by right.
Each voice was different. Each ambition unique.
But all shared the same hunger.
Only twelve would rise. The rest would fall.
Back to Kairos
Meanwhile, in the chaos of his serpent-ridden wasteland, Kairos lay flat on his back atop a cracked stone. His arms were folded behind his head, his locs spread around him, golden beads glinting in the lightning overhead. The serpents coiled lazily at his side, hissing in unison like a lullaby.
He yawned.
"Somewhere out there, I bet everyone's making their big villain monologues right about now," he said to no one in particular. "Yelling about fire, storms, thrones, conquest, blah blah blah."
A serpent slithered across his chest, glowing faintly. Kairos smirked, scratching its misty head.
"Meanwhile, I'm here… taking a nap. Guess that makes me the lazy god of snakes."
He closed his eyes, listening to the hiss of his companions, the crackle of lightning, the endless whispers of chaos in the air. For the first time in years, his chest felt light.
He wasn't rushing. He wasn't panicking. He wasn't boasting.
He was simply existing — and enjoying it.
The Thrones were out there. Other gods were already scheming. But Kairos?
He grinned faintly.
Let them fight for scraps. When I move, they'll know it.