The world settled like the last ripple in a disturbed pond.
The reset had left behind silence, a silence so heavy it carried the weight of eternity. For the first time in what felt like millennia, every god, titan, and mortal remembered. The veil was gone. Every erased bond, every hidden betrayal, every manipulation at the hands of Chaos flooded back into minds unprepared for the truth.
In Kaeron, the faithful wept. Some dropped to their knees in gratitude, others in despair, but all of them looked skyward. They too remembered—what it meant to have a god who was not born of Olympus but who had chosen to protect them anyway.
And high upon the slopes of Olympus, where the great halls of the immortals gleamed once more, Akhon stood. His golden eyes burned not with wrath but with clarity, sharp enough to cut through the divine silence that clung to the mountaintop.
