The moonlight fades beneath the glow of Eden's City Center as their carriage rolls into the Oásis Agorá, the largest market of Eden. Though it only appears once every full moon, the bazaar teems with life as if it had always been there. Tonight, it sprawls beside the Pantheón Amfithéatro, its stalls and taverns lit bright against the night.
Despite the late hour, the crowd is dense. Gods spill out of taverns, some laughing, others already brawling. Vendors shout over one another, hawking food, jewelry, and heirlooms. A boy sprints through the street with friends chasing after him, while a little girl clings shyly to her mother's hand. The carriage slows to a crawl. Zenobios watches the people with quiet pride, answering bows with subtle nods. Vyrian sleeps soundly in his arms. Athanasia presses her palms against the window, her eyes alive with wonder. She rarely leaves the castle, and the crowd notices. Men stare, women hush them quickly—out of jealousy or reverence for Eden's Empress.
Some recognize the crest of Cerberus atop the carriage, the ancient sigil of Alketas, forefather of the Orestes bloodline. A few bow deeply at once. Power hums in the air. These are not mortals but gods, each more formidable than any human could dream. And yet, they mimic their creations—drinking, shopping, wandering. Why? Why do beings untouched by hunger or death imitate mortal fragility?
Perhaps envy. Envy of suffering and joy, of loss and love, of warmth in weakness. Immortality has stripped them of sleep, hunger, and dreams, leaving only a hollow eternity. Long ago, the forefathers forged the Shame of Eden: the Beacon of the Human Soul, Póthos. Hidden at the city's heart, it allows gods to feel as mortals do—pain, anger, sorrow, joy. Some call it the Candle of Their Shame. Yet it is because of it that they can even feel shame at all.
The crowd thins as the carriage gains speed beside the colossal amphitheater. Athanasia lingers at the window, reluctant to look away. Zenobios notices.
"You could visit the bazaar more often," he says.
She startles, then smiles faintly.
"I would love to, but pleasure is hardly an Empress' duty. Besides, what would the people think?"
Zenobios chuckles.
"Those sparkling eyes said something else entirely."
Her face flushes as she turns away.
"So what? I hardly ever see it. I could not help myself."
He pats the back of her head gently, his tone soft.
"You don't have to be so hard on yourself. The kingdom is not in chaos. It's alright to let go."
She lowers her gaze, cheeks still warm.
"Hmph. Perhaps… maybe."
He leans closer, kissing her hair. She does not resist. Instead, she nestles against him, drawing comfort in his embrace. Together with Vyrian asleep between them, the moment feels whole.
Hours later, the carriage reaches Eden's outskirts. The city crowns a vast plateau, and Anaktoro rises on a cliff above the endless Thálassa ton Chaménon. The road winds upward in sharp curves, lanterns dotting the climb. From the second bend, the city unfurls below them, glowing like a sea of stars. Finally, the carriage reaches the summit.
At the archway to Anaktoro—a simple limestone gate etched with ancient hieroglyphs—gardens stretch out, a stone path leading to the castle's doors. A fountain of sphinxes sprays silver streams under the moonlight. The carriage circles past it and halts at the entrance.
The doors are colossal slabs of limestone, carved with symbols of Eden's forefathers, relics passed down through generations. Servants emerge, bowing deeply as they push them partly open.
Zenobios steps out first, handing Vyrian carefully to a maid. Then he offers his hand to Athanasia. She lifts part of her robe to keep it from catching and steps down.
"Ah!" she gasps, faltering. The sprain from childbirth has not fully healed.
Zenobios panics.
"Are you alright?"
She giggles softly.
"It seems I need more time. My ankle still aches. Do not worry—I'm fine."
But as she tries to walk, pain jolts through her again.
"Ah…"
"You are not fine at all," he says, his voice heavy with concern.
"Perhaps not… haha."
Without hesitation, he slides one arm behind her back, the other beneath her knees, and lifts her.
"W-wait—what are you—"
"I'll take you inside."
"But—"
"You're not that heavy. Maybe a little," he teases under his breath.
"I heard that!" she pouts, cheeks puffing as she taps his chest.
Zenobios laughs, carrying her forward.
"Sorry, sorry."