Previously...
Luminaria's glowing eyes dimmed slightly, her expression unreadable. "It means," she said quietly, her tone laced with resolve, "that Atlas never walks into a trap unarmed."
She turned toward the fading energy of the portal, her hand clenched tightly around the necklace at her neck. "Just know we have nothing to worry about."
Present—
Elizabeth stared at her mother, surprised by how relaxed she was in this situation. What does she mean by, "we have nothing to worry about?" Elizabeth wondered to herself.
"If anything, we should continue with our departure to the Celestial Board Realm. That would be more beneficial for my Master than just staying in this chamber and stressing about him," Luminaria said as she opened her Dimensional Portal to the Celestial Board Realm.
She extended her hand, and the air shimmered, folding in on itself until a portal swirled with threads of green and white.
The two entered the portal, vanishing from the chamber.
The portal's light folded in on itself, and the world around them shifted.
When Luminaria and Elizabeth emerged, they found themselves standing upon a colossal platform of luminous marble that stretched endlessly across the heavens.
Silver constellations shimmered beneath the translucent floor, and above them, the firmament blazed with threads of fate—living cords that connected every divine presence in existence.
The Celestial Board Realm.
The heart of all divine assemblies. The axis where the will of the Goddess of Fate herself was decreed.
Even among such overwhelming presence, the moment the two Goddesses stepped forth, a subtle hush rippled through the gathered deities.
Five hundred Deities of varying strength—Minor, Mid, and High—had already taken their places in neat, glowing rings surrounding the central platform.
Around them, fifty constellations burned faintly, each taking shape as colossal celestial figures suspended in the skies, their essence vibrating with divine awareness.
Yet as Luminaria and Elizabeth appeared, all eyes turned toward them.
"The Third and Fourth Pillars have arrived," a heralding voice announced, its tone echoing with formal reverence.
Luminaria moved forward with calm authority, her steps leaving faint trails of living light. Beside her, Elizabeth carried herself with grace—though the weight of so many divine gazes pressed heavily upon her shoulders.
Still, as the Goddess of Earth and Fertility, her aura exuded a natural warmth and quiet might that even the higher deities respected.
The pair made their way toward the elevated circle where the Eight Pillars were meant to stand. Already, some of their counterparts were present:
At the head stood Kairos, the God of Origins, the First Pillar—his presence deep and immovable, like the foundation upon which all creation was built. Beside him was Chronos, the God of Time, the Second Pillar, his body surrounded by faint ripples of temporal distortion.
To their right, Aetherion, the God of Redemption, the Seventh Pillar, radiated a calm, celestial brilliance that seemed to purify the very air around him.
Not far from him stood Seraphelle, the Goddess of Love, the Eighth Pillar—her divine aura soft, intoxicating, and unendingly luminous. Even among gods, her beauty drew quiet awe.
Across the circle stood Causara, the Goddess of Consequences, the Sixth Pillar, her sharp, dark eyes measuring every presence with quiet scrutiny. The faint glow of judgment lingered in her gaze.
As Luminaria and Elizabeth approached, each of the Pillars offered a slight bow of acknowledgment—a courtesy reserved for equals.
"Luminaria," Kairos greeted with a faint nod. "It's been some time."
"Too long," she replied, standing beside him. "Though the circumstances could have been far better."
Elizabeth took her place silently at her mother's side, casting a brief glance at the assembly of gods and constellations surrounding them. The sheer magnitude of divine pressure was suffocating, yet she held her composure.
One by one, the remaining Pillars aligned in their designated places, forming a perfect circle surrounding a colossal throne at the center—the Seat of Fate. Its presence alone seemed to bend the flow of destiny itself.
And then, as silence blanketed the realm once more, a soft tremor rippled through the air.
"The final pillar approaches," Kairos murmured.
Space itself began to distort, ribbons of gold and indigo light twisting together as a presence unlike any other descended upon the platform.
She stepped forth—barefoot upon the marble, her divine essence unrestrained.
Selara, the Goddess of Free Will, the Fifth Pillar.
Unlike the others, her arrival carried chaos wrapped in elegance. Her long white hair danced weightlessly, and her golden eyes shimmered with a defiant spark—one that no fate could bind.
Every Deity present lowered their heads, not merely in respect, but instinctively, as though her aura forced acknowledgment.
With her arrival, the circle was complete.
Eight Pillars now stood before the Seat of Fate—the embodiment of divine hierarchy itself.
The Deities murmured softly among themselves, the celestial realm thick with tension and awe.
For the first time in millennia, every divine being born under the dominion of Fate was gathered.
The Celestial Board Realm fell utterly silent.
Even time itself dared not move.
From the Seat of Fate, threads of pure destiny unraveled like living veins of light, weaving upward into the form of a woman—tall, serene, and clothed in layered robes that shimmered with every color of existence and none at all.
Her hair, pale as starlight, flowed freely behind her, and her eyes—those ageless, gold-threaded eyes—looked upon the gathered divinities with a calm that was almost unbearable.
The Goddess of Fate—Lady Fate—had manifested.
She did not speak immediately. She simply looked—saw—and in her gaze, every Deity, Constellation, and God felt as though the truth of their being was laid bare. There was no deception before her, no thought hidden, no divinity untangled from her threads.
When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. But that softness carried through the entire Celestial Realm—echoing not as sound, but as command written into the fabric of all existence.
"The balance of the Realms falters."
Her tone was calm. Judicial. Yet something ancient stirred beneath it—a quiet, predatory force that made every being present instinctively lower their heads.
"The Chaotic God moves once more."
Her eyes shifted toward the farthest horizon—beyond the visible galaxies, where the threads of fate twisted violently around a single, growing shadow.
"The God of Destruction," she continued, "has begun his next conquest. Every world he consumes strengthens him. Every realm he shatters feeds his dominion. And now—"
Her gaze sharpened, her words turning colder.
"—his will reaches toward us."
The air grew heavy. Some Deities shuddered where they stood. Even the Pillars of Fate dimmed slightly, their light bending under the pressure of her divine intent.
"You have all felt the tremors in your domains," Lady Faye went on. "The ruptures in fate. The chaos that bleeds through the threads."
"You have witnessed what happens when a realm falls under his conquest. When the divine order is stripped away, and the balance collapses into hunger and ruin."
She raised her hand, and a spectral image bloomed in the air—a dying world swallowed in black fire. The sky fractured, its stars devoured by a singular void. Screams of deities and mortals alike echoed faintly, like ghosts through the wind.
"This was the Realm of Veylor," she said simply. "Once governed by me. Now—gone."
The constellations murmured in unease. Luminaria's jaw tightened. Elizabeth's breath hitched.
"The Chaotic God's conquest strengthens him. Each destruction births another source of energy he binds to his core. He is not a mindless destroyer, but a conqueror of purpose—a god who feeds upon the collapse of others to ascend beyond the limits of divinity itself."
Her eyes swept the Pillars.
"He cannot be allowed to reach our worlds. He cannot be allowed to touch what we protect."
Kairos stepped forward, bowing slightly. "Then we march for war?"
Lady Faye's gaze shifted toward him. Calm. Piercing. Eternal.
"No," she said softly. "We prepare."
Her tone was not loud, but it silenced everything again.
"For when war comes, it will not be a battle of swords and divinity. It will be a clash of existence itself. The Chaotic God's dominion grows by consuming what is, until only what belongs to him remains."
The threads of fate began to circle her now—slowly, spiraling into a glowing ring above her throne.
"This council is not called to fight," she declared, "but to ensure that Fate endures—even if the Realms do not."
A quiet dread rippled through the gathering. Some Deities understood her meaning instantly. Others prayed they were wrong.
Luminaria's eyes narrowed slightly.
Elizabeth's divine heart quivered, uncertain whether it was fear or awe she felt.
Lady Fate then turned her gaze to the Eight Pillars, each in turn.
"Kairos, you will weave the foundation of defense around the primary Realms. Chronos will reinforce time's flow to delay the decay that seeps from destruction. Luminaria, you will prepare the seeds of renewal. If life must fall, it must also rise again."
Then, her gaze moved to Elizabeth.
"You, Earth's daughter, will anchor vitality to the worlds of the lower planes. They must endure long enough to preserve fate's line."
Elizabeth bowed deeply. "Yes, Lady Fate."
One by one, she gave the others their tasks. Consequence and Free Will to monitor divine interference, Redemption to oversee the afterflow of fallen divinities, and Love to keep the mortal hearts bound to the threads that sustain them.
But as her commands drew to a close, the final glow in her eyes dimmed ever so slightly—her expression hardening into something that no longer resembled calm.
"And yet…" she said softly.
The silence deepened again.
"There is one thread that has gone missing."
Her gaze lowered—not toward the Pillars, not toward the Constellations or Deities—but downward, as though seeing through the infinite planes of creation itself.
"The one called Atlas," she said.
Luminaria stiffened instantly.
"He bears the mark of Fate, yet walks a path no longer bound by it."
She looked directly at Luminaria then, her tone unreadable but absolute.
"Find him."
And though her voice was calm, the decree carried the unmistakable chill of inevitability—
a command written not in words, but in the law of the cosmos itself.