King Eldors sat upon his throne, his face carved into a mask of stoic contemplation.
The mortal ruler of Velmor—a kingdom caught in the crossfire of gods and monsters—had seen much in his years.
But never this.
In his royal hall now stood Medusa, the Serpent Queen, a being feared even in whispers. Beside her stood her son, Raezel, whose existence challenged prophecy and divine order alike. And behind them, cloaked in elegance and shadow, was Nyx—the primordial night, older than Olympus itself. Her son, Nythren, lounged near a marble pillar, having just humiliated the God of War like it was a casual joke.
This was no longer politics. This was no longer a war.
This was madness.
And yet, amidst gods, monsters, and immortals, King Eldors understood one thing with clarity as sharp as any blade.
If he did not secure The Seal from Medusa now… Velmor would not survive.
Because when Raezel left, Ares would return.
And next time, the God of War would not come alone.
So the king, a mere mortal in a room of titans, did what no one expected.
He spoke.
"Lady Medusa," Eldors said, voice steady despite the storm coiling around him. "I must ask you… does Velmor deserve your Seal?"
Nythren raised a brow, his lean frame still pressed lazily against stone. His piercing eyes locked onto the king, unimpressed.
"Why even ask for The Seal, Medusa?" he said, gesturing casually with one hand. "If Brother Raezel wants to live here, just dethrone this mortal and gift him the kingdom like a souvenir. Problem solved."
The hall froze.
King Eldors paled. His lips parted, soundless—like a man drowning with no air to spare. Ares inhaled sharply, his pride stung. Even the serpents draped across Medusa's shoulders went still, their hissing replaced by a silence that pressed on the chest.
Raezel pinched the bridge of his nose. "Nythren—"
"No, no, hear me out." Nythren spread his arms like a dramatist unveiling a masterpiece. "Just imagine it. 'King Raezel of Velmor.' Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Grand throne. Adoring subjects. Endless feasts. You'd make history."
"Nythren."
"I'm just saying," he continued, shrugging. "This guy?"—he pointed a thumb at Eldors, who was visibly sweating—"I wouldn't trust him to boil water, let alone run a kingdom."
The king sputtered. "I—I can run a bath just fine, thank you!"
Nythren snorted. "Oh, excellent. That qualifies him for divine diplomacy, then."
Ares gripped the hilt of his sword, his patience threadbare. "You realize this is still my territory?"
Nythren turned, tilting his head like a predator sizing up a snack. "Oh? And what will you do, War God? Run back to Zeus and whine that the scary teenagers made fun of you?"
Ares stepped forward, power coiling around him—
But Nyx merely lifted a single, pale finger.
Shadows in the room darkened, lengthened, twisted.
Ares froze mid-step. His rage halted like a marionette with its strings cut.
"That's enough," Nyx said softly.
And the room obeyed.
Medusa, who had watched the exchange with the ghost of a smile, finally turned.
"Nythren, my dear," she said, voice velvet and steel. "You do know how to make a room lively."
Nythren grinned. "Only for you, theia."
But then his smile faded, eyes narrowing.
"Still. Mark my words, Brother—if you leave without The Seal, this king will not survive your absence. Ares will return, and next time… he won't knock."
The king stiffened.
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Medusa stepped forward, her gaze falling upon Eldors like divine judgment.
"You dare ask for The Seal?"
Eldors did not flinch.
"I do."
Her serpents hissed, their gaze ancient and hungry. The weight of her power pressed down like centuries layered upon his shoulders.
Yet the king remained still.
Nyx looked vaguely amused. Raezel, however, looked... impressed.
And then—Medusa smiled.
Not cruelly. Not mockingly.
Genuinely.
"Very well," she said. "Tell me, King of Velmor… why should I grant you my favor?"
The air thickened.
Even Nythren stopped joking.
Ares crossed his arms, brooding.
King Eldors felt the breath catch in his lungs. Every answer that came to mind collapsed under scrutiny.
Velmor had endured wars—surely that proved its strength?
But Medusa's legions had never tasted defeat. Compared to her, Velmor was a child pretending at battle.
Velmor had survived Ares' reign—surely that proved its resilience?
But Medusa had thrived through far worse. She had faced Olympus itself.
Velmor had never raised arms against her—surely that proved loyalty?
But loyalty born of fear was not loyalty at all.
And then—
The truth crashed into him like a wave.
There was nothing he could say.
Nothing that could make Velmor worthy of the Seal.
A chuckle broke the silence.
"Looks like the great King Eldors has no answer," Nyssa said lightly, her eyes sharp as obsidian blades.
Krios leaned against a column. "Should we give him more time? A century, maybe two?"
Nihaga smirked. "It's almost cute. Look at him—like a drowning man clawing for driftwood."
Nythren cocked his head. "If he takes any longer, I might start pitying him."
The king said nothing.
He could say nothing.
Then—Raezel stepped forward.
"Mother," he said calmly. "You were once a victim of the gods' cruelty. Do not let Velmor share that fate."
Medusa's gaze flicked to him, unreadable.
"They are afraid," Raezel continued. "Of course they are. The Serpent Queen, the Goddess of Night, and the War God himself stand before them. But fear does not make them unworthy."
Nythren groaned. "Ugh. You're making it sound noble. I just wanted to throw a coup and eat lunch."
Medusa's golden eyes gleamed.
"You always were a fool for the weak."
But her voice… was not unkind.
Raezel smiled. "A fool who learned from the strongest."
Silence.
Nyx tilted her head. She recognized that look in Medusa's eyes.
A moment of memory. Of pain. Of the girl who had once begged Athena for mercy.
Then—
"Very well."
The air shifted.
The torches flickered violently. The stone beneath their feet trembled. Power—pure, radiant, divine—rippled outward from Medusa's form.
Her eyes blazed like molten suns.
The Blessing of Medusa had begun.
A seal not of ink and wax, but of divine decree.
A gift.
A curse.
A promise.
But beneath that raw display of power lingered a question.
Why?
Why did the Serpent Queen grant Velmor her favor?