The pendant was once simple—a small silver disc etched with an ancient spiral, the symbol of balance between the mortal and divine. Myrene had worn it always. It was a gift, not from Zeus, but from her own mother. A relic passed down through generations of wise women, whispered to carry the protection of an old sea spirit long forgotten.
Now, it was cracked down the center.
Kaelos sat by the edge of the cliff where his home once stood, the wind whipping his hair as he held the broken pendant in his hands. His fingers were calloused, scorched from days of working with fire he didn't fully understand. He had not spoken to anyone in weeks. The silence became his companion. His mind was a storm with no horizon.
He tried, over and over, to fix the pendant—melting its edges with lightning, fusing it with sparks of controlled flame. But every time he failed, it cracked again. As if the magic in it had died with her.
That morning, a traveler came.
An old man in tattered robes, with a crooked staff carved with celestial runes, approached the ruins. His eyes glowed faintly, not silver like Kaelos's, but a faded gold—dull, as if once divine but now drained.
"You're late," Kaelos said, not turning around.
The old man smiled faintly. "I came when I was needed."
"Then you should've come sooner. She's dead."
"I know," the man said softly. "The wind carried her last breath into the stars."
Kaelos finally looked at him. "Who are you?"
"Once, I was called Prometheus."
The name struck a memory—one from a story Myrene once told him: the titan who defied the gods, who brought fire to mortals and paid the price with eternal torment.
"I thought you were chained forever," Kaelos said.
Prometheus nodded toward his wrists—scarred, though no chains remained. "Chains break, boy. Even divine ones. Sometimes... all it takes is time and rage."
Kaelos narrowed his eyes. "Why are you here?"
Prometheus sat beside him, groaning as his joints cracked. He reached for the broken pendant and turned it over in his gnarled hands.
"You are not the first to be abandoned by the gods," he said. "But you may be the last."
Kaelos stayed silent.
"Your storm is growing," the titan continued. "But storm alone is not enough. You must learn to wield it, master it. Or it will consume you."
"I don't care about mastering it," Kaelos muttered. "I only care about killing them."
Prometheus looked into his eyes, and for the first time, Kaelos saw not pity, but recognition.
"Good," Prometheus said. "Then you'll need to find the others."
"What others?"
"The forsaken. Those broken by Olympus. Scattered across the world, hiding in caves and shadows, their names wiped from memory."
Kaelos stood. His hands sparked with barely contained power.
"Tell me where."
Prometheus grinned. "First, we rebuild that pendant. Not to fix it—no. But to forge something new."
"What?"
"A key," the titan whispered, "to a vault the gods hoped you'd never find."