The heavens trembled.
Not from battle, not from celestial storms, but from something far rarer—
A god's desperation.
The God of War knelt before the Pantheon's throne hall, his fiery armor dimmed, his mantle cracked from the strain of holding back his own fury. Light from a thousand constellations poured through the gold-veined marble as ancient deities watched him from their celestial seats.
He bowed until his forehead touched the divine floor.
"I beg of you," he said — voice breaking, raw, utterly unmasked. "Let me descend. Let me protect him."
Murmurs rippled through the hall like shifting galaxies.
A god… begging?
Unthinkable.
Presiding over them sat the High Celestials — beings older than language, their faces veiled behind luminous halos. Their combined presence weighed upon the realm like an ocean on a single grain of sand.
One of them opened their mouth, a voice echoing in harmonies layered across time.
"You know the law. Even as his Patron, you cannot intervene directly. The Veil exists for a reason."
The God of War raised his head, eyes blazing with a pain only a mentor could understand.
"His body is breaking. His soul is splintering. If Kairos strikes again, Bolt may—"
The word die caught in his throat.
"…he may be lost."
A goddess draped in starlight leaned forward, her voice gentle but firm."You knew the limits of a mortal vessel when you chose him."
"And I was WRONG!" the god thundered, fist cracking the marble beneath him. Celestial flames burst from him in torrents of crimson. "He surpassed my limits, shattered my decree, rewrote fate itself… and now he suffers for it!"
He looked up at the Pantheon, divine flames flickering like a dying heartbeat.
"If I do nothing… if I stay here bound by your laws… I will lose him."
Silence fell.
He was a god.
But now, he sounded simply like a father fearing for his child.
Another deity — one whose voice was like molten metal and thunder — spoke calmly.
"This mortal means much to you."
The God of War closed his eyes."He carries the heart of a thousand warriors. He fights for more than glory… more than pride. He fights out of love. Loyalty. Hope."
He trembled.
"And today, he stood alone against the abyss."
His voice softened, cracking.
"I cannot lose him. Not him. Not again."
The Pantheon exchanged silent glances. Stars dimmed. Time stilled.
Finally, the High Celestial spoke.
"…You do not need to interfere."
The God of War froze.
"What?"
The celestial's halo brightened until galaxies swirled inside it.
"Your champion is not in danger of death."
"…You lie."
The god surged to his feet, aura erupting."He is broken. His soul burns. His mana pathways fracture as we speak—"
"He is safe," the High Celestial repeated, calm and absolute. "Not because of your power."
A flicker of celestial light illuminated the hall.
"But because of what he is."
"What… he is?" the God of War whispered. "He is mortal. A Warborn. My chosen—"
"No."
The hall darkened.
Then—
A scroll appeared above them, its edges glowing with the ink of destiny. Divine seals etched in languages forgotten since the world's birth shimmered and cracked open.
Ancient winds swept the chamber.
The Pantheon bowed their heads.
Even gods do not uncover the Prophecy lightly.
The scroll unfurled.
A single line glowed.
Not a story.Not a warning.Not an explanation.
Just a truth.
A truth the heavens had hidden even from the God of War.
The High Celestial's voice whispered through the chamber like a judgment passed at the dawn of creation.
"Bolt… is one of the Prophesied."
The God of War staggered.
"No… that cannot be. That prophecy… that prophecy was forbidden. Sealed. Buried."
"And yet," the goddess of starlight murmured, "he bears the mark."
The god took a step back, lightning dancing around his trembling form.
"Why… why was I never told?"
"You were not meant to know," another deity answered. "For the prophecy concerns things beyond even your dominion. Beyond war. Beyond gods."
The God of War's fists clenched.
"What does the prophecy SAY?"
The High Celestial closed the scroll, its glow vanishing instantly.
"That is not for you to hear."
"Then at LEAST tell me what it MEANS for him!"
Silence.
Then—
A quiet, steady voice from a hooded goddess:
"It means he cannot die… not yet."
Another voice added:
"He is beyond the reach of your limits."
Another:
"He is destined for something greater than your mantle."
And finally, the High Celestial:
"It means that Bolt does not need your protection."
The God of War stared forward, stunned, unable to speak.
Not because his power was questioned.
Not because his authority was undermined.
But because this boy — his chosen — had been marked by destiny long before any god touched his life.
"Bolt is safe," the High Celestial concluded. "Not because of your strength… but because fate itself refuses to let him fall."
The god collapsed back to his knees, shaking with shock, relief, and fear interwoven.
He whispered a single word — the first prayer a god had spoken in millennia.
"…Bolt."