Myth: The Ruler of Spirituality

Northern Lands.

Mount Nysa.

On the continuous mountain range, the traces once left by Typhon were faintly visible.

At the cold and lofty peak, the temple of the three Moirai sisters faced the cold winds of the Northern Lands.

For hundreds of years, the three Fates executed their authority here, weaving the tapestry of all lives... but today is not like the past.

Now on Mount Nysa, the once-busy figures were no longer to be seen.

Atropos and Lachesis were long gone, leaving behind only the youngest of the three sisters.

Clotho, the weaver of the thread of life, also the only one not afflicted by the poison of fate.

Her part was always borne by her two elder sisters.

She only needed to sit on Mount Nysa, completing her inborn duty.

Even now, with Lachesis sealed, the backlash of fate still did not come to her.

For unlike Atropos, the goddess who measured fate had no opportunity to react; her time was fixed at that moment.

Including herself, she and the poison of fate were sealed behind that portal, leaving Clotho unaware of her fate...

Thus, sitting alone on the boulder at the mountain top, Clotho, in the form of a girl, faced away from the center of the earth.

It was the place where humans flourished, where the two Fates had once visited, but she did not wish to see them.

With a sense of avoidance, Clotho gazed blankly at the cold Northern Sea.

"Sister... have you found the 'mastermind' you were looking for?"

Her pupils dilated, the goddess did not focus on anything in particular but took in everything with a blank, clueless gaze.

She did not know what she should do now, or rather, what she could do...

"..."

"Hmm? What is that?"

After a long silence, accompanied only by the sound of the wind.

However, at a certain moment, it seemed Clotho discovered something.

Even without using her rights to observe fate, she could still sense that a great shift seemed to be happening.

Boundless malice came from the void, but this time it was different from the past.

Threads of black energy seemed to seep through the shadow left by Lachesis on fate, reflecting onto her.

This should not have happened, as long as the Fates willed it, such backlash was something they could withstand.

Compared to the past Atropos, Lachesis had yet to reach her limit, nor had she willingly given up bearing the burden.

Feeling that boundless evil, that deep-seated fear, Clotho knew that her second sister must also be in trouble.

She had at least lost her consciousness and could no longer sense the tides of fate.

Whoosh—!

Instinctively turning her head, the goddess looked towards the West.

There, the boiling fate seemed to be burning, and a shadow towering to the skies thrust up.

The shadow pressed down, bringing with it the oppression of the material world, the torrents of fate, carrying the weight of a sky as it smashed from the West Heaven into the Northern Sea.

Boom—

No sound came, as great sound is silent, great form is invisible.

Trembling, Clotho embraced herself with her arms, watching as the Northern Sea was struck, feeling only darkness before her eyes.

In that moment, countless fates were altered... and this was just the beginning.

"The garden... that garden, Ladon!"

Biting her lip lightly, Clotho tried to stand but found her legs completely powerless.

Even though, at this moment, the backlash of fate had not truly fallen upon her, she knew.

If this was a war, then before it had even begun, they had already lost...

······

Shhh...

Western Sea, the waters near Atlas.

Submerged in the water, Epimetheus glanced at the son of the Sea God falling from the sky, choosing to continue observing the trajectory of that strike.

Simple, direct, without any flourish.

That strike carried the weight of a piece of the sky. Whether man or god, without that 'qualification', it was like facing a finger falling from the Sky God.

As the strike fell, the Northern Sea shook, the waves touched the clouds, and the ripples calmed the sea for miles.

A trace of astonishment flashed in Afterthinker's eyes, understanding that if that strike was aimed at him, it could have taken half his life.

From now on, the entire Earth, across both divine and mortal realms, perhaps only a few could match the mortal-hero who was already akin to a god in battle.

If given a while longer, once he inherited the power lent by Atlas, even with all gods regaining their divine power, they would have to bow before him.

For in terms of battle prowess, the Titan who governed 'Strength' was unparalleled; millennia of supporting the sky and the world's increasing power had placed him at the zenith of divine strength, almost unbeatable.

With his aid, neither the hundred-headed dragon Typhon nor all gods could wreak havoc before mankind.

"Tsk... this is destiny..."

"Pandora, you held 'fate' for so long, why couldn't you be like him?"

Shaking his head and sighing, Epimetheus' gaze returned to Triton who had fallen into the sea.

To die in the hands of the witch holding the magic jar was probably your destined fate. The death you sought has now come for you.

"Who knows if heroes are born from destiny, or if only heroes can bear destiny... heh heh... never mind, either way, I can't be that hero."