Alex walked back to his room, the weight of the Pantheon's atmosphere still heavy on his shoulders. He shut the door behind him with a soft click and sank into his bed, his mind swirling with the events of the day. The echoes of the gods' voices and their mixed reactions reverberated in his thoughts, mingling with the memory of Kairos's desperate pleas.
The room was dimly lit by the late afternoon sun filtering through the curtains. Alex stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. He recalled how Kairos had grabbed him by the collar, his anger and frustration palpable. The accusations of selfishness, the blame for the disappearance of the unknown god of time—it all weighed heavily on Alex's mind. He had never intended to be a source of despair for anyone, let alone the gods.
His phone buzzed on the bedside table, interrupting his reverie. It was Natalia calling again. Alex glanced at the screen but chose to ignore it, his fingers hovering over the "Decline" button before pressing it decisively. He didn't have the mental space to deal with her curiosity or concern right now.
He rolled over and grabbed his journal from the nightstand, flipping through the pages. His handwriting, a mix of reflections and scattered thoughts, had become a way for him to process his feelings and the overwhelming circumstances of his life. As he read through his notes, he was reminded of his goals, his choices, and the burdens he carried.
The gods had spoken of destiny and omens, but Alex was more focused on the immediate reality he faced. The choice of Apollo, the path of healing, and the implications of his decision were all part of a complex puzzle that he was still trying to piece together. Kairos's outburst had left him unsettled, not because of the accusations but because of the raw emotion behind them. The gods, the prophecies, and the unseen forces that shaped their world—these were not simple matters, and Alex felt the weight of their gravity more than ever.
He sighed, feeling the exhaustion of the day settling into his bones. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning and the distant sounds of the city outside. He closed his eyes, trying to clear his mind, but Kairos's face, twisted in frustration and despair, kept resurfacing in his thoughts.
"What am I supposed to do now?" Alex muttered to himself, the question lingering in the silence of the room. The weight of his choice, the expectations of the gods, and the complexities of his relationships were all tangled in his mind.
*****
Alex woke in the middle of the night to the sensation of someone watching him. The dim light from the hallway seeped through the crack in the door, casting shadows across the room. He blinked awake and turned his head, his eyes widening at the sight of Aion sitting quietly across his bed.
Aion's presence was both unexpected and disconcerting. The god of time looked at him with an expression that was both gentle and sorrowful. Alex felt a pang of guilt, unsure why Aion would come to him at such an hour.
"I'm sorry to intrude," Aion said softly, breaking the silence. "I needed to talk to you."
Alex rubbed his eyes and sat up, his mind still foggy from sleep. "You're not angry?"
Aion shook his head, his gaze steady and compassionate. "I am angry. I've watched you struggle, and I've felt the weight of your choices. But I also understand that you might never have had a real choice in this matter. It was not fair to put such burdens on you."
Aion reached into the folds of his cloak and retrieved an old, leather-bound book. The cover was weathered and worn, hinting at years of age. He placed it gently on Alex's bedside table. "This is for you. It's a diary that belonged to someone who faced a similar crossroads. I think you'll find it enlightening. Read it and do what you feel is right for yourself."
Before Alex could respond, Aion stood up, his figure bathed in the soft glow from the hallway. "I must leave now. But remember, you have the power to shape your path, even when it feels like everything is decided for you."
With a final, meaningful look, Aion walked out of the room, leaving Alex alone with the mysterious book. The door clicked softly behind him, and Alex was enveloped in the quiet of the night.
His curiosity piqued, and Alex reached for the book. The leather was cool and slightly rough against his fingers. He turned it over and read the cover. His breath caught as he saw the words inscribed there:
Alexius Harrison—Regressor of World End
The name seemed to echo in his mind. It was his name, but the title was unfamiliar He wondered what secrets the diary might hold, and why Aion had thought it important for him to read it.
Alex opened the book. The pages were filled with neat, handwritten entries, each one a glimpse into a life and a fate that seemed both alien and intimately familiar. As he began to read, he felt a sense of dread.
*****
As Alex stared at the closed diary in his hands, a strange sensation washed over him—his vision blurred and his surroundings dimmed. It felt like he was being pulled away from the present and plunged deep into the distant future, the weight of the memories from the diary manifesting in his mind.
Suddenly, he was no longer in his quiet room. Instead, he found himself amid a desolate battlefield. The air was thick with smoke and the acrid stench of burning debris. Ashes floated in the air like snow, covering everything in a ghostly gray hue. The ground beneath him was charred and broken, cratered from countless blasts, and littered with the ruins of fallen buildings and shattered weapons.
In the distance, he saw figures moving—soldiers clad in heavy armor, hunters wielding weapons powered by divine energy, and creatures born of nightmares that swarmed the battlefield. The once-proud city was a smoldering ruin, and the fight was desperate. The air rang with the clashing of weapons and the agonized cries of the wounded.
Among the chaos, two figures stood out, locked in a deadly confrontation.
It was him—Alexius Harrison. He was older, hardened by years of war. His emerald eyes were cold, calculating, and filled with a grim determination as he faced off against his brother, Leo.
Leo stood tall, his posture resolute, his power radiating in waves of divine energy gifted by Poseidon. His expression was filled with confusion and disbelief as he stared at his older twin, unable to comprehend why his brother would raise a weapon against him. Around them, the war raged on, but at this moment, it was as if time had slowed, and the world had narrowed down to just the two of them.
"You don't have to do this, Alex!" Leo's voice was filled with desperation, though his grip on his trident remained firm. His hair was disheveled, his armor dented and scorched, but his spirit was unwavering.
Alexius, however, said nothing. His grip tightened on the blade in his hand—a weapon not meant for gods or monsters, but for ending this personal conflict that had plagued his heart for so long. His breath was shallow, his heart a storm of conflicting emotions. He had planned to end it all, to rid himself of the inferiority he had felt for years, the jealousy that had consumed him. But now, standing in front of Leo, he hesitated.
This was the moment.
But as the final blow was about to be struck, the earth beneath them shook violently. A massive, grotesque creature—a towering abomination that had survived the last waves of attack—rose from the shadows, its eyes burning with malice. It lunged at Leo with an ear-piercing screech, its claws outstretched, intending to strike him down.
Instinct took over. Alexius's body moved on its own, and without thinking, he threw himself in front of Leo, his blade raised to meet the attack. He wasn't sure why he had done it—whether it was out of love, regret, or some long-buried sense of duty—but in that moment, he shielded his brother from the creature's strike.
The force of the impact was tremendous. Alexius felt the creature's claws tear through his armor and into his flesh, the pain searing through him like fire. Blood splattered across the ground as the abomination's attack connected. He grunted in pain, his knees buckling beneath him as he collapsed onto the ground.
Leo's eyes widened in shock as he caught his brother, cradling him as Alexius coughed up blood, his breaths shallow and labored.
"Why, Alexius?" Leo asked, his voice trembling. "Why would you do this?"
Alexius tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. He could feel the life draining from him, his vision blurring as the world around him faded. His body felt heavy, his mind clouded with regret and sorrow. He had intended to end his brother's life, to finally escape the shadow Leo had cast over him. But in the end, he sacrificed himself instead.
He looked up at Leo, his vision flickering. In his final moments, he reached up weakly, his hand resting on Leo's cheek. He wanted to say something—an apology, perhaps, or maybe an explanation—but all that escaped his lips was a faint, broken whisper.
"I'm sorry."
And then, as the light faded from his eyes, Alexius Harrison—the man who had tried to kill his brother but had instead died protecting him—breathed his last breath.
Alex snapped back to reality with a start, his heart racing and his breath ragged. The vivid memory, or perhaps vision, lingered in his mind, the weight of Alexius's final moments pressing down on him. The battlefield, the confrontation, the regret—it all felt so real, so personal.
Alex stumbled backward, the diary falling from his grasp and landing on the floor with a thud. His stomach churned violently as the vivid memory of Alexius's death still reverberated in his mind, the agony of the final blow coursing through his veins. He clutched his abdomen, feeling a sharp, phantom pain, as if he had been the one struck down on that battlefield.
Suddenly, he lurched forward, gagging, and barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up. The nausea was overwhelming, his body trembling from the intensity of the vision, from the weight of Alexius's pain and regret. He gripped the sink, gasping for air as his reflection stared back at him in the mirror—pale, haunted, eyes wide with fear and confusion.
"Why..." he whispered to himself, his voice hoarse. "Why did I see that? Why do I feel it?"
Before he could regain his composure, another vision crashed over him like a tidal wave, pulling him into its grasp.
This time, the battlefield was gone, replaced by the towering halls of a grand cathedral-like structure. It was a temple—ruined and ancient, its pillars cracked and its walls crumbling. The air was thick with dust, and the faint glow of a dying sun filtered through the broken roof, casting long shadows over the debris-strewn floor.
Alex found himself kneeling before an altar, his hands clasped together in a gesture of reverence, though he had no memory of how he had gotten there. He looked up, and there, in front of him, stood a figure—an unknown god, draped in shadow. The god's presence was immense, suffocating, like a weight pressing down on his soul. Its features were indistinct, but its eyes—burning with an intense, unnatural light—bored into him.
The god spoke, though its voice was like a distant echo, cold and hollow, yet filled with a power that made Alex's skin crawl.
"Promise me," the god intoned, its voice reverberating through the temple like the tolling of a bell. "Promise me that the world will kneel before you, that you will bend it to your will."
Alex felt his body move on its own as if compelled by some unseen force. He lowered his head, his lips moving in response, though the words felt foreign to him.
"I... I promise," he heard himself say. The words left his mouth, heavy with a sense of inevitability, of doom. "The world will kneel."
The vision shifted again, dragging Alex away from the broken temple and depositing him into a scene of stark contrast. He was standing on the sidelines of a massive gathering—thousands of people crowded into an expansive plaza. The air was electric with excitement and hope, flags waving in the wind as banners of victory adorned the city's buildings.
At the center of it all, standing tall on a raised podium, was Leo.