I am the Only Son of Nyx

A bead of cold sweat drizzled down the woman’s face as she remained in her bowing posture.

She knew what she needed to convey, already had it in her mind—but saying it out loud was hard to do. Her tongue was tied in fear. It wasn’t her own failure, but the bearer of bad news is unwelcome.

And she might become the outlet of rage.

Even then, wasting Lord Marius’s time would be even more offensive.

She had to deliver the news.

"Ragnar failed to execute his plan. He failed to make sure of the Lesser Angel’s death, and..." She swallowed harshly, and then continued. "The Lesser Angel even won the tournament and became the Red Prince. But it was even worse than that.

"The tournament was broadcast on a TV channel through a smuggled journalist, and he gained fame from it."

It was the worst-case scenario for them.

Kai had become much harder to kill now as the spotlight was directly on him.

Not only would becoming the Red Prince make him a protected student within the academy, but his fame also meant that his death would draw eyes from the surface. Some might even investigate and demand answers.

Any cover-up would be exposed then, so things aren’t looking good.

Naturally, the woman was afraid to deliver the news.

"Based on the data I gathered, the people who—"

Just then, Lord Marsius raised a finger, stopping the woman mid-sentence.

He then lowered his hand again.

"You don’t need to break the really bad news or report anything to me," Lord Marsius said without looking. His eyes remained fixated on the painting—enthralled by it. "Because I have already seen it. I already know what happened."

Of course, the woman was startled.

From what she knew, Lord Marsius had stayed in the Third Sky throughout.

It should be impossible for him to know what happened in the First Sky—but she didn’t dare to question it. If he said that he had already known what had happened with the Lesser Angel, then he knew.

No question about it.

"Look at the painting," Lord Marsius said, gesturing toward the curving painting before him. "What do you see?"

"Hm?" the woman tilted her head up a little, and then stared at the mysterious painting. "I... I see swirling and shifting clouds of darkness. I see emptiness that could not be breached. A mystery that I cannot see."

A small smile curled on Lord Marsius’ lips behind the mask.

Somewhat pleased with her answer.

"The Great Oracle Sibylla has foreseen ten world-ending Gates, and allowed mankind to still survive until the present day," Lord Marsius said as he stood up and approached the painting, only stopping about five steps away from it. "Around two years ago, she had foreseen another one coming out way.

"But this eleventh vision was different. Much more obscure."

Even though the woman was confused, she listened to Lord Marsius attentively.

One could only really understand the world if they listened, and that’s what she did.

"The Lower Olympus extracted this obscure vision through a Demigod of Morpheus, the God of Dreams—and then infused it into five identical paintings." Lord Marsius tilted his head up to look at the painting before him, eyes narrowing. "And this is one of them. The stronger one becomes, the deeper they could stare through the darkness."

"W-What..." the woman stuttered. "What do you see, Lord Marsius?"

Lord Marsius didn’t answer.

And the silence that stretched between him and the woman wasn’t empty.

It was occupied by the weight of the painting before them, by the shifting clouds of darkness that churned within its golden frame like a captured storm. To the woman, it was a complete canvas of cloudy darkness.

A beautiful yet unsettling mystery in its motion.

But to Lord Marsius, the darkness was beginning to part.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the swirling black clouds shifted to the side, revealing an even paler darkness beneath. It was a subtle change, one that would have gone unnoticed—by any other eye, but he saw it.

He had always seen more than most, yet even his sight could only pierce so deep.

Lord Marsius was one of the few who knew that this eleventh vision had struck Great Oracle Sibylla with such a force that she had fallen into a comatose state for more than a month. Her body was locked in a prison of shock, fear, and something unknown.

Her waking had been nothing short of a miracle.

It had taken the full might of a Demigod of Asclepius, the God of Healing, alongside a host of powerful Supernals bearing the same Patron God, to drag her back from the edge of the abyss. Only then had she been able to speak, to whisper fragments of what she had seen.

Something terrible was coming.

Something that mankind has never seen before.

None of her previous visions had caused her to be reduced to this state—the worst had only cost her a mild dizziness that faded within the hour. But this eleventh vision had nearly killed her for good, and that alone told the weight of this situation.

Lord Marsius wasn’t surprised that he couldn’t see much of what the vision contained.

But he did see something forming in the painting.

At the upper edge of the painting, where the clouds of swirling darkness had parted, a pair of small black eyes stared back at him. They were not large nor burn with power. They were very small, cold, and utterly without emotion, outlined by the lighter darkness behind them like a specter stepped out of a void.

They were the eyes of an entity descending from some place.

An entity of catastrophe who had come to look down upon the world with detachment.

Look down upon the world with the detached, unblinking gaze of something that had already decided its fate. Lord Marsius stared into those eyes, and for the very first time in a very long while, he felt the faintest tremor of unease and fear stir in the depths of his chest.

He did not look away. He could not.

It was almost like the eyes held him, as if they had been waiting for someone to notice.

As if they had always been watching.

Lord Marsius blinked his eyes, and the painting pulsed once, visibly only to his eyes, and the almost imperceptible shift in the darkness happened. The clouds closed around his eyes once more, and the strain that had seized him from trying to see through the painting disappeared.

But even then, the image lingered in his mind.

Seared into his memory like a brand.

Whatever the Great Oracle Sibylla had seen was not a matter of if. It was a matter of when.

And those cold, small eyes were the center of it all.

"If the painting didn’t show anything to you—then best for you not to know anything." Lord Marsius said as he finally looked over his shoulder and turned around to face the woman. "It is for your own good."

"I’m grateful for your consideration." The woman bowed again.

"Now... I’m sure you wanted to ask me how to proceed with the Lesser Angel."

"Yes. We are running out of options, and if we don’t kill him soon, then His reputation would be scarred."

"Your thinking is too narrow."

Slowly, Lord Masius went back to the square-shaped marble seat. He sat back down—and let out an exhale through his mouth, as if he finally sat down after standing up for the entire day. "I have seen the tournament. I have seen how he fought, and you best believe that he is most certainly not a Supernal of Moros."

"Hm?" The woman turned—and frowned. "His bloodline had been checked recently, and the method used was accurate. I don’t think anyone could trick the process."

"Then you must not have seen anyone capable. Yes—the method is airtight. It would be hard for anyone to cheat it, but it was not without its flaws. He has his own secrets. And I’m starting to think that perhaps encountering him was fate."

"Should we extract his blood and check for his real Patron God?"

"He can cheat the well-known process used by a representative of the Lower Olympus. What makes you think he won’t be able to cheat ours?"

"T-Then... What should we do?"

"You’re worried that His reputation would be tainted because a mere Lesser Angel managed to harm what’s His and came out unharmed, correct?" Lord Marsius cast a glance, and then a smile crept to his face. "Then control the narrative. No need to kill the Lesser Angel. After all, he had proven himself as a capable Supernal."

For a second, the woman paused.

She stared into Lord Marsius’ eyes, trying to understand what he meant.

"You mean..."

"Yes. A catastrophe is coming, and we need to gather as much food as we can."

"I understand." The woman bowed. "If you will excuse me, I shall take my leave and begin the necessary preparations."

"Go." Lord Marsius waved his hand dismissively before the woman walked out of the temple.

But when she reached the exit, Lord Marsius’ voice rang again.

"Oh, and Dinda..."

"Yes, Lord Marsius?"

"Kill that incompetent student, will you? He might blab unnecessary things to the Chancellor, and we don’t want that."

"Yes. I’ll do it right away."

...

Back in Eventide Academy’s territory.

Inside a narrow—and dark alley, a figure lay crumpled against the cold stone, face pressed to the ground, motionless. Then, a twitch. His fingers curled against the stone as he sucked in a deep breath before it turned into a low groan.

Ragnar blinked and pushed himself up.

He looked around and realized what had happened.

"Fucking bitch. She lied to me."

Ragnar staggered out of the alley, keeping to the shadows as he moved.

He made his way out of the academy grounds and then straight to the Aerial Stable.

Once he arrived, he quickly mounted a Pegasus and shot into the sky, the beast’s wings cutting through the cold night air. The stars were sharp above him, but he had no time to admire their beauty.

Each beat of the Pegasus’ wings carried him further from the academy.

Perhaps it was paranoia that made him move, but he knew the danger of his situation.

If he couldn’t find someone to shelter him, then he’d die.

So, he ran to the only person left who could protect him—the third-year’s Red Prince.

Soon, the cultivated cloud came into view, a pale expanse reserved for the third-years.

He landed near the frozen lake and moved on foot, the crunch of snow beneath his boots the only sound. The air was colder here, thick with an unnatural stillness. He scanned the shore, searching for any sign of life.

Near the frozen forest across the lake, he spotted a cave.

And within that cave, he sensed it—a Star Beast.

Ragnar froze.

His instincts screamed at him to turn, to leave silently, but before he could move, something snagged his leg. He lurched forward—eyes flying wide as he saw the crack in the ground beneath him.

A deep fissure that had been hidden by the snow.

His hands clawed at the air, desperate for a hold, but there was nothing.

The ground gave way, and he fell into the depths.