The halls of Asgard shook with argument.
Odin sat on his obsidian throne, the All-Father's single eye glowing with fury as voices clashed like thunder all around him. Golden banners snapped above the thrones of war gods and forgotten kings, and at the heart of it all was the girl—Hope—and the tremor of power she had awakened.
"She will unravel the branches of Yggdrasil itself," growled Tyr, his metal arm clenched around the hilt of his sword. "This child—this thing—threatens all order!"
"You speak of war when you should speak of wisdom," countered Frigga, stepping forward. Her voice carried across the great hall, smooth as winter wind. "Have we forgotten what happened the last time we hunted a child of prophecy?"
A hush fell.
Even the younger gods—Magni, Modi, and Vidar—looked away. The memory of Ragnarok's first sparks haunted them all.
Odin finally raised his hand, and the hall obeyed.
"Zeus has acted without counsel," he said, low and steady. "He treats this war as if it belongs only to Olympus. But the girl's power touches every realm. If the Energy of Gods is real, and if it has chosen to awaken—then she is beyond Olympus. Beyond Asgard. She is a threat to the fabric of divinity."
He turned, slowly, to a figure cloaked in black, seated in the shadows behind the other thrones.
"What say you, Darkseid?"
The room tensed.
The god of tyranny leaned forward, red eyes smoldering like furnaces. He did not rise. He did not need to. His presence darkened the air itself.
"I say let the Pantheon War begin," he murmured, voice deep and deliberate. "Let the gods of old burn. And when only one remains... the girl will kneel."
Meanwhile, in the Veil...
Hope stood in a garden of her own making.
She had imagined it only an hour ago, and now it lived—flowers glowing with pale light, trees bending with whispers, sky soft and shifting. The Veil obeyed her thoughts now, shaping itself around her presence.
"This place," she whispered, reaching out to touch a floating blossom. "It's listening."
Her voice carried through the roots of the realm, and the realm answered—not with words, but with warmth. A pulse of light echoed from her chest, and the air shimmered.
Suddenly, the garden dimmed. Shadows flickered between trees.
Hope turned slowly, feeling it—something ancient was near. Not a god. Not a mortal. But something in between.
"You've touched something you do not understand."
The voice was low. Hollow. Familiar and unfamiliar all at once.
From the shadow stepped a woman—tall, regal, her face carved with grace and danger. Her eyes were silver, and her hair flowed like ink through water.
She wore no armor. She needed none.
"Who are you?" Hope asked.
"A memory," the woman said. "A ghost of the first war. I was the first to hold your power. Long before your gods were born."
Hope's breath caught.
"That's not possible. My father said—"
"Your father doesn't know everything," the woman whispered. "The Energy of Gods is older than the gods. Older than creation. It doesn't belong to them. It never did."
She stepped closer. Hope didn't retreat—but she felt her knees lock, her fingers tighten.
"You're afraid," the woman said. "Good. Fear means you're still you. But soon, they will tear you apart to claim what's inside you."
"I have Sarive," Hope said, voice small but fierce. "I have Diana."
The woman tilted her head.
"Then pray they stay alive long enough."
She vanished into mist.
And the garden wilted.
Elsewhere, on a fragment of the Veil...
Sarive sparred alone in the starlit ruins, fists crashing against stone pillars, each strike echoing with a strength that bent gravity. He didn't speak. He didn't slow.
Diana watched from above, arms folded. She knew the signs. He was preparing for something worse than battle—he was preparing to fail.
"You're not a god," she said. "But you're not alone either."
Sarive stopped. His chest rose and fell, his hands scorched from training.
"I saw what Zeus was willing to do," he said. "That was just the beginning."
"I've fought gods all my life," Diana said. "Not one of them had what you have."
He looked up. "What's that?"
"Hope."
She smiled, faintly. "And someone worth fighting for."
In the forgotten prison-realm of Oblivion...
A tomb cracked.
Chains forged from the first stars shattered.
Eyes opened—eyes that saw through time, through death, through gods themselves.
"The child has awakened."
The being stood.
"Then so shall I."