Time is the only variable that cannot be fought, intimidated, or mathematically paused.
Exactly fifteen planetary cycles had passed since the sky shattered. Fifteen years since a mortal Commander had dragged the scattered, warring gods from their cosmic prison and forced them to build a sanctuary in the dirt.
The physical world was no longer a fragile experiment. It was a masterpiece.
Inside the primary study of Oakhaven, the heavy ironwood doors were closed. The entire pantheon was assembled. Silas stood silently in the corner, his silver eyes calm. Ignis hovered near the tactical table, his golden machinery humming with quiet satisfaction. Caspian sat near the hearth, gently rocking a sleeping baby Mira in his arms, the infant radiating a faint, soothing hydrostatic pulse.
Valeria and Kael stood at the head of the table.
They were not looking at a tactical crisis. They were looking at their children.
