This time, there’s no gradual descent into a sea of mists to gently guide me toward emerald fields.

  Shelves sprout around me like trees, unfurling from a single point in my vision until I’m submerged in a forest of ink and paper. Here, the leaves are white and etched with letters in every language—both those known to humanity and those lost or never discovered. The infinite library stretches endlessly in all directions, without walls, only staircases, spires, and shadows held at bay by the flicker of candlelight.

  My presence is less than a droplet in an ocean, a faint trace of blood dissolving in a rushing jungle river. Insignificant.

  But it doesn’t matter.

  She’s coming.

  I run—or rather, I drift. In this divine realm, the simple act of existing elevates me beyond human limitations. I channel all my will into gliding across the smooth floor, merging with the shadows that shroud this place. The flickering lights seem to follow my movements, leaving swaths of books and scrolls in darkness as I navigate the labyrinth. I slip into a corner that feels concealed enough, cloaked by the endless pages and towering spires.

  But, of course, it doesn’t last.

  The shadows ripple and twist ahead, and then she emerges—a figure of pure darkness, cloaked in an unnatural, fluid motion. A stark-white mask shaped like an owl’s face gleams faintly in the dim light. Her form contorts and shifts, not like flesh or fur but like mist caught in an unseen wind. She bends, stretches, and reforms with no regard for the rules of nature or reason.

  She stops not far from me, her voice like a whispered breath through the leaves.

  “I know where you are,” the goddess murmurs. “Come out now, and I shall forgive this transgression.”

  I might be dumb, but I’m not that stupid.

  “As you wish,” Athena mutters.

  Her presence floods the library, a suffocating weight that presses in from all sides. I cling to the shadows, holding my breath, willing myself invisible. Light and darkness are meaningless to her; I know this. So, I crawl into the hollow center of what appears to be a spire, its walls lined with scrolls. Hundreds of them. Perhaps they will buy me a moment's reprieve.

  But her presence looms closer, closer still—like a warm breath on the nape of my neck. Time fractures under the weight of her approach, and I make my choice.

  If there was a way in, there must be a way out.

  I focus, reaching for the sliver of divinity buried deep within me—a hook anchored to the very core of my being. When I feel it, the familiar flutter of butterflies in my chest, I pull.

  What happens next defies language. My body unravels, shifting beyond the physical, and for a moment, I’m caught in a storm of motion. I am held, then hurled, spinning through the air before landing hard on my back. The impact knocks the wind from me, and I feel dust scatter around my prone form.

  I’m on a table now, on the library’s highest level. Above me, there is no ceiling—only the heavens themselves.

  The celestial vault stretches above, not like the night sky, but something more. My eyes pierce its depths, glimpsing layers of motion and detail too vast and intricate to comprehend. The image overwhelms me, and I force myself to look away.

  Below the constellations, dividing infinity, is a simple perch—a bird’s resting place. And below that, looming over me, is the library’s master.

  “That was… hmmm… clever,” Athena hums, her piercing, bottomless gaze absorbing the entirety of my soul.

  “How did I do?” I manage, still gasping for breath.

  “Quite well, actually. Though you would have done better to stay hidden. Metaphysical displacement isn’t any different from simply running away as long as your opponent can perceive it.”

  Her voice is even, but her attention is elsewhere. One cold hand cups my chin, tilting my head to the side as her eyes study me. She’s not looking at me, not exactly. She’s searching, dissecting thoughts and questions I can’t begin to fathom. But there’s something else—an emotion she doesn’t bother to conceal, or maybe she’s too distracted to.

  Excitement.

  “Did you… really not know where I was?” I ask, hesitantly.

  “It wouldn’t have been a fair game if I didn’t close my eyes for a bit, would it?” She pauses, her brow furrowing in thought. “Light traveling via particle-wave duality… unlikely, but not illogical. Bifrost-like, two-end activation for a divine gate… fascinating.”

  She chuckles softly, her voice unexpectedly warm, and the corners of her lips curl into a smile, far more honest that any gesture I’ve even seen from her. It’s elegant, still mindful and disciplined. But for Athena? Such a raw display of pure, thoughtless emotion is rare.

  “Emmm… Athena?”

  “Oh, but of course.” She straightens, calmness and stone-cold composure sliding back into place like a well-fitted coat. “Jaune,” she begins, her tone now regal and measured. “I do believe you shouldn’t be here today.”

  “I know,” I admit, finally sitting up on the edge of her desk. “But I have so many questions, and I feel like you might be the only one who can answer them.”

  One of her arms extends gracefully to pick a tome from a distant shelf. Without her uttering a word, the book drifts to a nearby table, opening itself, pages turning slowly. She nods toward me, signaling me to continue.

  “You… just want me to try doing that again, don’t you?”

  Her cheeks flush ever so slightly—a reaction so subtle it might have gone unnoticed if I weren’t watching her so intently.

  “Well,” she concedes, clearing her throat, “if it wouldn’t be too demanding… I do admit your actions are far more engaging than your chosen topics.”

  I take a deep breath, weighing my next words carefully. “Let’s make a deal.”

  “A deal?” she repeats, her tone laced with both amusement and mild offense.

  “Yes, a deal,” I say firmly. “I’ll try to do it again. After that, you answer my questions. Real answers, Athena. Not vague riddles or leading me toward the ‘right path’ kind of wisdom. Straight answers.”

  “You presume much, Jaune,” she says softly, almost playfully. “But I must admit… you’ve piqued my curiosity. Do grant me a moment.”

  She draws the book closer, flipping through its pages with practiced ease. As her eyes scan the text, her free hand traces runes in the air, each symbol lingering briefly before settling into place around the table where I sit. The marks coalesce into an intricate arrangement, glowing softly with white light as the air grows dense with a faint hum.

  Understanding none of it, I watch in silence, feeling like a child staring at a mathematician’s equations. Athena steps back, her gaze expectant.

  “Well,” she says, gesturing toward the circle, “let’s see what you can do.”

  I nod, closing my eyes to focus. My thoughts drift far away, latching onto something both tantalizing and forbidden: the memory of inebriating lips, a touch that lingers, the soft curves of warmth and desire. The connection feels natural, as if answering a silent call, and I let it guide me.

  A heartbeat later, I blink—and promptly smash my face into what feels like an invisible wall. The force knocks me back, and I land on my ass.

  Athena doesn’t immediately help me up. Instead, she drags me out of the circle absently. A flick of her hand summons a glowing projection of the moment, replaying it from multiple angles. I watch as she analyzes the scene, tilting her head slightly while I flail like a fly caught in a glass jar.

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  “So interesting…” she murmurs. “I’ll need to conduct tests on humans—see if this is unique to your Semblance...”

  “Can we… skip to the questions now?” I groan, rubbing my aching face.

  Reluctantly, she snaps her fingers, dispelling the glowing runes. “Fine,” she says, her voice tinged with disappointment. “But let’s be clear—I can only answer within the bounds of your species' knowledge. Anything beyond that risks… complications.”

  I nod, sitting cross-legged on the floor as I gather my thoughts. “Athena… you’re incredibly powerful.”

  She tilts her head, confused. “Thank you?”

  “More powerful than Aphrodite?”

  “Yes.”

  “More powerful than Artemis?”

  Her expression hardens, the playful air vanishing as her brow furrows. “Yes. Has your intervention in Aphrodite’s erosion sparked some sort of fascination with these meaningless comparisons?”

  “I just…” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “I want to understand what’s happening to her.”

  There’s a long pause. Then she blinks, and the world shifts.

  Suddenly, the air fills with the sound of flapping wings. I blink, disoriented, and find myself standing in a place I’ve never seen before. The walls rise high, hewn from dark stone and adorned with crimson banners bearing an ursa’s snarling head and claw marks. The symbol of the White Fang.

  Athena strides forward without a word and I follow, compelled to keep up as the immense halls stretch around us. Hundreds of torches flicker along the walls, casting shadows that dance like restless spirits.

  We enter the fortress's heart: a grand chamber where a thick carpet, its edges trimmed with gold, stretches toward a towering throne. Sitting upon it is a woman—a Faunus. Her figure is poised, her voice echoing as she addresses the hundred masked figures kneeling before her in solemn reverence.

  None of them acknowledge us. Their silence is absolute, their devotion impenetrable. And in the stillness of their disregard, something catches my eye.

  The masks. Every single one bears the same mark: a pair of small, deer-like antlers etched into the foreheads. Even the ornate crown atop their leader’s head carries the same unmistakable symbol.

  Before I can form a question, the stillness erupts. The woman’s voice crescendos, transforming into a chant, a tribal song of roar and fire. It’s soon joined by the voices of her followers, rising like a storm. Drums thunder from unseen corners, their rhythm primal, their vibrations coursing through the stone. The air thickens with energy—a volatile mix of war cries and anguished pleas, raw and unrestrained.

  The room comes alive with a force beyond mere sound. It’s an emotional current so potent it almost knocks me off my feet. And in that moment, I feel it—something ancient, something primal.

  Artemis is here.

  Her presence, even if not physical, isn’t subtle or distant. It’s visceral, immediate, and undeniable. A wildfire burning in the heart of the room, roaring to life through the screams of those who call out to her. The energy doesn’t just touch her essence; it amplifies it, shaping it into something unrelenting and raw.

  This isn’t the Artemis of quiet hunts or measured observation. This is the Avenger of the Silver Moon.

  She is vengeance incarnate—a force that cannot be reasoned with or tempered, a ghost bound by the blood and pain of those who have been born as lesser. Their cries, their agony, their desperate pleas—they are the fuel to her fire. In her essence, there is no room for empathy or compromise. Only a promise of retribution and the rebirth that follows when the land is soaked with blood.

  And then, her gaze turns to us.

  Before her focus can fully settle, Athena acts. Enfolded in her cloak and the sheltering sweep of her wing, I am pulled away. The air shifts, and the throne room dissolves into the comforting shadows of her library. I fall to my knees, gasping for breath, my heart pounding against my ribs.

  “Since when…?” I manage between deep, shaking inhalations.

  “Since forever,” Athena replies, her voice calm, detached.

  “But… it hasn’t.”

  “True,” she says, tilting her head, her tone almost contemplative. “But soon, none shall remember that. And once every soul in the White Fang believes she has always been part of their journey, it shall become the truth. And she barely had to twist her domain for it to fit… Impressive, I must admit.”

  I force myself to stand. “And what about you?” I ask, unsure of the answer I want.

  “Oh, Jaune. I am much above such petty squabbles.”

  Above us, the starry expanse of the library’s celestial dome comes alive. The images shift and flicker—not of a single moment, but of countless days across the decade. A civilization of fire and bronze rises before my eyes, its people clawing their way skyward with unmatched determination. Each fragment of history is but a small choice—a spark of ingenuity here, a flash of illumination there. Yet together, these choices form an impossible chain, an unbroken thread of ambition and resilience.

  At the center of it all is Atlas.

  A living, thriving machine of progress. A city that moves with the precision of clockwork, grinding ever forward as if its very existence is the culmination of purpose itself. To push the limits of what can be done, and watch the world follow or be dragged forward.

  “Passion and conflict will lead your people down dangerous paths. And in those trials, they shall learn. There is no need for me to assemble cults or command followers.”

  Her gaze narrows slightly, and the faintest flicker of amusement dances in her tone. “Poseidon may claim dominion over the lands and seas, but he cannot command civilization without me. Knowledge is the only beast worth hunting, and I am its keeper. I am the architect of the human journey.”

  She pauses, her words hanging in the vast stillness of the library. “And by the time mankind reaches the stars, there shall be an owl in every library—Now and forever, until the last light burns out.”

  The magnitude of what she says is already overwhelming. But there’s only last question I need to ask. “And what about Pyrrha?”

  Athena’s gaze drifts from the celestial dome, her expression softening. She hesitates, and then—surprisingly—her form begins to change. The glow of divinity fades, and she steps toward me, her figure shrinking, becoming less imposing, less radiant. Less a goddess, and more... human.

  “Remarkable, isn’t she?” Athena says, “At first, I didn’t think I’d enjoy overseeing my uncles’ domain. But Olympus can be so dreadfully stale. Even I need to stretch my wings from time to time.”

  “But how did you—”

  Before I can finish, the answer begins to unfold before me.

  Her face isn’t the same anymore.

  “A recruiter,” she begins, her tone even, matter-of-fact. “A stranger wandering through a younglings’ academy, seeking talent among those too raw to realize their potential. An old Huntsman, arriving with the dawn and vanishing before nightfall, leaving only a few words of advice. A referee in an unfair match, standing up for the challenger when no one else would. A lifetime of strangers met and forgotten, each one nudging her gently toward the path she was meant to walk.”

  Her confession hits me like a tidal wave. My voice comes out uneven. “You... groomed her?”

  Athena freezes mid-step. “What?”

  I swallow hard. “What if she…” My words falter. “What if she only wanted to be a normal girl? What if she isn’t happy with how everything turned out?”

  “Oh, for the love of reason, Jaune.” Her tone is exasperated, layered with something else—something softer—disappointment. “We’ve been over this. I didn’t carve her destiny into stone. I laid out a road, yes. But no one—not even me—forced her to walk it to the very end.”

  Her piercing eyes lock onto mine, holding me in place. “You know as well as I do that if Pyrrha had been a ‘normal girl,’ she would have dreamed of being a hero. That’s what humans do—they long for what they think they’ve left behind. It’s an endless cycle of chasing the light and begging to be blind!”

  “But w—”

  I open my mouth to protest, to argue, but she cuts me off.

  “No.” Her voice is cold now, edged with a finality that sends a shiver down my spine. “I don’t have time to suffer the insults of a teenager who can’t see past his own desires.” She turns away, her presence growing heavier with every word.

  “Go. Return to my sister, keep chasing the unattainable concept of her supposed affection. Perhaps that will bring you some measure of happiness. Most likely it won’t. Either way, I’m done with this conversation.”

  And as Athena takes flight, everything around me crumbles.

  ?

  “Pup, finally! I almost thought you weren’t going to come… He-he, come.”

  The words barely register as I lay on the ground, struggling to orient myself. Being thrown across the divine realm like a leaf in a storm has left me feeling like a fish out of water, every ounce of strength focused on blinking away the dizziness. Yet even in this disoriented state, the sight before me is impossible to ignore.

  “Aphrodite…? What the… are you wearing?”

  The goddess, who usually radiates an effortless allure in her bare-skinned splendor, now stands before me in a set of obsidian-black armor. The plates are intricately crafted yet oppressively heavy, their design mimicking the flow of a dress but sacrificing elegance for weight. Every inch of her is encased, the armor covering her entirely from the neck down.

  It takes a moment for the details to settle in—the harsh glint of metal under unseen light, the edges that are neither sharp nor soft but calculatedly cold. And then I see them: the locks lining the sides.

  That’s not armor.

  It’s a “cage”.

  The goddess blushes deeply. “Oh… This thing? Just… A little gift from… my ex, to try and help with my… condition.”

  As usual, my eyes take their time climbing to Aphrodite’s face. When they do, I can’t miss the disheveled exhaustion etched into her features—an unusual look for someone who’s supposed to embody self-perfection.

  “Is everything okay? You look…” I hesitate, searching for the right words. “I mean, still hot, but…”

  “I know!” she groans, throwing her hands in the air as if I’d just confirmed her worst fears. With a melodramatic sigh, she steps back and collapses beside a small, stone-crafted pond, her armor clinking softly against the ground. “I’ve been working so hard, and nothing works! I just… I don’t feel like these humans want to believe in me, you know what I mean?”

  “Have you… tried talking to Artemis about it? I’ve heard she’s, uh, doing pretty well.”

  Her head snaps toward me. “Ugh! Please, don’t even mention that bitch. She’s been going around like she owns the place, telling everyone the Faunus will rise up in some great war for the last decade. A decade, Jaune! Where’s the racial war? Huh?”

  She sits up abruptly, arms crossing over her armored chest. “And don’t even get me started on the horns thing. Soooo cheap. I’m not putting a ribbon on my ass just so some hillbilly can figure out this is premium meat. They should know better.”

  “Okay, okay,” I say, raising my hands in surrender. “Why don’t we just… go back to the start? Show me what you’ve got.”

  Her expression brightens immediately, her usual mischievous grin returning. “Oh! I’ve been working on this amazing new thing—get this: ass-play doesn’t count as sex! Isn’t it genius? A whole wave of ‘virgins’ going crazy, doing whatever they want!”

  I blink, trying to process what I just heard. It’s honestly hard to argue with her when she’s so enthusiastic, but I have to make an effort. “Uh… any non-anal ideas?”

  She recoils, looking genuinely disappointed. “Well, if you have to know, I’ve also been working on this thing with bees. Trying to give them my personal touch, you know? Swap out the poison for something nicer. Get people in the mood for some fun.”

  “So they sting you, and it… makes you horny? Why… Why not just work with honey?”

  Her face twists into a pout, and she throws herself back dramatically against the grass. “Because honey always turns into drinks, and at that point, I might as well bend over and let Dionysus tell everyone he owns this kitty!”

  Trying to follow the logic—or lack thereof—there’s only one thing left on my mind. “How… how did you even manage to pull this off the first time?”

  “Oh, you should’ve been there! It was amazing.” She props herself up on her elbows, her expression shifting to one of nostalgic pride. “I just descended, let everyone know the deal, and then—poof!—off I went to do whatever I wanted. Easy peasy. None of this subtle guidance or proving my existence, if someone didn’t believe we’d usually just kill them.”

  Her tone grows more casual, almost dismissive. “Eh, I’ll probably just wait another decade or so until Mount Olympus reconnects with Earth or whatever. Yada-yada. It’ll work itself out.”

  “So… you don’t actually have a plan?”

  Aphrodite waves a hand lazily. “Jaune, sweetie, don’t worry so much about it. Besides, I didn’t call you here for work. I just wanted to talk to someone who thinks I’m cute.”

  I blink. “Wait… that’s why you summoned me?”

  “Well, duh,” she says, rolling her eyes like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re, like, the only guy who really cares about me. It’s refreshing. And you smell good, too. Like sweaty tits. Lots of fun at Beacon lately?”

  “Uh… yeah. Just Yang being Yang, you know. She’s… she’s just like that.”

  Aphrodite’s smirk deepens. “Yeaaah… just playing around, huh?” She sniffs the air mockingly. “Just remember to wash your teeth before you go to bed, I think her tongue might still be there.”

  I feel a bead of sweat roll down my neck, and I know I have to shift the conversation. “Anyway! I also met this robot girl today. She’s… well, it’s kind of complicated. She has the soul of her father or something like that. Team RWBY stuff.”

  Aphrodite leans closer, her expression shifting to a mix of confusion and intrigue. “A robot girl with her father’s soul? That’s… weird. Even for your crowd.” She taps her chin thoughtfully. “Although… I guess I can understand the appeal of making your own dolls. And maybe…”

  “Maybe?”

  She pauses, her eyes narrowing slightly as she bops her head to some inaudible rhythm. Then, with a sly grin, she bites her finger and dips it into the pond beside her. The water ripples, shifting to a soft, translucent pink, almost glowing under the light.

  Before I can ask what she’s doing, she gives me a calculating look—and kicks me straight into the pond.

  Except it’s not water. It clings to me, heavy and viscous, like pushing through a giant mass of jelly. By the time I surface, it feels like I’ve been dunked in spit. “What the hell was that for?!”

  Aphrodite leans back, laughing melodiously, her armor clinking. “For being too cute for your own good. But,” she adds, stretching luxuriously, “I really should get back to work. So be a good puppy and shoo, shoo.” She waves a dismissive hand.

  “Speaking of work… you think you could help me with something? You know… a little bit of something?”

  Her smile turns predatory, and she crooks a finger, pulling me closer as though the air itself obeys her command. Before I can react, she presses a small, teasing peck just below my ear.

  “If you really want my company that badly, next time, bring me a more… interesting scent.” Her voice drops into a sultry whisper. “I’m generous, Jaune, and oh-so patient, but even I’m getting tired of your dirty little teasing.”

  Before I can respond, she punctuates her words with a slow, deliberate lick across my cheek, leaving it wet and tingling. The shock freezes me in place, my breath caught in my throat.

  Then, everything fades.

  I jump awake, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding so loudly I can feel it reverberating in my skull.

  I need a cold shower.