CHAPTER 50: HALL OF ETERNALS

The Pantheon existed in a space between worlds, where time moved like honey and reality bent to the will of its divine inhabitants.

Here, in the Hall of Eternals, two ancient powers sat across from each other at a table forged from compressed starlight, their conversation carrying the weight of eons.

Draven appeared in his true form here, no longer the frail old man who had greeted Jack in that pastoral meadow. His frame was massive, corded with muscle that spoke of divine authority.

Lightning crackled constantly around his form, not the controlled energy of a blessing but the raw, untamed power of storms given consciousness. His hair was white as fresh snow, his beard flowed like cascading thunder, and his eyes held the depth of tempests.

Across from him, the God of Death had shed his theatrical shopkeeper persona. Here, he was death incarnate in all his terrible glory. He was not so friendly anymore.

Shadows writhed around him like living things, and when he breathed, frost formed in the air. Yet despite his fearsome appearance, he tapped one skeletal finger on the table with obvious concern.

"So," Death said, his voice carrying the weight of eternity, "you’ve set the boy on the path. Are you certain this is wise?"

He paused, studying Draven’s face with eyes like burning coals. "His potential... it’s unlike anything I’ve seen in a mortal. The way he channeled your power, survived what should have killed him instantly..."

Draven’s response came with a rumble of distant thunder. "Did you expect something different? He faced down Spiralus without hesitation the moment his family was threatened. He descended into your Spire knowing full well he might die. The boy chooses courage over safety every time."

Lightning danced more intensely around the Storm God’s form as his agitation grew.

Death leaned forward, his armor creaking like the gates of the underworld. "That’s exactly what concerns me. His raw power output defies every natural law. No mortal should be able to channel divine energy on that scale. It suggests..."

The God of Death’s voice grew dangerously quiet. "It suggests he’s not entirely mortal."

The temperature in the Hall dropped perceptibly. Both gods understood the implications of such a statement. If Jack possessed some fragment of divine essence, if there was more to his nature than appeared...

"He destroyed a disaster-class dragon with a single strike," Draven said quietly. "Not through technique or strategy, but through pure, overwhelming force channeled by righteous fury. The power I gave him should have reduced him to ash."

He gestured, and images appeared in the air between them. "Look at how he fights. The tactical thinking, the way he adapts to impossible situations, the absolute refusal to yield even when outmatched."

The images shifted, showing Jack’s confrontation with Spiralus, his venture into the Tartarus Spire, his various dungeon expeditions. Both gods watched in silence as he navigated challenges that had broken legendary heroes.

"The mortals don’t understand what they’re dealing with," Draven said, his voice heavy with concern. "They see a powerful chosen one, someone to be controlled and directed. They have no idea how dangerous their games could become."

"His growth rate is unprecedented," Death agreed grimly. "Most chosen ones spend years before they’re able to chant. This boy advances in days what others achieve in years. There’s something different about him."

The air in the Hall grew heavy with unspoken concerns. Both gods had witnessed the rise and fall of countless heroes, the corruption of noble souls, and the terrible consequences when power was misused.

"The political situation is deteriorating rapidly," Death continued. "Multiple kingdoms want him for themselves. Religious cults are forming around his legend. The crown grows more desperate to maintain control with each passing day."

"And desperate people make catastrophic decisions," Draven concluded, lightning coiling around him like agitated serpents.

"Exactly." The God of Death stood, his massive frame casting shadows that seemed to swallow light itself. "If they push him too far, if they try to break his spirit..."

"The consequences could extend far beyond the mortal realm," Draven finished grimly. "Power like his, unleashed without restraint or purpose..."

Both gods fell silent, contemplating scenarios neither wanted to voice aloud. They had seen what happened when beings of immense power lost themselves to rage or despair. Continents had been shattered. Entire species had been wiped from existence.

"There’s another concern," Death said finally, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "If he continues to grow in power, if he keeps breaking through what should be mortal limitations... others will take notice."

Draven’s eyes narrowed. "You mean the Old Powers."

"The ones who came before us. The ones who still watch from the spaces between reality." Death’s voice carried a chill that made even the Hall of Eternals feel cold. "If they sense something that threatens the cosmic order..."

The implications hung between them like a blade balanced on its edge. The Old Powers had little patience for disruption, and even less mercy for those who caused it.

"We need to guide him carefully," Draven said, rising from his chair. Lightning coiled around him with increasing intensity. "The Spire will help. It will force him to grow stronger gradually, to learn control through necessity. But if the humans continue to treat him as a prisoner..."

"They will," Death said with grim certainty. "The pressure from other kingdoms, the fear of his potential, the simple human need to control what they don’t understand. They’ll tighten the cage until something breaks."

"And when it does?"

The God of Death’s laugh was like the sound of tombstones falling. "Then we’ll all discover just how much divine essence flows in that boy’s veins. And whether the mortal realm can survive the revelation."

Both gods stared into the swirling images of Jack’s adventures, watching a young man who had no idea of the cosmic forces gathering around him like storm clouds.

"He deserves better than what’s coming," Draven said quietly.

"Heroes usually do," Death replied. "That’s what makes them heroes. And what makes their stories so tragic."

The Hall of Eternals fell silent except for the distant rumble of thunder and the whisper of shadows, two ancient powers watching over a mortal who might be far more than he appeared.

---

Meanwhile, in the depths of the Void...

In a realm that existed between existence and nothingness, where the very concept of reality grew thin and fragile, something ancient stirred in its eternal prison.

The God of Time had been bound here for millennia, his consciousness scattered across temporal fragments like broken glass reflecting a shattered mirror. His prison was not made of bars or chains, but of paradox itself.

He existed in all moments and no moments, experiencing past and future simultaneously while being denied the present.

But something had changed.

A ripple in the cosmic fabric, so subtle that even the other gods had missed it. A familiar resonance that spoke of power he had thought lost forever. The God of Time’s countless eyes bleeding through the cracks suddenly focused with terrible intensity.

"Impossible!"

The word echoed through temporal dimensions, causing reality to stutter and skip like a damaged recording. Stars aged years in moments, then reversed to their youth. Civilizations rose and fell in heartbeats before rewinding to their origins.

He cannot have returned. I made certain. I devoured the essence, scattered the power, bound the soul to endless cycles of mortality.

The God of Time pressed against his prison’s boundaries, feeling them strain under his desperate fury. Cracks appeared in the void, hairline fractures that leaked poisonous time into the spaces between worlds.

Shockwaves were sent through eternity. The prophecy that had driven the God of Time to such desperate measures in the first place spoke of a child who would surpass the father, who would reshape the very foundations of existence.

He had tried to prevent it by consuming his offspring, by ensuring they could never fulfill their destined roles.

The God of Time could sense it across the dimensional barriers. Someone had awakened their power and shattered boundaries. It was subtle and gradual, like watching a star ignite from cosmic dust. But it was unmistakable.

The God of Time’s laughter was the sound of centuries collapsing, of timelines being erased and rewritten.

With tremendous effort, the God of Time gathered his scattered consciousness, pulling fragments of his awareness from across the temporal spectrum.

The prison held, but barely. Each focused thought sent new cracks spiraling through the void.

---

Back in the Hall of Eternals...

Draven suddenly stiffened, lightning crackling more violently around his form. His head turned toward the distant void, divine senses picking up the faintest echo of temporal disturbance.

"What is it?" Death asked, noting his brother’s alarm.

"I thought i heard a crack somewhere." Draven said grimly.

Both gods fell silent again, the weight of impossible choices pressing down on them.

The images floating between them shifted one final time, showing Jack asleep in his palatial prison, unaware of the cosmic forces gathering around him like storm clouds.

"Guard him well, brother," Death said softly. "The next few months will determine the fate of more than just one mortal realm."

Draven nodded, his form beginning to fade as he prepared to return his attention to the mortal world. "And pray that when he learns the truth, he forgives us for the burden we’ve placed on his shoulders."

The Hall of Eternals emptied, leaving only echoes of thunder and shadows, while across dimensions and realities, ancient powers prepared for a confrontation that had been millennia in the making.