Trickery. Pure trickery.
Moments later, Samael's face darkened. Muttering curses, he grabbed the owl with malicious intent, scanning the ground for a skewer and firewood—fully prepared to roast the damn bird.
Who would've thought that after all these years, Athena would team up with Themis to set him up, even using illegal methods to gather evidence against him?
Unfortunately for them, the Original Sin Serpent was still the craftier one.
By invoking such sound arguments as "illegally obtained evidence is inadmissible," "presumption of innocence," and "the victim's family is emotionally stable," Themis—bound by the principles of procedural justice—was ultimately forced to concede. She had no choice but to declare that the instigator, due to insufficient evidence, was acquitted of all charges.
Still, focusing too rigidly on procedural justice can be constraining. It lets too many criminals slip away unpunished.
Ah, Themis… she's far too honest for her own good. No wonder she gets pushed around so easily. Always makes me worry.
Maybe next time, I should propose a new discussion—something about "upholding procedural justice while ensuring substantive justice."
Yes. That sounds excellent.
All for the sake of Justice!
Samael solemnly envisioned a pair of grand, gleaming "Justices" in his mind, nodding with righteous conviction.
At that moment, the owl in his grasp seized the chance while he was distracted. It wriggled free, spread its wings, and fled toward the open night sky.
Damn it. The meal just flew off my plate.
Samael sighed heavily, watching the white owl vanish beyond the walls.
Guess I'll just go have a proper dinner instead.
...
Moonlight gathered over the distant forest, drawn by some unseen force, before slowly dispersing once the divine projection faded.
Murmuring to himself, the Ancient Serpent turned his head toward the city's edge. Heat stirred in his chest, and with a silent leap, he vaulted over the high wall, slipping like a shadow into the night.
That "Big Sister" still owed him a cat-petting session.
He'd lingered here earlier only because Atalanta was performing her offering to Artemis, reporting the results of the Calydonian Hunt.
And since that Goddess of the Forest happened to be an old acquaintance, getting recognized might've been awkward. Best to stay out of sight.
But now that the ritual was over, nothing stood between him and his feline ambitions.
If he remembered correctly, after such a sacrifice, the Huntress would craft the Calydonian Boar's hide into the "Divine Beast's Cloak" and bestow it upon Atalanta—allowing her to further absorb the primal power of nature embedded within.
And, if rumors were true, the boar's hide also had... breast-enhancing properties.
Splendid. Absolutely splendid.
Feeling rather pleased with himself, the Ancient Serpent hummed a tune and strode into the dark.
...
Meanwhile, the revelry in Calydon raged on. The heroes who had slain two royal relatives bore not the slightest hint of guilt. They drank and feasted without restraint, basking in the glory they had earned with blood and steel.
Yet, some less sociable figures had already slipped away, wandering elsewhere in the quiet city.
Upon the ramparts, a towering figure—broad as a giant—walked along the walls, drinking from a jug. Hearing the beat of wings, he glanced up at a snow-white owl gliding across the night sky. A flicker of brilliant color stirred in his dim gray eyes.
Within the palace, the halls were silent and cold. Most of the servants and guards had joined the city's festivities, leaving the corridors empty.
Prince Meleager moved swiftly through the deserted halls, his footsteps light as he reached the royal bedchamber. Gently, he pushed the door open.
"Father, how is Mother?"
"She just fell asleep," the King of Calydon whispered, lowering his wife's arm. "But in her dreams, she keeps calling for her brothers... and for you."
"For me?"
"Yes. Their deaths have struck her deeply. You're the only one she can depend on now."
The old king nodded slightly, his brows knitting as he recalled some of his wife's strange murmurs in her sleep—ramblings about their son that made him uneasy.
For some reason, her tone hadn't sounded like a mother's simple longing. Beneath it lingered guilt... regret... and something that felt dangerously close to resentment.
"Father, please rest. Let me keep Mother company for a while."
Prince Meleager gently helped the old king up, then sat by the bedside. Taking his mother's slightly pale hand in his own, he patted it softly in comfort.
Resentment? That can't be right. I must've misheard.
Standing behind his son, the old king watched the warm scene and slowly shook his head.
After settling the affair of the Calydonian Boar, a sense of relief washed over him—followed swiftly by the fatigue that came with age.
He took a few steps, and already his breathing grew heavy. Looking down at his round belly, he gave a helpless, bitter smile.
So it's true... I really am getting old. Best to pass the throne to this child sooner rather than later.
He had ended the kingdom's calamity and earned the love of the people. He had proven himself worthy of the crown—and would surely rule better than his father ever did.
In the vast, quiet palace, the light of the swaying lamps stretched the shadows of the three figures, their silhouettes merging at the top—intertwined as one, without a single gap between them.
...
CRACK!
A thunderclap split the night sky, lightning branching like a tree across the heavens, spreading for hundreds of miles in an instant.
The towering, solemn outline of Olympus was illuminated, revealing the jagged contours of its mountain peaks.
At that same moment, within the temple atop the sacred mountain, a figure who had been resting his chin on his hand, half-asleep upon the throne, suddenly jolted awake.
A faint sense of dread made his heart pound. Trusting his instincts, he took a torch from the sacred flame, opened the hidden door behind the great hall, and descended deep into the mountain's heart.
Here, the black stone walls arched overhead like a vast dome. Crystals embedded within gleamed like starlight, their shifting glow filling the darkness with an otherworldly beauty.
From afar, the intricate lights resembled countless spindles spinning in the void, their threads of brilliance drawn from the stars above—interweaving, merging, forming a great, shimmering web.
Each thread was tied to a name. Each constellation marked a stage and a story.
Standing at the center of the chamber, Zeus raised his torch high, his gaze fixed on one abnormally bright and thick thread. He reached toward it—and the instant his fingers brushed its light, a surge of information flooded into his mind. His pupils contracted sharply.
This... impossible!
He remembered clearly. That name—by now—should have died on earth, its destiny already severed and returned to the heavens.
Meleager... Meleager...
What could have freed you from your destined end?
What force could have unraveled the pattern woven by Fate itself?
Zeus muttered under his breath, his face darkening as he frowned in disbelief.
My plan cannot fail. It should not fail.
So where did it go wrong?
The God-King lifted his gaze toward the vast tapestry of stars—the great weave that bound together the fates of Greece and its gods. His divine fingers traced the glowing lines again and again, but no answer revealed itself.
No... there's little time left. I'll find out myself!
Zeus's eyes flashed with cold determination. His expression hardened—and in the next moment, his body dissolved into lightning.
A blinding bolt split through the clouds above Olympus, tearing across the night sky, racing straight toward Mount Caucasus.