Velkris - the Emperor Nocthar - was an existence the heavens themselves could not erase.
An immortal calamity.
A sovereign of ruin.
Zeus knew this better than anyone.
He had clashed with Velkris across burning skies and collapsing realms. Thunder against abyss. Divinity against annihilation. Yet no matter how much divine wrath he unleashed... it was never enough.
Velkris did not fall.
Velkris did not kneel.
Velkris did not bleed defeat.
He was unstoppable.
Zeus had exhausted every weapon, every seal, every divine law... all except one.
A forbidden rite.
A ritual that would seal Velkris away for eternity - but at the cost of Zeus' entire lifespan.
Not years.
Not centuries.
Everything.
And so... Zeus began.
Ancient sigils ignited beneath his feet, blazing with celestial fire. The heavens trembled as divine chains forged from pure life force spiraled into existence.
Velkris saw it.
For the first time - the Emperor Nocthar moved with urgency.
The under-realm cracked open as he surged forward, abyssal power roaring, intent on stopping the ritual before completion...
But he was too late.
The final incantation fell from Zeus' lips.
The chains snapped shut.
Reality itself groaned as Velkris was dragged backward - sealed, bound, and cast once more into the Under Realm.
Silence followed.
The ritual ended.
Zeus staggered.
Blood spilled from his lips as the divine light around him flickered and died. Yet... he smiled.
Soft. Relieved.
"Finally... it's all over."
From the ruins emerged his wife, Rosita, who had been hiding with their three triplet infants clutched to her chest. Tears streamed down her face as she ran to him.
"I-Is it finally over...?" she cried. "Will we finally know peace?"
Zeus looked at her - warmth still alive in his fading eyes.
"Yes... but knowing Velkris... he will not give up so easily."
His gaze shifted to the children.
His expression changed.
Resolved.
"It is time... I don't have much left."
Rosita's breath shattered.
"No... no, not now. You can't leave me... not like this..."
"I'm sorry," Zeus whispered weakly. "I know this was never the life you wanted for our children... but it is for the sake of the world. This power... it was never meant to die with me. It must be passed down."
Rosita trembled... then nodded through tears. "I know... Go on."
With the last of his strength, Zeus stretched out his hands. Divine energy gathered - ancient, sovereign, world-bearing power - and flowed into one of the three triplets.
As the transfer began, he spoke in an ancient tongue:
"Með blóði mínu og anda, gef ek þér kraft minn."
With my blood and spirit, I give you my strength.
Light erupted.
The ritual completed.
And with it...
Zeus' final breath vanished.
Rosita screamed - grief tearing from her soul as she held the child now bearing the inherited divinity.
She despised the Kael'Zareth more than anything in existence.
For this was its cruel law:
Once the power was passed on... the former wielder's body would not remain.
It would wither.
Fade.
Vaporize into nothingness.
And before her tear-filled eyes...
That was exactly what happened to Zeus.
The King of Gods dissolved into drifting particles of dying light - scattering into the wind... leaving nothing behind but silence, power... and destiny.
Of course, Rosita wasn't going to sit idly by. She had to erase everything—every trace of her past life—to protect her children. A new name, a new city, a new identity for them all. The years rolled by, and the triplets grew up, blissfully unaware of the storm swirling beneath their world. Rosita had shielded them from the truth—realms, demons, powers—they didn't need that burden. Not yet. But deep down, she knew it was only a matter of time before the secrets clawed their way into the open.
Vacation had ended. Ethan and Damien were lost in slumber, completely untouchable, while Dante—ever the anomaly—was already dressed, fed, and mentally plotting his day. He sat at the kitchen table, glasses perched, casually picking at his breakfast when he noticed the empty chairs.
"Dante," Rosita asked, voice laced with equal parts concern and exasperation, "where are your brothers? Did they forget what day it is?".
Dante barely glanced up, crunching into his toast. "Why should I care? If they fail, we all know whose fault it is."
Rosita groaned and called out sharply, her patience fraying. "ETHAN! DAMIEN! DOWN HERE, NOW! If I have to come up there myself, you won't like it!"
Adjusting his glasses with a faint smirk, Dante replied, "Yelling won't do a thing. Let them be, Mother."
"Oh, Dante… what am I going to do with you?" she muttered, shaking her head.
Meanwhile, Ethan and Damien were in a different kind of chaos entirely. Their alarms had screamed at them for the fourth time before Ethan finally cracked open one eye, groaning as he slammed it off. He stretched, rolled out of bed, and stumbled toward the upper bunk.
"Dammy… wake up," Ethan mumbled, scratching his back.
"Whatttt…" Damien groaned, eyes still sealed. "Why wake me? We've got a whole day."
Ethan frowned, teeth barely brushed. "I… feel like we're forgetting something. Why did we set the alarm for six-thirty anyway?"
Damien lazily flopped back against the mattress. "Ask the smarty pants. He probably knows."
Then it hit them like a thunderclap.
"WE'RE GONNA BE LATE!" they shouted in perfect unison.
Ethan yanked his toothbrush from the holder and started brushing in a frenzy. Damien, shocked out of his stupor, tumbled off the bed with a loud thud. "Ow! Mom's gonna kill us!"
"Dante didn't even bother waking us up!" Ethan spat between frantic strokes.
"I'm sure he did," Damien snapped, staggering upright. "But of course, I didn't hear him because you were snoring like a warthog!"
"Who you calling a warthog, you maniac!" Ethan barked, charging toward him.
"Well, it couldn't have been Dante!" Damien fired back, his arms flailing.
The hallway erupted with the sound of chaos—crashing footsteps, shouting, the unmistakable ruckus of brothers on the brink of disaster. Downstairs, Rosita braced herself, a sigh escaping as she prepared for the storm that was about to descend upon her perfectly fragile peace.
"It seems the little beasts are finally awake," Dante said, finishing his last bite of toast, glasses sliding down his nose with practiced indifference.
Rosita pinched the bridge of her nose, exhaling sharply. "What on earth am I going to do with those two?"
"Anyway, I'm off, Mother," Dante said, slipping toward the door.
"Dante, aren't you going to wait for your brothers?" she asked, incredulous.
He froze, hand on the knob, then shook his head with a smirk. "Are you kidding? I've worked too hard to maintain my reputation. There's no way I'm letting those two clowns drag me down. Enjoy the chaos without me."
With that, he was gone.
Moments later, Ethan and Damien barreled down the stairs, barely noticing their mother's unimpressed gaze. They grabbed a hasty slice of bread each and shot out the door like missiles.
"See you later!" Rosita called after them, shaking her head with a soft smile as she cleared the table.
The front door slammed shot, and Ethan and Damien shot into the street like rockets, backpacks bouncing and shoes barely keeping up with their frantic pace. Dante, already out of sight, had left a trail of smug superiority in his wake.
"Move it! Move it!" Ethan shouted, elbows jabbing as he tried to keep pace with Damien. "I swear, if we're late, Mom's gonna—"
"Don't even finish that sentence!" Damien snapped, dodging a pothole and almost colliding with a lamp post. "Focus! RUN!"
The wind whipped through their hair, the city sounds blurring into a chaotic symphony of horns, barking dogs, and their own ragged breathing. Every step was a desperate sprint, a race against time and fate—or at least against the first bell.
They skidded around corners, nearly tripping over each other multiple times. Ethan's slice of bread flew from his hand mid-stride, hitting a mailbox with a comedic thwack. "Nooooo! My breakfast!" he yelled, but there was no time to mourn.
Damien laughed breathlessly, narrowly avoiding a cyclist. "You're acting like it's the Olympics!"
"THIS IS SURVIVAL, DAMMIT!" Ethan shot back, grabbing his bag strap and launching into another burst of speed.
Finally, the school gates loomed like a finish line. Their lungs burned, hearts thumped like drumbeats in a battle march. They skidded to a halt, panting and disheveled, hair sticking to sweat-soaked foreheads.
Ethan collapsed against Damien, clutching his knees. "Man… never ran that fast in my life."
Damien straightened and nudged him. "C'mon, we're already late. Move it! I won't lose another half-credit for tardiness"
They parted ways, each running toward their respective classrooms. Ethan strutted in like he owned the hallway, trying to regain some dignity—but a sharp voice cut him down immediately.
"HEY! Where's your tie?"
Ethan whipped around, wide-eyed, and froze mid-stride. "Uh… me?"
The teacher groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Which one are you—Ethan or Damien? Darn these triplets…"
Ethan smirked. "Actually… I'm Dante."
The teacher's jaw dropped. "Yeah… like I'd believe that—" But Ethan didn't wait. He bolted, leaving a trail of dust and a frustrated teacher yelling after him, "HEY! Get back here!"
Meanwhile, Damien was already tiptoeing into class, trying to slide past the teacher unnoticed.
"Stop right there" the teacher said without turning. The class snickered.
Damien froze mid-step. "Uh… I have a perfectly valid reason for being late!"
The teacher finally turned, narrowed eyes scanning the room. "Let me guess… world domination again?"
The class erupted in laughter. "This is a new semester, and you're already inventing excuses? " He shook his head and waved him to a seat. "Fine. Sit."
Damien's face lit up. "Thanks, teach!" He slid into his chair and tried to focus… but then he noticed her.
Emma. The prettiest girl in the school—or at least in Damien's world. His heart skipped a beat. She caught his staring, and he jerked his head to the board, pretending the chalk lines were suddenly fascinating.
Emma laughed softly, and Damien's cheeks burned. "So… um, how was your summer vacation?" he stammered, voice slightly high.
"Oh, it was okay… yours?" she replied with a teasing smile.
"Well, mine was—"
"Damien, if you want to flirt with a girl, do it outside class!" The teacher snapped without turning around.
The class roared with laughter,while Emma chuckled quietly, shaking her head at him Damien buried his face in his hands, and whispered under his breath, "Why did she have to be in my class?".