The journey to the mountain was long, the terrain brutal. Winds howled through sharp crags and frozen valleys, where even birds dared not fly. Kaelos followed Prometheus in silence, the cracked pendant now fused to a chain around his neck. Its broken pieces shimmered faintly with every step, pulsing to some hidden rhythm.
The titan said little, save for the occasional warning: "Don't touch the black vines," or "Stay quiet near the stones that hum." These were the remnants of divine power—scars from an age when gods walked openly and shaped the world with careless hands.
After four days of travel, they reached a hidden pass shrouded in mist. Before them loomed the mountain: Mount Kaegaron, once known as the Pillar of the Sky, said to be the place where the sky first kissed the earth. Lightning crackled near its peak, trapped in a never-ending storm circle, like a heartbeat caged in the clouds.
"This place was forbidden even to gods," Prometheus said, voice reverent. "Not because of fear—but because of what lies buried beneath."
Kaelos stared up at the mountain, and for the first time since his mother's death, he felt something stir within him. Not grief. Not rage.
Purpose.
---
The path wound around jagged cliffs and through narrow tunnels. The deeper they went, the more unnatural the mountain became. Stone walls whispered in forgotten tongues. Pools of liquid starlight bubbled in the dark. A faint hum vibrated through the rocks, as if the mountain breathed.
At the base of a hollow chamber deep inside the heart of Kaegaron, they reached a circular door made from obsidian and etched with celestial constellations—many of which no longer graced the night sky.
Prometheus raised his staff and pressed it to the door. Nothing happened.
Kaelos stepped forward, the pendant against his chest glowing faintly.
The door responded.
The cracks in the obsidian pulsed with silver light. One by one, the constellations on the door began to realign. When they settled, the symbol in the center glowed brightest—a spiral of wind and storm.
The mark on Kaelos's back.
With a low groan, the door slid open.
---
Inside, a vault unlike any temple or palace awaited them.
Weapons floated midair—swords forged in celestial fire, spears tipped with stardust, armor that shimmered like moonlight. Statues of forgotten titans lined the walls, their faces worn with sorrow and fury.
In the center stood an altar carved from meteor stone. Resting atop it: a dark gauntlet shaped like the claw of a dragon, its fingertips jagged like thunderbolts, its surface pulsing with the faint crackle of storm.
Kaelos approached slowly. "What is it?"
"The Gauntlet of Arkrion," Prometheus said. "Made in secret by Hephaestus himself. It was meant for one who could wield raw storm—lightning in its purest form. Not even Zeus dares wear it."
Kaelos reached out, and the moment his fingers brushed the gauntlet, it surged with life.
Lightning leapt from the ceiling. The mountain shook.
And Kaelos did not flinch.
He slipped the gauntlet onto his right hand.
It fit perfectly.
In that moment, the pendant flared with white-hot light, and the mark on his back glowed through his clothes.
Prometheus smiled, shadows dancing in his tired eyes. "The storm has chosen you."
Kaelos clenched his fist, and the gauntlet answered with a crack of thunder.
"I will burn Olympus to ash."