Like a lake disturbed by a cast pebble, the docile darkness rippled in concentric rings, then slowly condensed.
Amid the boundless night, a figure gradually took shape—as if she had been formless and shapeless before this, merely choosing her present appearance on a whim.
Nyx, Goddess of the Night. Her appearance could not be described as "beautiful" or "unbeautiful"; hers was a solemn majesty that transcended mortal standards of judgment.
Her hair was woven from the night itself, cascading from her crown down to the ground to merge into the deeper shadows beneath her feet. Innumerable faint points of starlight were embedded in her eyes, as if billions of years of night skies had been compressed into those pupils. Set against the darkness, her lustrous white skin seemed like the first light congealed in the heart of eternal night—cold, sacred, and rendering all worldly colors boisterous before it.
Nyx looked upon her elder sister, who had emerged alongside her from Chaos. Her gaze swept over the hands Gaia held over her abdomen. She could sense the divinity gathering there, and beyond the aura of the earth, she also detected a power belonging to the pantheon of Night.
“I have conceived a child with Aether.” In this narrow sliver of time when Uranus might awaken at any moment, Gaia had no leisure for pleasantries. She stated her purpose directly to her younger sister. “She has not yet fully formed. I have come to entrust her to you, so she may be born within the Underworld and receive the protection of Night.”
Nyx looked at Gaia, a minuscule ripple of change finally passing over her eternally serene face.
“I have concealed her aura,” Gaia continued. “Yet such deception cannot last forever. You have already seen what Uranus did to my children. I will not allow this child to fall into his hands as well.”
As she spoke that name, the hand hanging at her side slowly clenched. The rock beneath her feet let out a faint rumble as a strand of divine power that had not completely dispersed surged along the ground. Gaia swiftly forced it back into her body, yet the other hand shielding her abdomen never wavered.
Nyx fell silent for a moment before speaking again. “How do you intend to end this, Gaia? Even if you leave her behind, the sky will still weigh upon the earth.”
“The entanglement of sky and earth has lasted long enough; it is time for it to end.” Gaia gazed at Nyx, her tone steady. “I have already begun to prepare. Uranus drapes the celestial vault over my body, refusing to grant me even a moment to stretch. He wishes to keep the earth forever trapped in the embrace of the sky, growing according to his will and serving his endless demands. I once gave life to the sky, yet I never promised to surrender the earth to him. Now, it is time for him to understand that the will of the sky cannot press upon the earth forever.”
The starlight in the depths of the night seemed to pause for an instant. Nyx did not respond immediately, but her gaze grew more focused than before. She knew how much resentment had accumulated between earth and sky, and she knew that once her elder sister made a true resolution, she would not easily waver.
Gaia lowered her head to look at her abdomen, her voice softening slightly. “This child has arrived at the worst possible time. She is far too frail; she is not a Titan endowed with a mighty divine mantle, nor a giant possessing the brute strength to rival the sky. Her divinity has been passive from the very start, an inaction and a void that disdains even the effort to resist. Once sky and earth truly clash, even a single stray wisp of divine power will be enough to crush her. I have no confidence I can shield her from every shockwave of divine might. Therefore, before the earth raises its rebellion, I must first find a secure haven for her.”
In the conflict between earth and sky, even an escaped sliver of residual might could cause a deity of meager power to perish. Gaia understood that even if this child could be born smoothly during the years she spent plotting her revolt, she could hardly withstand the fallout of the coming divine war. It was for this reason that before making her move, she had come in person to the Underworld.
“She is my child, yet she also carries the bloodline of Aether. The ancient grievance between earth and sky will be settled by me. As for this unborn divine child, Night ought to grant her refuge as well.” Gaia looked at Nyx, a rare, faint trace of pleading flickering in her resolute eyes. “Nyx, her divinity, her bloodline—whether you acknowledge it or not, half of it comes from you.”
Nyx fell silent, her gaze once again falling upon the divine core wrapped in the power of the earth. Aether was her divine son; naturally, this child also belonged to the lineage of Night. Uranus's gaze could not reach the Underworld, nor did he possess the authority to overstep her domain and deal with a descendant of Night.
“She is not yet fully gestated,” Nyx said slowly. “Once separated from your body, without sufficient nourishment, she still faces the risk of dissipating at any moment. Since you have resolved to leave her behind, you must have considered this as well.”
Gaia raised her free hand, and an ancient amphora materialized in her palm. The vessel was a gentle, milky white, patterned with fine root systems and delicate leaves that seemed to grow naturally across its surface. Even before the flask was opened, an immensely rich aura of life already permeated the surroundings.
It was a supreme treasure born alongside the earth itself, the fountainhead of all life upon the land—the Vase of Life.
“The Vase of Life will leave nourishment for her.” Gaia cradled the vase, looking toward Nyx. “I need your promise. No matter how far the struggle between earth and sky escalates, she must be allowed to continue growing here.”
Nyx looked at her and finally gave a slight nod.
“Leave her behind, Sister. Night will shelter her. But remember: when she is born here, she will learn the laws of Night. She will no longer be the tenderness granted by the earth to all things, but what Night bestows upon creation—stillness.”
Her voice remained tranquil, yet as her words fell, the surrounding night parted to both sides, clearing a serene space for the unborn divine core.
An imperceptible flicker of anguish flashed through Gaia’s eyes, yet she said nothing more, merely nodding. The hand shielding her abdomen slowly lifted, and the divine power of the earth gathered within her body parted in turn.
A minuscule core of light emerged from within, no larger than a pomegranate seed. Its color hovered between the faint dawn and the deepening dusk as it floated silently above her palm.
That faint, almost imperceptible core of divine power hovered quietly. It did not throb, did not struggle, and gave off no radiance. It simply existed there, like words left half-spoken that would never be finished, or a raised foot that would never step down.
Separated from the enclosure of the maternal body, the light on the divine core's surface dissipated slightly. Gaia immediately opened the vase and drew forth the divine nectar within. A milky-white luminescence descended gently, and the moment it touched the divine core, it seeped into its depths along its still-unformed striations.
The divine core gradually settled. A dense layer of vitality accumulated within, regathering that excessively tenuous divinity. Gaia carefully sensed the child's condition, continuing to introduce nourishment until the vital force could circulate slowly inside the core before finally withdrawing the vase.
Her fingertips lingered outside the core of light for a moment, and then she guided it into the space parted by the night. Warm divine power of the earth still enveloped it, but a layer of deep, serene night had now formed on the outside, barring any auras from other realms at a distance.
Gaia glanced at the settled divine core and stowed away the Vase of Life. As she turned, the closed flower buds brushed past her shoulders, and the foliage upon the hem of her skirt gently unfurled with each step.
Night did not bid her stay. The murky rock strata parted once more to clear a path, and Gaia departed along the way she had come, her spine as unbending as before. Deep within the earth, her imprisoned children still waited, and the sky still pressed down upon her body. In the time to come, she had many things to prepare.
Only after the aura belonging to Gaia had faded into the distance did Nyx turn her gaze back to the divine core. Raising her hand, the faint core of light floated over from the night, coming to a halt before her fingertips. The milky-white life force circulated in silence, while the core's own divine power was sluggish, showing almost no inclination to reveal itself outward.
“Sloth.” Nyx recognized the rule it governed. Such divinity was neither complex nor did it manifest power worthy of her particular concern. After watching it for only a moment, she chose a suitable destination for the child.
The divinity of Sloth was exceptionally close to Sleep, and that gentle divine son of hers had never cared to interfere in the affairs of others. Placing the divine core there would grant it a quiet gestation environment without being disturbed by anyone.
She had accepted Gaia's entrustment, and Night would naturally honor the promise. As for guarding this divine core in person and waiting for a feeble deity to grow, there was no such need for Nyx. The goddess waved her hand lightly; the night enveloped the core of light and flowed toward the depths of her domain.
Within the Temple of Sleep, Hypnos lay reclined upon a massive couch of obsidian. Pure white wings were quietly folded behind him, a bunch of poppies dangling from his fingers as pollen drifted slowly with his deep, measured breaths. Beneath the vaulted ceiling, countless amber filaments of light flowed in silence, guiding dreams from the earth into the realm of Sleep.
The darkness in the depths of the Temple of Sleep suddenly parted to either side. In a previously vacant side hall, a pitch-black Divine Seat gradually coalesced, and that faint divine core appeared with it, resting quietly upon the seat. The radiance left by the Vase of Life shimmered against the surrounding night, like a seed left behind in the twilight.
Hypnos sensed this change and slowly opened his eyes. A trace of confusion surfaced in his pinkish-purple gaze as his eyes pierced the flowing filaments of light in the hall, settling on the newly formed Divine Seat in the side hall. Then, the voice belonging to Mother Goddess Nyx drifted from the night: “She shall be born within your temple, Hypnos. Let her grow in peace.”
The God of Sleep noted the divine core suspended silently above the Divine Seat and briefly probed its aura. The divinity of Sloth harmonized remarkably well with his domain; leaving it here would not interfere with the workings of sleep. As for an unborn minor god, there was clearly little that required his immediate attention.
“As you wish, Mother Goddess,” Hypnos replied softly, leaning back against the stone couch once more. Poppy petals slipped from his fingers; he shifted the bunch to his other hand and closed his eyes again, continuing to cast his divine power to spread sleep across the world.
The temple returned to its original silence. The amber filaments of light drifted slowly; occasionally, a hazy dream crystal coalesced in the distance, descending along the divine power of sleep toward the border of the domain of Sleep. No one went to disturb the divine core resting in the corner.
Su Mian remained in deep slumber. She did not know she had already departed her mother’s body, nor did she know what sort of rebellion the Earth Mother was preparing. The nourishment left behind by the Vase of Life still circulated slowly in the depths of the divine core, its warm, profound presence keeping her company so that the peace she had first found did not scatter with the transfer.
In the depths of the Underworld, this weak divine core rested quietly upon the pitch-black Divine Seat. A tiny spark of unformed life, growing with agonizing slowness as its divinity accumulated.
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