Chapter 426: Pandora

Nathan stared at Aphrodite, waiting for her to say the name.

And she did, her smile now a radiant gleam of divine mischief.

"Pandora."

Nathan raised an eyebrow, the name lingering in the air like a forgotten tune.

"Pandora..." he murmured.

It stirred something in his memory. The name wasn’t unfamiliar—he had heard it back on Earth, wrapped in the folds of ancient myths and half-remembered stories from his school days. Something about a box... or perhaps a curse?

"She was the first woman ever created by the gods of Olympus," Aphrodite said, her voice carrying the weight of legend.

Khione, who had stood quietly until now, suddenly tensed. Her fingers gripped the edge of her robe, pulling the fabric closer to her chest as if it could shield her from the name just uttered. Her cool, aloof demeanor cracked as she looked at Aphrodite with uncharacteristic urgency.

"Are you serious about this information, Aphrodite?" she asked sharply.

Nathan blinked. That reaction wasn’t like her. Just moments ago she had been frustrated, but composed. Now... now she looked worried.

"What’s wrong, Khione?" he asked, frowning. She seemed concerned.

Khione hesitated for a breath before answering, her voice quieter than before. "That woman... I don’t believe anyone would offer her as a prize with good intentions."

Nathan’s brow furrowed further. "Why? What’s so dangerous about her?"

Aphrodite stepped forward, her smile faded, her tone shifting into something more serious—almost solemn.

"As I told you, Pandora was crafted by the Olympians—each god contributing a part of themselves to shape her. She was made to be perfect, flawless in body, mind, and spirit. But do you know who requested her creation? And more importantly... why?"

Nathan shook his head. He had vague notions of the myth, yes, but he wanted to hear the truth now—from a goddess who had lived through it.

Aphrodite nodded slightly, her expression unreadable. "Thousands of years ago, there was a banquet on Olympus. During that feast, Prometheus—bold, defiant Prometheus—chose to honor humanity above the gods. He gave them fire. He gave them hope. He made Zeus look like a fool before all of Olympus."

A bitter wind swept through the grove as the goddess paused.

"Zeus was enraged. But instead of punishing Prometheus directly, he decided to punish the humans—the very ones Prometheus favored. Back then, you see, mankind was composed only of men. So Zeus ordered the gods to create a woman. The perfect woman. A gift wrapped in beauty... hiding a curse."

"She was Pandora," Nathan said softly, eyes narrowing.

Aphrodite nodded. "She was given to Prometheus’s brother, Epimetheus—who, unlike his sibling, was impulsive and naïve. Despite Prometheus’s warnings, he accepted her. Even though Pandora was gifted by all qualities she had already inherited weakness, defaults and forms of sufferings that could make anyone turn mad."

Khione’s eyes were downcast now, her voice distant. "She nearly destroyed humanity... by herself."

Nathan frowned. "And now... they want to reward her to the Roman Empire?" he asked, incredulous. "Did Zeus lose his mind after losing Hera? Does he want to wipe out humanity completely?"

But Aphrodite shook her head. "No. This isn’t about revenge. Not anymore. Pandora... has become uncontrollable—even for the gods. She has power no mortal should wield and a sorrow that cannot be soothed. Zeus believes that if someone—someone worthy—can win her through combat, then perhaps she can be anchored. Perhaps she can find a reason to stay balanced."

"A reason...?" Nathan echoed.

"To live," Aphrodite finished.

A heavy silence settled over them.

"What about Epimetheus?" Nathan asked, glancing between the two goddesses.

Khione spoke before Aphrodite could.

"He died," she said simply, her voice soft but sharp, like frost forming on glass.

Nathan turned to her, confused. "How?"

Khione’s gaze met his. "The moment he touched her, he died. Pandora didn’t understand her own sorrow. When Epimetheus welcomed her into his arms, she felt something... overwhelming. And in her grief—in her fear—she unleashed it all. She didn’t know how to control the anguish inside her. That was the day humanity tasted true suffering for the first time."

Nathan stood still, absorbing the weight of the story. What kind of woman could bring gods to heel and men to ruin? And what did it mean that she was being offered now... to a victor in a blood-soaked arena?

"If even a god like Epimetheus couldn’t restrain Pandora," Nathan said slowly, confusion etching his features, "then how in the name of Olympus do they expect a mere human to fare any better?"

His voice, although calm, carried the weight of disbelief and growing apprehension. He couldn’t comprehend how such a gamble was being taken—especially by beings as prideful and calculating as the gods.

"Exactly because they are human," Aphrodite said. "That’s the point. Pandora was created as the very essence of womanhood—fascinating, beautiful, curious, and tragically flawed. Men, too, carry imperfections. And Epimetheus..." she paused, shaking her head slowly, "he may have worn the title of a god, but he was weak in spirit. Enchanted by her devastating allure, by her charm that was both tender and terrifying, he surrendered everything. In the end, it was his ruin."

Nathan listened in silence as Aphrodite’s gaze turned distant, as though looking through time itself.

"For millennia," she continued, "Pandora was sealed away, hidden in a stronghold crafted by Hephaestus himself, reinforced with every divine precaution Zeus could muster. She remained there, dormant... until recently. Something changed. She broke free." Her lips tightened. "And in doing so, she slaughtered several gods before Zeus himself was forced to intervene."

Nathan furrowed his brow, stunned. "Then why didn’t he kill her?"

"To kill Pandora..." Aphrodite’s voice lowered, almost to a whisper. "Would have been like slaying a daughter—or perhaps a reflection of ourselves. She holds within her the fragments of all our gifts. Our powers are part of her. In a way, we made her what she is. That’s why we chose imprisonment over execution. We thought we were sparing her. Sparing ourselves."

A tremble entered her voice as she added, "But that was our gravest error. Thousand years of isolation did not calm her. It twisted her. The malice within her, the curse she bears—it’s no longer something even gods can fully comprehend. Killing her now... could unleash consequences none of us can foresee. Her death might not be the end—it might be the beginning of something far worse."

Nathan’s lips parted slightly as the realization settled in. The gods weren’t just being cautious. They were afraid. Genuinely, deeply afraid.

So that was it. Zeus and the others were desperate. Desperate to be rid of Pandora... but unwilling to risk the cost of doing so themselves.

The room fell silent for a moment, and then a voice broke the stillness—soft but urgent.

"She’s extremely dangerous, Nathan. Promise me... promise me you won’t go near her."

It was Khione.

Her hand reached out and gripped his arm tightly, her fingers cold from the wintry air that clung to her skin like a second layer. Nathan turned, startled—not by her touch, but by the expression on her face.

He had never seen her like this before.

Khione, who was always composed, aloof, and unreadable... now looked stricken with concern. Her icy blue eyes, usually as frigid as the ice she commanded, shimmered with unease.

"I agree with her," Aphrodite said suddenly, stepping forward. The rare seriousness in her tone struck Nathan more deeply than any plea. "That’s why I came to find you. Even with us by your side—even with Thana watching over you—it may not be enough."

Nathan blinked. "What do you mean?"

"She has a curse, Nathan," Aphrodite said softly, "a curse that defies divine law. Not even Thana will be able to stop it. Don’t expect her to. Yes, she took part of your soul, but that doesn’t mean she’ll intervene. If Pandora gets her grip on you—" she hesitated, "—it’ll be over. She’ll consume you. And once she does, she’ll destroy everyone close to you—your women, your children... all without mercy. Without hesitation and without even being conscious of it.

The words struck Nathan.

So this was the level of danger they were facing?

And Athena... Athena intended to bring that woman into Rome?

The very idea made his skin crawl.

"I understand," Nathan said finally, voice steadier than he felt. "I won’t go near her. I promise."

But that wasn’t enough for Khione.

"I want you to leave Rome," she said, her tone more pleading than commanding. She squeezed his arm tighter, as though her grip could anchor him to safety.

Nathan looked into her eyes. That same chilling beauty, that distant coldness—now filled with raw, human concern. It stirred something in him.

"I’ll be fine," he said gently. "I’ll finish what I came here to do, and I’ll leave as soon as I can."

But still, she didn’t let go.

And though she said nothing, Nathan could see it clearly in her eyes: something deeper, something primal, was gnawing at her instincts.

A dreadful premonition.