A little Teaser, as the next one will be very long, most likely between 12k and 25k words. It should finish up the prologue and finally start with the main story. Excited about that. Anyway, I went for a Lovecraftian feel with Chaos. Rick did that and I prefer that version to the one we see in most fic's. (Though a good Chaos Fic is quite amazing) An example is True Child of Chaos. Which is a pretty good story.

Nyx's POV:

I am darkness. Not merely the absence of light, but the embodiment of shadow itself—the whispered fears that take root in every mind. I am the terror lurking beneath the horizon when the sun dips low, the creeping dread that festers in the hearts of mortals when they are alone. To exist as I do is to be more than just an entity; it is to become the primal fear that even gods cannot escape.

In my true form, I am boundless. I am the deep void of the night sky, stretching infinitely beyond sight. I am the darkness behind closed eyes, the suffocating pressure of isolation. I am the weight that fills the air when silence becomes unbearable. I am the fear that stirs when there are no distractions, when thoughts fall silent and all that remains is the awareness of my presence.

And yet, this is not a burden—it is bliss. Here, in the infinite expanse of my true nature, I am unchained. No form limits me; I flow and drift as a gentle hum of terror woven into the very fabric of consciousness. I fill the spaces between stars and worlds, inhabiting the silence between breaths. This is my waking sleep, a dream without end. In this state, there is no pain, no discomfort—only peace, only the darkness that cradles me as a constant companion.

But even this eternal peace must end when I am called to action. When I must take form.

The discomfort begins before I even start to condense my essence. A sharp ache, like pressure building behind the eyes, or the suffocating sensation of being squeezed into a space far too small to contain me. I know what comes next—the agony of confinement into a mortal shape. It is like forcing an ocean into a fragile glass jar—agonizing, constricting, and deeply unnatural. My essence rebels, but I push through the pain, shaping myself into something tangible, something comprehensible, though every inch of me screams with the wrongness of it.

This smallness—it is a necessary discomfort, one I have long since grown used to. It is the price I pay to interact with the world as it is.

And so, with a final surge of pain, I solidify. I stand at the shores of Chaos, in Tartarus. The air here is thick, swirling with creation and destruction, humming with primordial energy. The boundaries between worlds blur, and the churn of the universe echoes through the void. I look out over the abyss, my form now stabilized, the silhouette of a woman cloaked in darkness. But this shape is not truly me—merely a shell, a necessary echo of my true essence.

Every step in this form feels wrong, the ground beneath me too solid, too real. The weight of it bears down on me as if the entire sky presses upon my shoulders. I was never meant for shape, for flesh—but I endure, as I always have.

I wait, patient and eternal, at the shores of Chaos. I am darkness, the whisper of dread that no one can escape, and though this form brings me pain, I smile. For even now, I am still Nyx.

And so I wait, a daughter awaiting her mother.

I am darkness. The shadow beneath consciousness, the unseen terror that fills the void when light disappears. But I am not nothing. That is her.

Chaos.

My mother, the one who existed before anything else—the void, the true nothingness from which all things emerged. She is the source of all creation and destruction, the beginning, the renewal, and the inevitable end. Where I embody fear within the darkness, she is total annihilation, destruction incarnate, the force that tears down only to give rise to creation once more. She is everything that was, everything that will be—the endless cycle of existence, forever turning.

It is here, in the deepest reaches of Tartarus, that I call to her. I prepare myself for the ritual, knowing that to awaken even a fragment of her vast consciousness strains the very fabric of existence. But it must be done.

I close my eyes and let my form dissolve, merging with the thick blackness that coils and writhes around me. The darkness is my ally, my nature—but even it pales before my mother's nothingness. I begin the ritual, my voice slipping into the ancient language not meant for mortal tongues. The words distort reality, bending the very essence of the void.

Slowly, the world around me changes. The air thickens, twisting into strange, incomprehensible patterns. The ground beneath me dissolves, no longer solid nor fluid. It is as though I stand at the very edge of existence, where the boundaries between what is and what is not blur.

And then, I feel her.

Chaos.

Her presence is unlike anything in this world—or any world. She is not a force that can be measured or understood. She is the absence of all things. Where I am terror of the unknown, she is the crushing nothingness that predates all existence. She is destruction incarnate, the force that unmakes reality, yet from her, all creation is born.

My darkness recoils before her, and I too feel the weight of her presence pressing against me—an infinite void bearing down on my essence. Unlike me, my mother is not a force of fear or shadow; she is the nothingness that swallows all things, the primordial void from which even I was born.

Her consciousness stirs, slow and vast, seeping through the cracks of reality like a thick fog. It is not her whole being, just the faintest touch of her awareness. But even that small fragment feels like it could consume everything.

I kneel at the edge of the abyss as her presence overwhelms me. The primordial forces swirl like a storm, crackling with energy older than time itself. Her whispers fill the void, pressing against me like the weight of a thousand galaxies, though no mortal could hear her voice. It reverberates through me, into my very essence.

I bow my head in reverence, the shadows within me stirring. "So, mother," I begin, "the boy is learning the truth… or at least what little that foolish huntress knows. The Olympians... so small, so fragile."

I feel her power wash over me, her response heavy with divine command. My heart flutters with both thrill and unease.

"Yes," I say, my voice trembling slightly. "He must live, of course. I understand. I will not fail you. The discord will end with him... one way or another. I will make certain of it. Gaia will not harm him. She won't take him from you."

Her energy surges again, wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket. Her will is undeniable, and I fall silent as she silences me with a thought.

"Yes, of course," I whisper, my heart swelling at her acknowledgment. Her favorite daughter—it makes me feel whole, if only for a moment.

But doubt creeps back into my mind. "Why do you let her get away with so much?" I ask hesitantly. "After what she did to Chronos... Ananke has never forgiven her. Fate has favored the Olympians ever since."

Her response is slow, and deliberate, carrying with it a weight that makes me falter. She is not working only through me.

"Oh..." I murmur, deflated. "So you and Ananke have..."

The answer comes swiftly, and I bow deeper. "So that's how he came to be?" I ask, trying to keep the bitterness from my voice. "You created the perfect soul... and she molded him with perfect trials?"

Her affirmation ripples through the void, calm yet powerful.

"Eros," I mutter, understanding now. "He found him the perfect partner..." My jealousy flares momentarily, but I suppress it quickly.

"Mother, please..." I begin, daring to ask more. "Let me have him. He is... fascinating. I want him for myself."

Her reply is soft, but it makes my breath catch in my throat. I can almost feel her smile within the chaos.

"I understand," I say, trying to mask my disappointment. "Perhaps... one day."

I hesitate before asking my next question. "Why grant him such power? Gaia tried with Thoon, but this one... he will be beyond even that. And with your—"

A sharp wave of her power cuts me off, a silent command not to question her will. I quickly recoil.

"I would never question you," I say hastily, a chill crawling down my spine. "Never."

Her presence softens, her attention turning elsewhere. She speaks again, her words vibrating through my core.

"Yes, mother," I reply obediently. "He will come again tonight. After his time with the huntress, he will seek answers, and I will guide him. I will tell him of the Primordial Library, withing the land beyond the gods. And... I will send word to your son. I will tell him to prepare."

But doubt gnaws at me. "Mother... why do we need him? Alfodr... he is of lesser stock. Unworthy. Untrustworthy. He plots..."

Her response is swift, and I dare not question further.

"As you command, mother," I whisper, bowing deeply. "It will be done."