The arrival of the last of the Three Great Quests heralded a momentous occasion, casting a palpable air of both anticipation and trepidation across the vast expanse of the land. This was the ultimate endeavor—the subjugation of the King of Monsters, the living embodiment of apocalypse and the very essence of nightmares. The realm teetered on the precipice of destiny, with hearts intertwining with hope and fear alike, as the valiant heroes of Zues and Hera Familias' prepared to confront the unimaginable.

This quest transcended the ordinary; it was a clash of legends, an embodiment of courage pitted against the essence of terror itself. The horizon quivered under the weight of the impending confrontation, and the world held its collective breath in the face of an adversary that defied mortal comprehension.

On the eve of the Familias' departure, a poignant sense of bittersweet anticipation permeated the air. Meteria and her beloved, their hearts burdened by the impending separation, sought solace in each other's arms. Moonlight spilled through the window, casting a tender glow upon their intertwined fingers and the whispered promises exchanged. With every touch and shared gaze, they silently pledged to endure the distance and return to each other's embrace.

As the night unfolded, Meteria's fingers traced the contours of her lover's face, committing every detail to memory. She marveled at the rubellite eyes that held a fusion of determination and vulnerability, his lips articulating commitments that wove the sweetest melody her ears could ask for.

"You and the children are my anchor," he declared, his voice a tender caress. "I'll brave the storm and conquer whatever challenges lie ahead, so that when I return, we can build a life of happiness."

Their hearts swelled with the weight of unspoken emotions, and in that fleeting moment, Meteria could almost believe that time could stand still. Laughter echoed in the room, accompanied by the innocent patter of tiny feet as Bell and Alice rushed in, their faces mirroring a myriad of emotions. The children's arms enveloped their father, their hugs serving as a testament to the love that bound their family.

"Promise you'll come back," Meteria whispered, her voice a fragile plea.

"I promise," he replied, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

And so, as the day of departure dawned, amidst tearful farewells, the heroes embarked on a quest that would etch their names into the annals of legend. The destiny of the realm hung in the balance, and Meteria clung to the promise of reunion, a flicker of hope against the encroaching shadows of uncertainty.

The day of parting came, with tearful goodbyes and lingering embraces. Meteria clung to her love, feeling his heartbeat against her chest. Their lips met in a promise—a farewell sealed with love. Little did she know, fate had no plans of turning back.

Days slid into weeks, and weeks into months, each moment a reminder of his absence. Sunsets painted the sky, mirroring the warmth she missed. Meteria clung to memories, tracing her own face in the mirror, trying to recreate the touch she yearned for.

Then, news struck Orario and Meteria's heart shattered—her love, father of her children, fallen against the One-Eyed Black Dragon. The Familias, presumed lost, drowned her in waves of grief and unspoken words.

Tragedy's shadow fell mercilessly tearing through those that had remained behind of the Zeus and Hera Familia. Once proud, the familias now lay shattered and grief-stricken. The two greatest Familias had fallen while the King of Monsters still held what appeared to be an unassailable dominion over the world.

Devastation echoed, casting a dark pall over mighty Familias. In a world that once revered their names, cracks appeared, and pillars crumbled. As the dust settled, a hush weighted with grief over lives and hope lost. Amidst the ruins, emotions churned in hearts that once admired the fallen Familias. Disbelief mixed with heartache as the once vibrant tapestry of heroes now lay shattered as the threads of tragedy replaced valor and triumph.

Amidst the wreckage, a different breed emerged, one that was avaricious and opportunistic. Like vultures that circled the fallen. Uncontrolled ambition mingled with opportunism caused eyes to gleam with hunger for recognition, stepping over and upon their rivals remains.

Dreams of the future were desecrated, shattered into grieving and angst; the atmosphere witnessed relentless ambition. Opportunistic figures emerged, shadows giving way. Citizens reacted with distaste and resignation. Expressions mirrored collective disdain for those turning tragedy into personal gain. Once-admirable ideals tarnished by these opportunists' ambitions.

The atmosphere bore witness to a changed world. Once-brilliant skies turned somber, mirroring grief in hearts that gazed upon them. The heavens, once dreams' canvas, now reflected the bleak reality below.

A sense of powerlessness lingered, woven with collective sorrow in the air. The skies wore a shroud of gray, as if mourning alongside those below. The Heavens seemed to bow in solidarity with the mourners. The tears of deities mingling with those shed below on Gekai by the mortals.

In this abyss stood Meteria, her soul crushed with anguish. Her lover, partner in dreams, and her beloved sister—all cruelly snatched away, leaving an emptiness beyond words. Grief's tendrils clutched at her, a vice determined to crush every fragment of hope.

In a sorrow-steeped world, no remnants of the Familia's vibrant existence remained. Laughter and camaraderie dissolved into a void, a symphony of memories silenced. The void, an unending abyss, threatened to swallow her whole.

Tears cascaded down her cheeks, each droplet bearing the weight of unspoken conversations and stolen moments. Her heart wept for a love unfulfilled, a sister's embrace never to come again, and laughter now a distant echo. Harsh reality gnawed at her, tearing apart the fabric of her being.

Agonized words erupted from Meteria's lips in a fervent plea, syllables laden with desperation. Her voice quivered with disbelief and hope, torn between dread and denial.

"No. no.no. Please don't let it be true." Meteria's cries echoed within the hollow chamber of her church, a lament piercing the veil between worlds.

The door creaked open—a harbinger of the unexpected. Amidst grief, the entrance drew her attention like a flicker of hope. A convergence of worlds, where sorrow met curiosity, and the unknown collided with the familiar.

"Mommy, what's wrong?" Innocent voices chorused with concern, cutting through the air. Words carried a weight beyond their tender years, a testament to the bond between parent and child. Their presence reminded that even in the darkest storms, family's light endures.

Meteria's gaze lifted, revealing Bell and Alice—the living embodiment of the love she had lost. Their faces etched with confusion and empathy, their existence both miraculous and bittersweet. As two pairs of eyes stared back at her a bittersweet smile tugged at Meteria's lips as she brushed away tears. One pair of rubellite eyes so like his father. While another was a pair of heterochronic eyes, one rubellite red and one emerald green, each one representing a loved one she had lost. Her voice held warmth, seeking to shield them from the pain woven into her heart.

"It's nothing," she reassured them, masking anguish, an act of love to safeguard innocence.

Bell's voice, tinged with concern, cut through the air like a gentle breeze carrying whispers of worry. "You don't look okay, Mom," he said, brows furrowed.

Alice chimed in, her voice a soft echo of Bell's concern. "Yeah, you look like something is bothering you."

Meteria's lips formed a trembling smile, a mask to shield her children from her tempest of emotions.

"You don't have to worry about me," she assured them, her voice a fragile melody laced with reassurance.

"But we do!" Bell's voice quivered, breaking like a wave against the shore of his concern. "You're the only momma we have!"

Alice added her voice to the chorus. "We care about you, Mom!"

A muffled sob caught in Meteria's throat, her heart aching at the purity of their love. Tears silently testified to emotions she struggled to contain. Amidst turmoil, her children's tenderness offered a lifeline—a beacon of hope in her sea of despair.

"I know, I know," she whispered, her voice a gentle touch as she wiped away her tears with trembling fingers. Her children's presence, unwavering devotion, soothed her wounded soul.

"But enough about me. How did you two get here?" she asked, her voice tinged with curiosity and surprise.

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A familiar and unexpected voice cut through the air. "I brought them here." The words carried divine authority. Meteria turned, her gaze falling upon Zeus, Hera, and Hermes. Their expressions held the gravity of shared grief, a somber solidarity echoing her pain.

Bell and Alice, embodiments of innocence, climbed onto the bed, a comfort both bittersweet and soothing. As sleep claimed them, the world faded, leaving a cocoon of familial warmth.

Zeus, taking a seat, cast a fond smile upon the scene—a mother cradling her children, a testament to love's enduring strength.

Yet, Meteria's heartache persisted, undiminished by the spectral guardians. Her gaze, heavy with unshed tears, met Zeus's somber eyes, her voice a fragile tremor encapsulating a universe of grief.

"Is it true? Is he really gone? Everyone's… gone?" Her voice trembled, unspoken words hanging heavy in the air, connecting hearts in shared sorrow.

Amidst gods, the world's upheaval hung heavy. Zeus's solemn expression cast a shadow, grief and determination etched on his features.

"No," his voice echoed sorrow. "While your lover and most of mine and Hera's children are gone. Zald, Alfia, and a few others are still alive."

The words were a lifeline, a glimmer of hope in the abyss. Meteria's response wavered between relief and raw pain.

"Oh. Oh... thank goodness." Tinged with emotion, the words released pent-up emotions. Tears streamed down her cheeks, sobs a testament to the weight on her heart. A momentary pause; the silence heavy with gravity.

"W-where are they?" Meteria's voice, choked by tears. Her desire to be close to those who remained guided her through the storm.

"Resting at an elven village in Dedine," Zeus replied. "They have an herb for Zald's illness, and the elves gave a branch of the Holy Elven Tree to help Alfia. But they won't be moving for a while."

Meteria's gaze sought answers in Zeus's eyes, a blend of relief and curiosity. Her voice, fragile from tears, harbored concern. "Why did you come here? Why are you telling me this?"

Zeus's reply, laden with regret and acceptance, was a solemn acknowledgment of the world's unyielding reality. "Because sadly, things couldn't get any worse for us." The weight of his words acknowledged their collective downfall. "The news about our total defeat just got leaked, and all of Orario is calling for our banishment."

Meteria's eyes widened in disbelief. "No! Why? How could they?"

Laced with incredulity, her voice pierced the air. Once a soothing melody, it now crackled with anger and heartache that defied understanding. "After everything you and Goddess Hera did for the city?"

Zeus, deity whose Familia symbolized power, shook his head—regal demeanor overshadowed by resignation. His eyes held the weight of untold history, woven with threads of ambition, rivalry, and the complexity of politics. "Don't be so surprised," he replied, his voice carrying the burden of ages past. "A lot of the gods are just looking for the next thrill, and we've made a lot of enemies over the years. There would be nothing more entraining to them than to bring us low."

"Some of them will take advantage of the chaos and use it as an excuse to try to get rid of us," Zeus continued, his words both tinged with both bitterness and resignation "And some of the more... opportunistic ones will see it as a sign that we're losing our strength, and they're going to use it as an excuse to get rid of us to try and take our place." The atmosphere thickened with the weight of divine machinations—the intricacies of power struggles beyond human comprehension.

"Everyone wants entertainment," his words carried a bitter edge, revealing the self-serving nature even gods were not immune to. "They see this as their chance to get rid of the competition. And if the other gods side with them, there won't be anything we can do to stop it."

Meteria's desperation, her need to salvage what remained, broke like a wave against the tide of fate. "There has to be something you can do!"

Zeus's response, his voice a mix of weariness and finality, cast a shadow. "I don't think so." His words murmured acceptance—a recognition that the die had been cast. "You should've seen the looks on everyone's faces when they heard the news."

The unspoken dimensions of the divine council's reaction resonated in his voice. "There were a few who seemed sympathetic, but most of them were either indifferent or downright hostile. Hephaestus, Astraea, Miach, and Ganesha all wanted to say something, but Loki and Freya wouldn’t listen. They want us gone so they can take our place. If they had the strength, I would feel better about it. The problem is their Familias are too weak. I didn't even need to tell anyone else why we had to leave. The look in their eyes told me everything I needed to know."

Zeus's head shook, a somber rhythm underscoring the weight of his words. "I'm sorry, but there really is no choice here." His voice carried a melancholic note of inevitability.

"So this is why I came to you. What do you want to do, Meteria? You can come with us, but..." His question, an inquiry woven with threads of empathy.

"I won't survive for long outside of Orario," Meteria's voice, a whisper caught in the wind, completed the thought—a declaration of her awareness of the cruel reality. Though tinged with resignation, her words carried an undercurrent of determination that seemed to defy fate's cruel decree.

"Yes... unfortunately." Zeus's response held an undertone of regret—a shared acknowledgment of the harsh truth that bound their choices.

As Meteria took a deep breath, the air seemed to hold its breath in anticipation of her next words. "But I still want to help you, Goddess Hera, and the others. If it means staying with my children for even a little while longer... then I'll do it."

Zeus's inquiry, tinged with a sense of duty, contrasted with Meteria's determination.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Zeus's question hung in the air, a contemplative note mirroring the complexities of her decision. His gesture toward Bell and Alice, a subtle reminder of the choices at hand.

Meteria's gaze, softened by a bittersweet smile, turned toward her children—a glance laden with love and sorrow. "Once Lady Hera is gone, I will lose my falna if I stay and won't last nearly as long if I have it."

As her gaze lifted to meet Zeus's eyes, the air seemed to hum with a poignant blend of resolve and acceptance. "I want to be with my children as long as possible." Her voice, carrying the weight of a mother's devotion, was a declaration echoing with the rhythms of her heart.

Zeus's nod held a silent understanding. "I understand," he said as he gently placed his hand upon her head.

"You're a good mother," he affirmed, his words a gentle caress echoing with sincerity. "And I'll make sure you can stay with them for as long as possible." His vow was both a promise and a plea—a testament to the intricacies of his role.

"We're leaving now," Zeus's voice bore a note of urgency, the weight of their decisions palpable. "I already made arrangements with Hermes here. We will not have a lot of time."

Hermes stepped forward; his energy vibrant as he assumed his role as the messenger of the gods. "We will sneak you out using an emergency tunnel that only a few know of. From there, I have arranged passage with some merchants in one of the towns outside Orario," he relayed. "They'll take you to the northernmost part of the Kingdom of Dedin, near Odin and Firgg’s domain. Once there, you'll have to figure something out for yourself."

"That is fine," Zeus spoke. "I know of a few places to lie low around there."

The varied dialogue tags danced between voices—a chorus of divine and mortal perspectives. Zeus's gaze, laden with significance, met Meteria's. "Are you ready?"

Meteria's nod held the weight of her decision, her response an unspoken affirmation. "Yes."

But it was Hera who stepped forward with a gesture of compassion. "Meteria, give me the children. I will carry them for you."

"Thank you, Lady Hera." Meteria said as she gently passed Bell and Alice to Hera, who gazed fondly at her most beloved child and grandchildren.

With Zeus and Hermes lending their support, Meteria found herself on her feet—her vulnerability met with kind assistance. Their steps toward the door were slow but resolute.

Meteria's gaze lingered on her sleeping children. A sad smile danced upon her lips as she whispered, "I love you." It was a secret shared in the quiet of the moment, a promise that transcended words.

As they moved to depart, a hush of serenity blanketed the room—a quietude disturbed only by the soft stirrings of Alice in her slumber. Her mumbled words, like fragments of a dream, floated through the air—pieces of a puzzle waiting to be unraveled. And then, with eyes parting the veil between dreams and reality, she found herself cradled in the arms of Lady Hera—a vision both unexpected and surreal.

"Mom, what's going on?" Her voice, a blend of curiosity and sleepiness, cut through the stillness.

Meteria's smile, a tapestry woven with maternal reassurance, was a tender response to her daughter's query. "Alice," her voice held the warmth of a whispered secret, "nothing sweetie."

The words, a soothing balm, sought to quell any concern that might disturb the tranquility of the moment.

"Go back to sleep, sweetie." The soft command was a promise that all would be well.

Alice's response, a testament to the bond between mother and child, echoed love in the stillness of the night. "Okay, Mamma. Love you lots. You too Lady Hera." The words, spoken with the simplicity of innocence. Nestling closer to Bell, their connection cocooned them in warmth.

Meteria's gaze, as tender as a lullaby, lingered on her slumbering children. Her smile, tinged with a touch of sadness, held an unspoken promise as she whispered, "I love you too." The words, carried on the wings of a sigh, were a final declaration—a reminder that even in the face of uncertainty, love remained an unbreakable thread.

In the shroud of night, when the sky held a tapestry of stars and the city's heartbeat slowed to a mere whisper, Orario's towering walls bore witness to a departure that would echo through the ages. Then a small group of figures, silent sentinels of an era past, stepped away from the city they had shielded for countless generations. The air itself seemed to hold its breath, as if acknowledging the gravity of the moment—the departure of Orario's greatest and longest-serving protectors.

Not even their closest friends, those who had shared battles and laughter, could fathom the path they had chosen. The unspoken puzzle left behind was a testament to the magnitude of their sacrifice—a void in the tapestry of camaraderie that spoke volumes in its silence.

The mighty guardians, who had stood as unwavering pillars for a millennium, had vanished without a trace. The legacy they left behind was a city transformed, a canvas painted with the indelible brushstrokes of their influence. As the city slumbered, blissfully unaware of the momentous change, the torch of protection was passed to the unknown—a future that held both promise and uncertainty.

In Orario (several weeks later):

A clouded moon cast feeble light upon the city, its glow accentuating the shadows that seemed to writhed through the heart of Orario. Whispers of uncertainty lingered in the air, carried on the chill of a foreboding breeze—a wind that whispered secrets of a future yet untold. Unseen by most, the city's fate was a tapestry of tangled and woven threads—threads that would soon begin to unravel.

Amidst the gloom, figures moved like ghosts—those who had long lingered in the shadows—began to move in the open. Those who assumed the mantle of guardianship were ill-equipped for the tides of darkness that approached. The weight of their responsibility bore down upon them, a burden too heavy for their shoulders.

Whispers, wound their way through the city, rumors danced on the lips of those who dared to speak, tales that seemed to seep from the very cracks in the cobblestone streets. Amidst the veil of night, a sinister prophecy was inscribed upon the city's fate. Whispers echoed in the alleys and taverns; tales told in hushed tones of those who sought entertainment at the expense of the city's safety.

Amidst the tavern's flickering candlelight, citizens huddled in hushed conversation. Their talks bearing the weight of anxiety, their words a reflection of a world on the precipice. Varied voices spoke of the unthinkable—the rise of Evil Gods. Fear pooled into their eyes; a reflection of the horrors they dared not utter aloud. Within the tapestry of their conversations, inner thoughts intertwined—a chorus of dread and uncertainty.

In the shadows of passing nights, a foreboding reality took shape—a reflection of the uncharted path ahead. Those who had once reveled in the spectacle of their role as protectors now faced a stark reckoning. The stage of entertainment had morphed into a battlefield with rising tide of darkness. Amid the shifting tides, a tide of unpreparedness began to rise—an undercurrent that threatened to pull the city into the depths of strife. Those who had once been spectators to greatness, now found themselves thrust into a role for which they were ill-equipped.

As the rhythm of time marched on, a sense of inevitability settled—a darkness that no longer hid in the corners but rather loomed on the horizon, casting long shadows over the once vibrant city.

In the weeks, months, and years that lay ahead, the path would become treacherous, the battles more harrowing. Amid the flicker of candlelight, the setting held an aura of foreboding—an atmosphere thick with tension. As the curtain rose on this sinister prelude, it painted a portrait of struggle—a city on the precipice, a future teetering between salvation and ruin. An overture to an era fraught with darkness and despair.

Evilus, once a mere shadowy specter, rose from the depths, its presence shrouded in malevolence. Like ink spilling across parchment, it seeped into the world's very soul, staining the fabric of reality.

The air was heavy with the scent of foreboding, an atmosphere laced with the tension of impending doom. Whispers of its ascent curled like tendrils of smoke, intertwining with the minds of those who dared to acknowledge its existence.

Emotions ran deep, a symphony of fear and trepidation that echoed in every heartbeat. Citizens murmuring with hushed urgency, their voices tinged with disbelief and horror.

Inner thoughts were whispered like secrets shared with the abyss—an unspoken realization that the world was changing, and not for the better. The future is now obscured by shadows. Citizens reacted with a blend of anguish and determination, their faces etched with lines of worry and at was to come.

Until one day Evilus unfurled its wings like a ravenous beast, started sowing seeds of discord and panic. Chaos walked hand in hand with destruction and ruin who were followed by their grim companion, Death. And amid this tumult, the war drums echoed—a symphony of conflict between the forces of good and the rising malevolent tide.