Kairos wept.

With his head turned to the skies tears flew out of his eyes at an ever increasing rate.

But these weren't tears of sadness, but rather pure mirth. Malicious mirth. He had just witnessed the disappearance of those that had tormented him for years.

The exhaustion caught up with him regardless however, and he soon passed out.

Being passed out, he didn't notice a manifestation of pure existential dread gathering silently around him. It was as if the very essence of fear had materialized, a formless and intangible specter that sent ripples of terror through the fabric of reality. Shadows seemed to recoil from its touch, and even the air quivered in its presence.

This entity of dread was a void, a rupture in the natural order, a glimpse into the cosmic abyss that lay beyond comprehension. Its form wavered and shifted, defying any attempt to perceive it fully. In its wake, the laws of reality seemed to warp and contort, creating a sense of vertigo that threatened to consume all sense of stability.

Within this shroud of existential horror, a pair of eyes flickered into existence. They were not eyes in the traditional sense, but rather windows into a realm of unending darkness. Gazing into them was like staring into the infinite void of space, an experience that induced a profound sense of insignificance and powerlessness.

As the entity loomed over Kairos, his dreams were invaded by nightmarish visions. He saw galaxies being devoured by cosmic maelstroms, stars collapsing into themselves with a silent scream, and civilizations crumbling into dust beneath the weight of their own despair. It was a chronicle of cosmic dread, an anthology of the universe's most terrifying truths.

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The Nightshade Legion had been in partnership with the Valerian's since Julius Valeria, as a lowly youngest son of a branch of the Valeria family, hundreds of thousands of years ago, met Soulshade in the underworld of Eldoria. The Annihilator at this point was known as Royal Governor Valeria and was in control of Eldoria.

They stuck by Julius Valerias side through his ascension through the political battlefield, through the ascension of Royal Governor Valeria to the Annihilator position and Julius' rise to the Royal Governor , and the subsequent series of conquests that raged throughout the world, conquering hundreds of empires and dozens of wordly planes.

And yet, this entire time, one thing had never happened.

The Nightshade Legion had never felt fear. Not even for a fraction of a second.

Soulshade was on a simply absurd level of power, capable of holding back Julius-- and only five beings in the entirety of the world could defeat Julius.

And due to their unique properties, as long as Soulshade was alive, they would also be able to be resurrected.

But this was different.

It was only a child in front of it, yet the Nightshade Legion member felt what it never had before-- existential fear. Fear so deep it was instinctual, the type of fear a fawn feels looking at a ravenous wolf.

This was meant to be a simple mission-- enter a small town and extract two targets. Yet on the way to one of them, it saw a glimpse of this sleeping child.

Damn, a speck of dust of a speck of dust of a speck of dust of a piece of dirt on my feet dares to have these thoughts? It dares to desire after something that will never be his? Something this insignificant was enough to boost its ego to this point? But at least this will be good nourishment for this shard.

These thoughts were heard in its mind-- and before it could even understand them, it disappeared from reality like it never existed.

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The Oracles. Those that served the ancient remnants that landed on this world eons ago.

They were called Oracles because they were supposedly in touch with those remnants and could use them for divination.

And they were capable of divination-- to a certain degree.

But more often then not they were no better then mortal "psychics" who merely spouted vague sayings to scam their customers.

Every once in a while, however, they would be capable of a True Divination, such as when they were able to find out that the Annihilator was only loyal to Eldoria and not Valeria through predicting what would happen in the case of Aurorith's resistance against the Kingdom of Valeria, which dragged out the conflict to a centuries long affair.

And whenever that happened, depending on the importance of the True Divination, a certain amount of burden would be placed upon the bearer of the Divination.

The Annihilator news being the most significant thing they had ever divined, involving the life and death of billions, it led to the disappearance of the left toe of the Divine Sentinel that divined the prophecy. Or in other words, there was very little rebound from most prophecies.

As the Chief Oracle, Lysander, the Divine Sentinel at the head of the Oracles, prepared to conduct his yearly divination, an air of solemnity pervaded the chamber where the Oracles gathered. Ancient relics and artifacts adorned the room, suffusing it with an eerie glow that seemed to transcend time itself. Fragrant incense wafted through the air, forming a bridge between the mortal realm and the elusive realm of divination.

With a sense of practiced ease, Lysander took his place at the center of the chamber. He donned his elaborate robes, each intricate symbol signifying his esteemed position as the Divine Sentinel. As his eyes closed, the room seemed to hold its breath, anticipating the profound act about to unfold.

Lysander's mind reached out, bridging the gap between the mundane and the ethereal. Threads of cosmic energy entwined with his consciousness, and the chamber pulsed with an otherworldly resonance. Visions of the past, present, and future swirled in his mind, a tapestry of fate woven with threads of light.

Yet, as Lysander's divination reached its crescendo, a disruption rippled through the fabric of his connection. His presence began to flicker, wavering like a candle in a tempest. The Oracles around him exchanged alarmed glances, sensing the disturbance that echoed through their collective link.

In the heart of his divinatory trance, Lysander's being blazed with an intensity that transcended mortal comprehension. His form seemed to shimmer, and from within his very essence emerged a grand being of luminous brilliance—a manifestation of cosmic significance.

The grand being's voice resonated like the celestial harmonies of a forgotten age, each cryptic word echoing with a weight beyond measure.

"Child... Delphos..." The grand being's utterance carried the weight of an ages-old prophecy. "Will lead to... great ruin... must be destroyed quickly..."

The words reverberated in the chamber, etching themselves into the consciousness of every Oracle present. The atmosphere itself seemed to hold its breath, the very air trembling with the cosmic resonance of the prophecy's revelation.

As the manifestation of the grand being subsided, a disconcerting realization settled over the Oracles. The threads of divination that had once bound them to the cosmic tapestry were severed, leaving an emptiness that echoed with a sense of loss.

"The connection..." One Oracle whispered, their voice tinged with disbelief. "It's gone."

In the wake of the severed connection, Lysander's form trembled, his eyes fluttering open. The expression that greeted the Oracles was one of profound astonishment and sorrow—a reflection of the weighty sacrifice that had been made.

Around him, the other Oracles exchanged somber glances, each understanding the price that had been paid. The power that had flowed through them, linking them to the ancient remnants and cosmic energies, had dissipated into the void. In that moment, they comprehended the true cost of their divination—a sacrifice that extended beyond mere insight into the realm of the fundamental.

"The fundamental power..." Lysander's voice trembled, his realization hanging in the air like a somber refrain. "Our connection... severed to preserve the fabric of existence."

In the aftermath of their profound discovery, the Oracles stood united in the face of their newfound truth. The prophecy's enigmatic message, now etched into their hearts, had guided them toward a path of sacrifice and responsibility. The threads of destiny, once woven with cosmic energy, had been severed to pay the price of the prophecy.

And as the echoes of their severed connection lingered, the Oracles understood that they now bore a weighty burden—a duty to interpret the cryptic prophecy and act upon its dire warning.

And breaking the silence, Lysander spoke.

His eyes glowed with a profound resolve, his features etched with determination. "We are entrusted with a grave responsibility," he declared, his words ringing with unwavering conviction. "To preserve the cosmic harmony, we must intervene. Delphos—the fulcrum of impending turmoil—must be eradicated swiftly."