The world had forgotten Gwyn, the Banished Son of Hera and Zeus, the Lord of Cinder. For centuries, the flames that once threatened to scorch the heavens had instead flickered in a quiet, desolate corner of existence. He and his Fire Keeper had been left to their solitude, isolated from both gods and mortals alike, deep within the volcanic heart of the world, where the embers of the First Flame smoldered eternally.

The flames were his burden, his curse.

But what they did not understand, what no god nor mortal would ever grasp, was that without his Fire Keeper, the First Flame—this primordial blaze that sparked the beginning of the cosmos—would fade into nothingness, plunging the world into eternal darkness. And Gwyn, bound by his curse, had no choice but to protect her, to safeguard the sacred fire, even if it meant living in exile for all eternity.

Yet fate, it seemed, was not done with him.

The silence of the volcanic lair was broken by the wind—an unnatural wind, cold and biting, sweeping through the ash and smoke like the breath of something ancient and cruel. Gwyn's eyes, glowing like molten gold, narrowed in warning. His hand clenched around the hilt of a weapon that had not tasted blood in ages—the Firelink Greatsword, forged from the very heart of the First Flame with the help of Hephaestus. His Fire Keeper, a figure of ethereal grace, stood beside him, her blonde hair,in a Braided ponytail, as she gazed toward the sky, sensing it too.

"They're here," she whispered, her voice as soft as a dying ember.

Gwyn's lips curled into a faint smile, though it lacked mirth. "Let them come."

He knew who they were, even before they descended from the heavens—draped in moonlight, like a gathering of shadows, her silver bow gleaming with lethal intent. Artemis—or rather, Diana, as she was now called by the Romans—had come for him, as he had feared. She had come with her hunters, the women who lived by a creed of purity and vengeance, those who loathed the all males and their supposed manipulations. They believed he had enslaved his Fire Keeper, used her as a tool to feed his own power, to fuel his eternal flames.

They did not know her. Not truly.

The Fire Keeper.

"Leave" growled Gwyn pointing his Greatsword at her while keeping the Fire Keeper behind him in a protective stance as his golden amber eyes watched the Goddess in a tense standoff.

Dianna stared at the Lord of Cinder with a hate filled stare as she watched and her eyes meet the Fire Keeper who had an white crown over her eyes and a cloth underneath wrapped around her head protecting her eyes. "Give her to me, Male.".

Gwyn flared his Flames given by both his godly power and the First Flame. As The Fire Keeper backed away knowing that a confrontation as going to happen. The Hunters of Artemis backed away too mostly Zoe, seeing as this wasn't a good time to fight a literal god and piss off a possible pantheon.

"Leave, goddess this is your last chance, she won't be coming with you." Gwyn stared "she is the only thing left I have or the Darkness will come and destroy everything that you loved." Artemis said nothing but fired her sliver arrows as Cinder blocked each arrow with precision before appearing before her, Artemis eyes widened before switching to knifes as she blocked his attack, sending sock waves through the area.

Surprising everyone but the Fire Keeper, the Fire Keeper listened the fight while keeping away from these hunters, hopefully this battle will end soon.

Meanwhile In the Depths of Tartarus

The air in Tartarus was thick with an oppressive silence, broken only by the distant, haunting echoes of things better left unspoken. The air was heavy with the weight of ancient power—power that had slumbered for eons, waiting for the right moment to awaken. In the heart of the deepest, most desolate cavern, Manus, the Titan of the Abyss, lay in hiding.

Manus, the child of Erebus, the primordial god of darkness, had long been a shadow in the mythic tales. He had once ruled over the forgotten corners of existence, a being of pure void. But his ambitions were greater than mere dominion—he sought the Fall of Olympus itself. His waiting was not by choice, but by necessity.

Bound by the First Flame—a radiant, unyielding force—Manus could not break free. The Flame was the last line of defense against the darkness, an eternal battle that raged between light and shadow, with no victor in sight. Yet, the Darkness's s power came at a great cost. Those who came into contact with it were often consumed, twisted, and corrupted, becoming nothing more than hollow shells of their former selves. The Darkness did not simply destroy—it changed, remaking those it touched into mindless, soulless husks of their former selves. They became slaves of the Titans, spreading destruction wherever they went, obliterating everything in their path, friend and foe alike.

Manus had seen the Darkness's effects from afar—seen what it had done to the once slaves of Olympus, once proud and powerful beings reduced to monsters that only knew chaos. He had seen what it had done to Olympus's heroes, for they were corrupted beyond recognition.

Yet still, he waited.

A faint stirring in the distance. Something. A presence. The tremor of an impending event—a shift in the fabric of the universe. Manus, his massive form still cloaked in the darkened abyss, unfurled a hand. He could sense it now—a conflict on the surface. Two figures locked in combat, their powers clashing in a way that rippled through the very fabric of reality. He knew them—Gwyn, the eternal warrior, and Diana, the fierce protector. Their fight, their struggle, was a reflection of the unrest that had begun to stir in the gods' world above.

But Manus had no interest in their petty squabbles. His only concern was the eventual return of his own power. The First Flame was a barrier, a force that kept him in check, but soon, he knew, its light would flicker. The war between the Flame and the Darkness could only last so long.

And then, Manus would be free.

But freedom came at a price.

From the depths of his prison, Manus whispered to the shadows, to the remnants of his corrupted followers, the lost souls who had once been champions of Olympus. Their spirits now roamed the abyss, twisted and hungry. They were the harbingers of destruction, the mindless slaves of the Titan Manus's corruption.

And Manus, though bound, would not remain shackled forever.