Aaron stood at the very summit of the ancient coliseum, the wind tugging at his cloak as if trying to warn him of the madness he had willingly provoked. Yet he only smiled.
Nestled in his palm was a small, perfectly smooth black sphere—a relic so ancient that even the oldest gods had begun to forget its true name. Thousands of years ago, this sphere had been forged to do the impossible: to contain a fragment of Pandora's carnage, to swallow a portion of the curses that spilled from Pandora's Box when Zeus's wrath spiraled out of control. Many had died crafting it, and even more had been sacrificed to keep it sealed. Its purpose was simple—to save humanity from annihilation.
And then, as years bled into centuries, the sphere vanished from the world.
Yet here it was now, resting in Aaron's grasp.
