The Laplace Palace did not rest on any land. It floated in a white void, an intermediate dimension where colors did not exist, replaced by shades of silver and logical light. It was a realm of pure geometry, composed of glass spheres and crystal polygons that fit together with the precision of a divine clock.
Inside the Great Library, the silence was so dense that one could hear the crackling of probabilities. Millions of scrolls of light floated in the air, constantly rewriting themselves according to the events of the multiverse.
In the center of this orderly turmoil stood Laplace.
He was nothing like a bearded god or a muscular titan. He was a slender figure, dressed in a geometric silk robe that seemed to absorb light. His fingers fluttered over invisible dials, adjusting variables that even Odin could not have understood.
"Everything is in place," he murmured. His voice was not a cry, but a statement, a mathematical truth.
Before him, a giant lens projected a real-time image of the bottom of Tartarus. It showed a small obsidian spot and a golden glow: Jormund and the Fragment.
"The gods believe Tartarus is a tomb,"
Laplace continued with a smile that did not reach his mercury eyes. "They see only the end. They don't understand that for a new cycle to begin, there must be an error. An anomaly capable of breaking the equation of destiny."
He waved his hand, and a huge clockwork mechanism, hidden beneath the crystal floor, began to rumble. Gears the size of continents began to move in the lower layers of the palace.
"The great show can finally begin. The audience is blind, the actors are in position, and the set is ready to collapse."
Laplace turned to an empty throne, made of a metal that belonged to no known era. On the back of the throne, the symbol of infinity was engraved, but it was broken in two.
"I stand ready, Heir of Chronos. Come. Cross the realms, break the chains, devour time itself. I await you at the end of the calculation. For if you are the Anomaly, I am the Solution."
A burst of golden light struck the projection lens. In Tartarus, Jormund had just laid his hand on the Fragment. At that precise moment, in Laplace's Palace, all the clocks stopped for a fraction of a second before starting to run backwards.
Laplace closed his eyes, savoring the chaos that was about to unfold.
"Let the play begin."