He held within his bloody hands a pendant. The chain hung loose, snaking around his forearm. Olyver extended it towards Hela.

Hela looked upon the family token, as ancient as the first star that haunted the darkness above.

“Do not give this to me,” she begged, “You are it’s keeper.” The sounds of the war became an echo to Hela. The fear she felt claiming her heart was violent in voice. She looked down at her brother. They had been together always. All moments, throughout all her teachings, following each passing rite, as the sun rose and the moon struck it was her and him.

The balance.

He the keeper of malice. And she, the watcher of munificence.

“I can feel I am fading. You must take it, I cannot contain it, and without a keeper it will be free.” Hera looked at Olyver. His jaded breathe and shadowed eyes were the most painful thing she was to feel.

She reached, and held his hand, “I will take it, for you. I will find someone else to care for it. Please, find peace Olyver. I will miss you always.”

He smiled, lightly, a sigh and ease befalling him, “you have been my greatest happiness.”

The sirens rang, and Hela knew it was time. She slowly rose, and with it she took the pendant.

It sat in her palm, smaller than she ever thought it was from all the times she saw it. She felt its hungry veins pulsing in her palm. Like lightning it cracked waiting to be free from the torrent of a fighting storm. And when she looked into the obsidian face of the pendant, she almost cried and released it, so stunned was she to see the face staring back at her.