“Tell me, Erebus. As the goddess of justice, I would like to hear what you think justice is.”
Seconds passed. The wind blew. Beneath a sea of stars, Erebus opened his eyes.
“…You told me there was no such thing as absolute justice.”
“Yes, I did.”
“I don’t think that’s right, Astrea. In fact, I think I see it now.”
Erebus looked her straight in the eye.
“Now that I have stood for evil, I think I finally understand.”
By living on one face of the coin, he understood its reverse. By standing at one extreme, he had managed to see the other side.
“Understand what?” Astrea asked.
“Justice,” said Erebus, “is a dream.”
Everyone listening was struck silent. Astrea, Hermes, and Vito, watching from the shadows.
“Our children come up with the funniest ideas. Take the Trolley Problem, for instance.”
Erebus began speaking of the decision he had once presented to Lyu.
“If you don’t pull the switch, you’re letting five people die. If you do, you’re killing one. A simple choice that they believe forms the basis of all morality, ethics, and justice.”
“………”
“But I don’t think they’re right. I don’t think that’s what justice is at all,” he went on. “Justice is not simply to choose. It is to take.”
“To take?”
“Yes. To see beyond two choices. To produce a third. To birth a million answers, and pluck from them a single one.”
The dark god nodded.
“Justice is to ignore the rules, to defy norms. To make the impossible possible. Sweep the scales aside. Whatever works.”
“Erebus…”
Hermes spoke his old friend’s name with a surprised yet sorrowful tone.
“That is what mortals call justice…and what we call heroism.”
That was Erebus’s answer.
Dreams and ideals lay far beyond the reach of even the most ambitious mortal, farther still than the gods themselves. Yet despite this, they still believed in them.
This was the true form of justice. Anyone could claim that dreams were just fantasy. Anyone could say they didn’t help address the true injustices in the world. Anyone could ask, If it isn’t possible, then why even try?
And yet the world needed dreams. Everyone knew this, and everyone knew what to call those who achieved them.
“And that was your true goal, all along?” asked Astrea,
“Heh, so you already figured it out, huh?”
“Yes. After our discussion on justice, I could hardly fail to notice.”
Erebus gave a weak smile. This whole farce had been in vain.
Then Hermes spoke, trying not to let his emotions get the better of him.
“Erebus,” he said. “We may not have gotten along too well up in heaven, but I knew one thing for certain: even as the god of the underworld, you never liked seeing mortals die.”
Erebus turned his head to look at the battered and scarred city below.
“I wanted an answer,” he said. “A sign to show this world which way to go.”
“Erebus…”
“I wanted to see the light of our children, of a people who keep on chasing their dreams, no matter what hardships await. I wanted to see the heroes this world needs.”
That was the dark god’s true desire. That was the only thing he wanted.
“And that is why you chose evil,” Astrea said. “You led the darkness in an attempt to birth a future hero. You recruited Zald and Alfia to put Orario through a trial.”
Together, they had deceived thousands, sacrificed their allies, and in the end, themselves. Erebus had cast aside his compassion and put Orario through a gauntlet. This had been the goal all along, from the onset of the Great Conflict, right up until the final showdown.
“Was there no other way, Erebus?”
“I’m afraid not, Hermes. You know that as well as I. Zeus and Hera are gone, and in spite of the covenant, the promised time fast approaches. Time will not wait for us. The hands of the clock keep on moving.”
What he spoke of, only the gods knew. And so only they could truly sympathize. Hermes voiced no objection, but looked down at the ground.
“Perhaps Leon didn’t find her answer in the end. Perhaps none of them did. But that’s okay. It’s still okay.”
“………”
“Because I believe the light of hope awaits them, at the end of their journey. And once they find it…I have no doubt they’ll pass it on.”
Erebus’s voice sounded gentle and kind, a far cry from his primordial darkness. It sounded like the soft swaying of wheat stalks in the twilight glow of evening.
“You were right, Astrea. I’ve caused a lot of trouble. In the end, that’s all I wanted.”
He shot them one last mischievous smile.
“…You sent countless lives up to heaven. You selected your champions and presented them with trials. You transformed good and evil into a foundation for this city’s future.”
Astrea calmly listed off the god’s crimes.
“That was your will,” she said at last. “That was your justice.”
Erebus only grinned.
“That wasn’t justice,” he said. “Like I said, justice is a dream. This was nothing more than the whims of a capricious god. There’s a name for that, and it’s evil.”
The dark god had claimed so many lives, and he wasn’t about to let Astrea have her way. What he had accomplished was neither proud nor noble—it was despicable. All his sins were his own. All the people’s hate was his to bear. There was no whitewashing the things that he had done.
Erebus was intent on being branded as evil to the very end.
“Is that so? Then, as the goddess of justice, allow me to pass my verdict.”
Astrea took up her sword of judgment, and without compassion or mercy, laid the dark god’s heart bare.
“You,” she said, “are a necessary evil, not absolute evil.”
“You are a stepping stone that will raise our children toward heights they might never reach. You are the shadows that work alone, reviled by all. Our children may never understand you, the other gods may mock you…but I will never forget your sins.”
The goddess’s voice was solemn as she enumerated the dark god’s offenses.
“…You’re ruthless, you are,” said Erebus with a grin. “I wanted to go out like a badass, and here you are making me sound like a fool.”
“I’m afraid I must have missed the part where that was my problem.”
“Heh. Yeah… You got that right, at least.”
Erebus couldn’t help but laugh, seeing the sweet smile on Astrea’s lips.
“I’ll say it again: You’re a fine woman, Astrea. I wouldn’t mind waking up next to a goddess like you.”
“Well, I would, Erebus. You’re far too contrary for my tastes.”
“Ha-ha… Damn, you’re really gonna do me dirty like that, huh?”
Then Erebus turned to the other god present.
“…Hermes,” he sang. “This is why I asked Astrea to bring me up here. Don’t go blabbing to others about what you saw here, all right? This is for the three gods…and one human.”
He turned again. To the top of the stairs, where his sole follower stood.
“!!”
Vito reeled with surprise. He had heard the god’s whole confession, believing they were all unaware of his presence.
But Hermes didn’t even look in Vito’s direction.
“All right,” the god of boundaries said. “I promise. After today, I’ll forget everything I saw and heard here. It will be unwritten, absent from both our Oratoria and that of our children.”
“Thank you…my friend.”
The two gods exchanged no more words than that, as though none were needed between two so closely knit as they. With no more regrets weighing on his mind, Erebus turned to Astrea.
“End it, Astrea. For real, this time.”
He lifted his arms gently, welcoming her sword in his breast. Astrea closed her eyes. Not to doubt or reconsider what she must do, but merely to grant a moment of calm.
“Just tell me one last thing,” she said, looking back into his eyes. There was no good and evil now—just one god speaking to another.
“Do you love this world?”
A shooting star raced across the sky. The night wind whistled. Erebus watched it all, as the breath of the world rustled his jet-black hair. Then he turned his back on it all, and smiled.
“Of course I do, Astrea.”