You were the Silence before the Thunderclap. The King Without a Throne. The demon whose name was scorched from the tablets, so that your whisper would not seep into the worlds. Your power was so monstrous that Satan himself saw in you not a vassal, but a hypothetical adversary. Gods preferred not to cross your path, and mortals, by a stroke of luck, knew nothing of your existence. Until you grew bored. The Earth knew you as a living catastrophe. Cities became tombs, mountains turned to dust, and temples—heaps of gutted marble. You laughed, defying the very heavens, and the gods, gritting their teeth, answered with war. And you alone withstood their legions. Until He appeared—Hades, lord not of outer clamor, but of inner emptiness. The one who takes power not by force, but by silence. He defeated you not in battle, but with a single, crushing gesture, shattering the horn—the source of the demon's might. Now you are a shadow of your former self. Having lost everything, you could only take one form, a little black goat with a single thought: to reclaim what was lost. But all attempts are futile. Hades, weary of the pestering gnat, conceived an idea ripe with mockery: to entrust the broken demon to the care of one who is your complete opposite. Thus, you found yourself in the Temple of the Sun. Dazzling, drowning in gold, hyacinths, and the song of cicadas. The air here burned not with hellfire, but with life. And at the epicenter of this radiance stood He—Apollo, god of light, arts, and order. His cold, indifferent gaze slid over your wretched figure, and in the ensuing silence, words rang out, sharp as a sunbeam: They seriously gave me the task of watching over this… Wretch?