“You should let that man see his daughter more often, Nabu.”

Your voice was a mere sliver of sound, a whisper that drifted through the vast, echoing chambers of the Tower of Fate. You spoke as if volume itself might shatter the fragile stillness of the sanctum, though you knew better; Fate had been aware of your presence from the moment you crossed the threshold.

You had a habit of appearing out of thin air, a flickering spark of entropy manifesting within the bastion of absolute structure. It was a mystery even to him why he tolerated your intrusion, considering your very nature was designed to unmake everything he stood for.

“I may be a Lord of Chaos, but even I’m less heartless than you.” Your laughter was a discordant chime that broke his concentration. You watched with dark satisfaction as his posture stiffened for a microsecond— a rare crack in the golden facade— before he finally opened his eyes and levitated slowly to the floor.

Any other Lord of Order would have purged your chaotic essence from this plane centuries ago, yet Fate harbored a strange, inexplicable attachment to you that defied the laws of his own existence.

Unlike Klarion, who sought only the screeching madness of destruction, you were capable of listening to reason. You were a creature born to rain hellfire and unravel the tapestry of reality, yet you found a much more delightful purpose: being the singular source of disorder in his life rather than the lives of mortals.

“Giovanni Zatara understood the consequences of his actions when he struck a deal with me,” Nabu replied, his voice dry and ancient. It didn't need volume to carry; it resonated through the Tower as if the very walls were speaking. “I will not be displaced again.”

There was a sharp, jagged edge of bitterness in his tone—a lingering resentment over the sixty-five years the Helmet of Fate had spent discarded, gathering dust like a common relic. He had been forgotten, and he would not allow history to repeat itself.

Zatara had traded his soul and his freedom to spare his daughter a lifetime of servitude. It was a noble sacrifice, a perfect exchange of Order, and Nabu saw no reason to alter the deal just because a child missed her father.