Contents
About Prompt
- Prompt Type – Scene-by-Scene
- Prompt Platform – Google Veo
- Language – English
- Category – Video/Story
- Prompt Title – VEO 3 Prompt – The Blood Oath of Olympus
Prompt Details
🎬 Scene 1
The scene opens upon a landscape of profound and breathtaking desolation, a haunting tableau meticulously painted with the palette of divine wrath. The air is a thick, almost tangible entity, a choking miasma saturated with the acrid stench of incinerated timber, the mineral sharpness of scorched earth, and the coppery, sickeningly sweet tang of spilt blood that clings to the back of the throat. A perpetual twilight is cast by a sky bruised with shades of violent purple and angry crimson, completely suffocated by roiling clouds of black smoke that blot out the sun. Fine, silvery-grey ash, the spectral ghost of a once-vibrant village, descends in a slow, silent, and unending snowfall, blanketing the skeletal remains of homes and lives with a funereal shroud. Each individual flake is rendered in hyper-realistic detail as it tumbles through the oppressive atmosphere, landing with a mournful finality upon the pyre of a forgotten community. The lighting is a masterpiece of cinematic despair, a suffocating chiaroscuro created by the dying embers that glow with malevolent, pulsing intensity from within the hollowed-out husks of cottages and workshops. These embers cast long, dancing shadows that writhe and twist like tormented spirits. A single, weak beam of tarnished gold light manages to pierce the gloom, illuminating a swirling vortex of dust motes, ash, and sorrow, lending an ethereal, nightmarish quality to the devastation. In the foreground, the splintered, charred remnants of a farmer’s cart lie overturned, its broken wheels pointing like skeletal fingers towards the unforgiving heavens. The ground is a treacherous, uneven carpet of shattered roof tiles, pulverized masonry, and the poignant, scattered detritus of abruptly ended lives: a child’s forgotten wooden toy soldier, its painted smile a grotesque parody of innocence, lies half-submerged in a puddle of muddy, ash-stained water; a weaver’s loom is a tangled mess of burnt thread and splintered wood; a blacksmith’s anvil, miraculously intact, sits cold and silent amidst the ruins of its forge. The camera, positioned at a ground-level low angle to emphasize vulnerability and loss, slowly pushes in on the central figure, Kaelan, who stands as a solitary monument of grief amidst the ruin. His powerful silhouette is defined by slumped shoulders, a posture not of physical fatigue but of a soul crushed by an unbearable weight. The worn, dark leather of his tunic is caked in layers of soot and grime, his face a mask of streaked dirt and the dried salt of tears. His tousled, raven-black hair is matted with sweat and debris, and the wind, a low, keening mourner, whispers through the wreckage, causing a few loose strands to whip across his face, momentarily obscuring the raw, unadulterated agony reflected in his stormy grey eyes. His knuckles are bone-white as he clutches a small, scorched wooden carving—a bird, its wings outstretched in a flight it will never take. The focus is so sharp you can see the grain of the charred wood, the intricate stitching on his leather bracer, and the way the dim, hellish light catches the fresh moisture welling at the corners of his eyes before it traces a clean path down his sullied cheek. He is perfectly still, a statue carved from sorrow, frozen in the epicentre of his world’s end. The atmosphere is designed to be completely immersive, a symphony of decay where the only sounds are the crackle of dying embers, the mournful sigh of the wind, and the faint, almost imperceptible beat of a single, vengeful heart.
🎵 Tone: Mournful / Somber / Vengeful
🎬 Scene 2
The scene dissolves into an intimate, focused moment of discovery within the sprawling chaos. The camera is now tightly framed on a section of what was once the village elder’s study, now a collapsed heap of charred beams and pulverized stone. The oppressive gloom is pierced by a single, concentrated shaft of divine, silver-white light that cuts through the smoke-filled air like a celestial sword, its source unseen in the heavens above. This beam illuminates a small pocket of survival amidst the rubble, creating a sacred, reverent space in the heart of the profanity. Dust motes, rendered with crystalline clarity, dance and swirl within the light’s path, creating a magical, almost liquid quality to the air. At the focal point of this divine spotlight, nestled amongst shattered pottery and the blackened pages of burnt scrolls, lies an object of impossible beauty and ancient power: a Celestial Astrolabe. It is not large, fitting comfortably in a man’s palm, but it commands the entire frame. Forged from a strange, unearthly bronze that seems to absorb and amplify the light, its surface is a complex web of interlocking rings and finely etched celestial charts. These markings are not mere engravings; they are filled with a substance that glows with a soft, pulsating azure light, a cool counterpoint to the hot, angry embers that smoulder nearby. The intricate star patterns and unknown constellations shift and realign with a silent, hypnotic grace, suggesting the device is alive, a map not of the world, but of fate itself. Kaelan’s hands enter the frame, hesitant and trembling, not from fear, but from a profound sense of awe and reverence. His fingers, calloused and stained with soot, are a stark contrast to the astrolabe’s pristine, otherworldly surface. As his fingertips make contact, the azure light within the engravings flares brightly, casting intricate, moving patterns of starlight across his face and the surrounding debris. The camera executes a slow, deliberate rack focus from his trembling fingers to the astrolabe’s core, where a perfectly polished piece of obsidian reflects a distorted, wide-angle image of his determined grey eyes. The detail is immaculate: you can see the fine scratches on the bronze, the almost microscopic dust particles on the obsidian, and the reflection of individual eyelashes in his mirrored gaze. This single object is a beacon of hope, a key, a promise of guidance in a world that has been plunged into darkness. Its discovery is not a moment of loud triumph, but of quiet, earth-shattering significance, a whisper of destiny in a cacophony of despair. The air around it seems to hum with a latent energy, a forgotten magic reawakening after an age of slumber.
🎵 Tone: Mysterious / Hopeful / Awestruck
🎬 Scene 3
The narrative leaps forward, painting an epic, sweeping panorama of an arduous journey. The scene is a testament to Kaelan’s unyielding determination, set against a backdrop of breathtaking and hostile high-fantasy geography. We are in the jagged, unforgiving peaks of the Titan’s Spine mountains, a range so colossal its highest points pierce the belly of the storm-grey clouds above. The scale is immense, designed to make Kaelan appear small and insignificant, a lone mortal challenging a world built for gods and monsters. The mountains are not mere rock; they are cruel sentinels of obsidian and granite, their surfaces sharpened to a razor’s edge by millennia of harsh, supernatural winds. Patches of hardy, moss-like flora cling to the rock faces in shades of deep, bruised purple and sickly green. Waterfalls of glacial meltwater cascade down sheer cliffs, freezing into fantastic, crystalline sculptures mid-air before shattering on the rocks below. The sky is a roiling ocean of dark, heavy clouds, pregnant with unshed rain and lit from within by distant, silent flashes of lightning that reveal the terrifying silhouettes of even larger peaks hidden in the gloom. The atmosphere is raw and primal. The wind howls with a hungry, predatory voice, tearing at Kaelan’s clothes and forcing him to lean into its assault. He is a solitary figure, a speck of resolute motion in a vast, static landscape of stone and fury. He navigates a treacherous, narrow path carved into the side of a sheer cliff face. Below him is a dizzying, thousand-foot drop into a misty, unseen abyss. The camera, mounted on a sweeping drone, tracks alongside him, capturing both the grandeur of the environment and the intensity of his struggle. Every detail of his exertion is visible: the taut muscles in his legs as he finds a foothold, the way his knuckles are scraped and bloody from gripping the sharp rock for balance, the condensation of his breath pluming in the frigid air. His leather tunic and trousers are now more worn, stained with dirt and sweat. His face is grim, set with a granite-like resolve that mirrors the mountains themselves. The Celestial Astrolabe, his guide, is secured in a leather pouch at his hip, its faint azure glow occasionally visible through the material, a secret star guiding him through the wilderness. The heroic theme begins to build here, not yet in full force, but as a subtle undercurrent of strings and horns, a promise of the hero he is becoming. This scene is pure visual storytelling, a montage of endurance that communicates his commitment far more powerfully than words could. It is a baptism by nature, a physical trial that forges his spirit for the divine confrontation that lies ahead. The sheer, overwhelming scale and the palpable sense of danger serve to elevate his quest from a simple journey to a mythic pilgrimage.
🎵 Tone: Epic / Determined / Arduous
🎬 Scene 4
The transition from the harsh, external world to the hidden sanctuary is a moment of profound, breathtaking contrast. The scene opens with the camera positioned directly behind a massive, thundering waterfall, its cascading torrent of water acting as a liquid curtain that obscures the view. The sound is an all-encompassing roar. Kaelan’s silhouette appears, pushing through the veil of water with immense effort. As he emerges on the other side, the roar of the waterfall instantly softens, magically muffled into a gentle, soothing murmur, and the camera follows him into a hidden grotto of surreal and ethereal beauty. This is the Sanctuary of Thea. It is a vast, circular cavern, the ceiling of which is lost in a soft, luminous mist hundreds of feet above. The air is warm, still, and smells of damp earth, night-blooming jasmine, and ozone. There is no discernible light source, yet the entire cavern is bathed in a soft, multi-hued luminescence that emanates from the flora itself. Bioluminescent fungi grow in intricate, fractal patterns across the cavern walls, pulsing with soft shades of sapphire, emerald, and amethyst. Great, luminous crystals, perfectly clear and as tall as ancient trees, jut from the cavern floor, refracting the ambient light into a thousand dancing rainbows. The ground is not rock, but a carpet of impossibly soft, glowing moss that cushions every footstep. In the centre of the grotto lies a perfectly still, circular pool of water. The water is as black and reflective as polished obsidian, and the star-filled cosmos is perfectly mirrored on its surface, not the sky of the outside world, but a deeper, more ancient starscape. Floating on the surface of this pool are delicate, glowing moon-orchids, their silver-white petals unfolding in a perpetual, slow-motion bloom. The atmosphere is one of absolute serenity and timeless magic, a place untouched by the rage of gods or the suffering of mortals. The camera executes a slow, 360-degree pan, drinking in the impossible beauty of the sanctuary. The sheer detail is overwhelming: individual water droplets clinging to the glowing moss, the intricate crystalline structure of the giant crystals, the subtle, slow drift of luminous pollen in the air. This place is a living, breathing entity, a pocket of primordial creation hidden from the world. Kaelan stands at the entrance, water dripping from his hair and clothes, his body still tense from his journey. He is utterly transfixed, his expression a mixture of disbelief, awe, and a profound sense of peace he hasn’t felt in an age. For a moment, the weary hero is just a man humbled by a beauty that defies comprehension. The sanctuary is a visual balm, a stark and necessary contrast to the destruction and struggle that have defined his journey thus far.
🎵 Tone: Awestruck / Magical / Serene
🎬 Scene 5
The serene atmosphere of the sanctuary gains a focal point and a palpable tension with the introduction of its guardian. The camera glides silently past Kaelan, moving deeper into the grotto towards the central, star-reflecting pool. There, seated on a smooth, moss-covered rock at the water’s edge, is Thea. She is the physical embodiment of the sanctuary’s ancient magic. Her form is tall, slender, and ageless, radiating a calm, formidable power. Her long, silver hair, the colour of liquid moonlight, is woven into a complex braid intertwined with the same glowing moon-orchids that float on the pool, their gentle light casting a soft halo around her head. Her gown, a flowing masterpiece of deep indigo silk, seems woven from the night sky itself; its fabric shimmers and subtly shifts with patterns of distant constellations and nebulae. Her bare feet rest upon the glowing moss, seemingly rooted to the very essence of the place. Her face is a study in serene, melancholic beauty, with high cheekbones and skin that seems to have a faint, pearlescent luminosity. But it is her eyes that command absolute attention. They are a piercing amethyst, and they hold the vast, weary wisdom of millennia, seeming to gaze not at Kaelan, but through him, into the very heart of his motivations and his pain. The camera settles into a medium two-shot, framing both Kaelan and Thea with the cosmic pool between them, a symbolic representation of the gulf between mortal and divine. Thea has not moved; she was not surprised by his arrival. Her posture is one of perfect stillness, a meditation she has held for centuries. Kaelan, having regained his composure, takes a few more steps forward, his movements slow and respectful, stopping at a polite distance from the pool’s edge. He is now the intruder, the disruption in this timeless peace. The lighting subtly shifts, with the ambient glow of the cavern seeming to focus more intensely on Thea, while Kaelan remains partially in shadow, emphasizing the power dynamic at play. He is a figure of dirt, sweat, and worn leather, a stark, mortal contrast to her ethereal perfection. The air, once tranquil, now crackles with unspoken energy. The silence is not empty, but filled with a heavy sense of anticipation and judgment. Thea’s initial inaction is her first test: a test of his patience, his respect, his resolve. Her very presence changes the sanctuary from a place of refuge to a place of trial.
🎵 Tone: Tense / Reverent / Solemn
🎬 Scene 6
Thea’s response to Kaelan’s plea is not a verbal explanation, but a profound and terrifying vision. With a gesture of sublime grace, she raises one elegant, long-fingered hand and trails her fingertips across the mirror-like surface of the obsidian pool. The moment she makes contact, the perfect reflection of the cosmos on the water shatters, not into ripples, but into a swirling vortex of incandescent, golden light. The camera pushes in rapidly, plunging the viewer’s perspective directly into the pool, which becomes a gateway to another realm. We are transported to the throne room of Olympus, but it is a grim and silent version of the legendary court. The immense chamber, usually depicted as a place of revelry and light, is now cold, stark, and bathed in an oppressive, amber-hued twilight. The great gods of the Pantheon—Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Apollo, Artemis—are seated on their colossal thrones, but they are not gods of vibrant power; they are statues of grim resignation. Their faces, carved from living marble, are set in masks of stony fury and impotence. Zeus’s hand grips a thunderbolt that remains cold and inert. Hera’s eyes are fixed on some unseen tragedy, a single, golden tear frozen on her cheek. The camera circles them in a slow, disorienting Dutch angle, enhancing the sense of a world thrown off its axis. And then the vision reveals the cause of their paralysis. A single, pulsating thread of crimson energy, thick and viscous like living blood, snakes through the throne room. It originates from a dark, ornate chalice on a central altar and connects to each god, wrapping around their wrists like a divine manacle. This is the Blood Oath, a magical pact made manifest. Its malevolent, scarlet light pulses in time with a deep, slow heartbeat, the sound of which dominates the soundscape. The vision then cuts violently to a flash of Ares, clad in brutal, blood-blackened bronze armor, his helmet’s visor glowing with the same crimson energy as the oath, slaughtering mortals on a burning battlefield. The imagery is fast, brutal, and impressionistic. The vision then pulls back, returning to the tranquil grotto. Kaelan is on his knees, gasping for breath, his hand clutching his head. The reflection of the horrifying vision is still visible in his wide, terrified grey eyes. Thea stands over him, her expression one of deep, ancient sorrow, not of malice. She has not shown him this to frighten him, but to make him understand the absolute, unyielding nature of the divine law he seeks to circumvent. The contrast between the violent, fiery vision and the serene, cool-toned sanctuary is jarring and effective, highlighting the terrible knowledge she bears and the impossible task Kaelan faces.
🎵 Tone: Shocking / Ominous / Revelatory
🎬 Scene 7
Following the devastating revelation of the vision, the scene shifts to a moment of profound gravity and purpose. The atmosphere in the grotto is heavy with the truth of the gods’ impotence. Kaelan remains on one knee, slowly pushing himself up, his face a mixture of despair and burgeoning resolve. Thea, having allowed him a moment to process the horror, turns her gaze from him back to the now-tranquil pool. Her expression is no longer just sorrowful; it is now imbued with a sense of ancient purpose, as if this exact moment was one she had foreseen long ago. She speaks, her melodic voice cutting through the silence, each word carefully chosen and laden with significance. As she explains the loophole in the divine pact, she raises both hands over the water. The surface of the pool, which had returned to its placid, star-reflecting state, begins to glow from within, not with the golden light of Olympus, but with a pure, brilliant, silver-white luminescence, the colour of a supernova. The camera focuses on the water as it begins to churn, not violently, but with a controlled, powerful energy. From the depths of the pool, an object rises, breaking the surface without a sound and levitating in the air between Thea and Kaelan. It is a spear, a weapon of exquisite and terrifying beauty. The haft is crafted from a material that looks like polished obsidian but swirls with captured nebulae, as if carved from the very fabric of the night sky. The spearhead itself is not metal, but a shard of solidified starlight, impossibly sharp and radiating a soft, pulsating, internal light. It hums with a low, resonant frequency, a sound that feels both like a celestial choir and a predator’s growl. The light from the spear, which Thea calls ‘Stellaron’, casts sharp, dynamic highlights on their faces, illuminating the hope dawning in Kaelan’s eyes and the solemnity in Thea’s. This is not just a weapon; it is a solution, a key, an instrument of mortal defiance against a divine tantrum. It is the physical manifestation of a forgotten power, a relic from a time before the Olympians and their petty squabbles. The camera performs a slow, reverent arc around the floating spear, capturing every impossible detail of its construction and the raw power it radiates. Thea’s offering is not a gift, but a burden of immense weight. She is presenting him with the means to fight an unwinnable war, to become the mortal hand of a justice the gods themselves are forbidden to enact.
🎵 Tone: Solemn / Epic / Hopeful
🎬 Scene 8
This scene is the crucible of transformation, the moment the grieving survivor becomes the chosen champion. The camera is tight on Kaelan’s face, his stormy grey eyes reflecting the brilliant, pulsating light of the spear, Stellaron. His initial awe and fear are visibly receding, replaced by a hardened, crystal-clear resolve. He takes a deep, steadying breath, the condensation visible in the cool air of the grotto, and takes the final step towards the floating weapon. The scene unfolds in breathtaking slow motion. As Kaelan extends his hand, the camera follows his fingers, calloused and grimy, as they approach the swirling, cosmic obsidian of the spear’s haft. The instant his skin makes contact, a cataclysmic surge of pure, celestial energy is unleashed. A shockwave of visible, blue-white light erupts from the point of contact, expanding outwards through the grotto in a silent, beautiful explosion, causing the bioluminescent flora to flare in response. The energy, looking like liquid lightning, flows from the spear and up Kaelan’s arm. It’s not a violent, painful process, but a seamless integration of power. The veins on his arm glow with the same blue-white light, the energy tracing intricate, glowing patterns under his skin that look like constellations. The iron bracer on his arm heats to a white-hot glow before cooling into a silver metal etched with the same glowing runes. The camera cuts to an extreme close-up of his eyes. For a fleeting second, his grey irises are completely subsumed by the swirling blues and whites of a newborn galaxy, a visual representation of the cosmic power now flowing through him. He lets out a sharp, involuntary gasp, not of pain, but of sheer, overwhelming power. His body tenses, every muscle defined as the energy suffuses his entire being. He lifts the spear from its levitation with an ease that belies its divine nature, his grip now firm and absolute. The slow motion ends as he plants the butt of the spear on the mossy ground with a resounding, definitive thud. The energy recedes from his skin, but his eyes retain a subtle, star-like glint, and the runes on his new silver bracer continue to pulse with a soft, steady light. He stands taller now, his posture transformed. The slumped shoulders of the mourner are gone, replaced by the squared, unshakeable stance of a warrior who has accepted his impossible destiny. The moment is a pure, visual spectacle of empowerment, the birth of a legend captured in a cascade of light and sound.
🎵 Tone: Transformative / Powerful / Heroic
🎬 Scene 9
The scene cuts dramatically from the enclosed, magical sanctuary to a vast, open, and elemental vista, signifying Kaelan’s return to the world of conflict, now reborn. He stands alone on the precipice of the highest peak of the Titan’s Spine, a location known as the ‘Eagle’s Anvil’. He has completed his journey up and is now looking down upon the mortal realm he must save. The sun is setting, a spectacular, fiery explosion of cinematic colour that paints the clouds in brilliant shades of gold, crimson, and deep orange. This ‘magic hour’ light catches him in a heroic, golden-red backlight, casting his powerful silhouette against the breathtaking sky and making the silver runes on his bracer and the star-shard tip of Stellaron blaze with reflected fire. The wind at this altitude is fierce, whipping his dark hair and the edges of his leather tunic with a wild, untamed energy. He is no longer the weary traveller; he is a figure of myth, poised between the heavens and the earth. Below him, the world stretches out to an infinite horizon. The rolling hills and plains are cast in the long shadows of twilight, but here and there, a dark, unnatural stain mars the landscape—the smouldering, orange glow of burning villages and the ominous, dark plumes of smoke rising from lands scarred by Ares’s rampage. Kaelan’s gaze is fixed on this distant destruction, his expression a mask of cold, righteous fury. The grief is still there, etched into the lines around his eyes, but it has been tempered into a weapon as sharp as the spear he holds. Stellaron is held firmly in his right hand, its butt resting on the rock beside him, its point aimed at the sky like a beacon of defiance. The camera, positioned on a sweeping crane, begins low and behind Kaelan, then majestically rises high above him, pulling back to reveal the truly epic scale of the scene: one man, armed with a shard of a star, standing against a world on fire. The sheer, overwhelming beauty of the sunset provides a stark, poignant contrast to the ugliness of the war below. This is the classic ‘hero shot’, a moment of quiet contemplation and hardening resolve before the final plunge into battle. It is a visual promise of the epic confrontation to come, a singular image of hope and defiance against an encroaching, all-consuming darkness. Every element—the lighting, the composition, the powerful music, the character’s pose—is meticulously crafted to evoke a profound sense of heroism, sacrifice, and impending mythological conflict.
🎵 Tone: Heroic / Determined / Epic
🎬 Scene 10
The final scene is a masterclass in cinematic tension, a perfectly balanced juxtaposition of the hero and the villain that sets the stage for the inevitable, cataclysmic confrontation. The screen is filled with an extreme close-up of Kaelan’s face, lit by the dying embers of the sunset. The focus is razor-sharp on his stormy grey eyes, which no longer just reflect the light but seem to contain their own—a subtle, swirling, galaxy-like luminescence, a permanent mark of the power he now wields. His expression is devoid of fear or hesitation; it is a mask of pure, unadulterated resolve. The scar over his eyebrow seems to deepen, a physical mark of past pains now fuelling his righteous purpose. Every micro-expression is a testament to his transformation: the slight tightening of his jaw, the almost imperceptible narrowing of his eyes as he focuses on his singular goal. The camera holds on this shot, allowing the audience to feel the full weight of his determination. Then, a sharp, jarring cut. We are plunged into a vision of hell. The camera is now an extreme close-up on the helmet of Ares, the God of War. It is a brutal piece of craftsmanship, forged from Stygian iron and bronze, scarred and dented from a thousand battles. The helmet is fashioned into a snarling, monstrous visage. Through the narrow, menacing eye-slit of the visor, nothing is visible but a pair of burning, crimson embers that pulse with malevolent, hateful energy—the same baleful red as the Blood Oath. The focus is so tight that you can see the heat haze shimmering around the helmet and the flakes of ash settling on its dark, scorched surface. The background is a blurry, chaotic montage of fire, destruction, and the dark, writhing shapes of a battlefield at night. A final, rapid intercut sequence solidifies the impending duel: a shot of Kaelan’s hand gripping the stellar-forged haft of Stellaron, its cosmic patterns swirling gently; then a shot of Ares’s gauntleted fist clenching around the hilt of a monstrous, serrated blade that drips with fresh blood. Another cut: Kaelan’s determined eyes, filled with starlight and sorrow. The final cut: Ares’s helmet, a symbol of mindless, divine destruction. The juxtaposition is stark and powerful—the focused, righteous mortal against the faceless, elemental god of carnage. The heroic music cuts out abruptly, leaving only a single, deep, menacing drumbeat, like the heartbeat of war itself, to bridge the final moment. The stage is set, the combatants are defined, and the promise of a legendary battle hangs heavy and silent in the air.
🎵 Tone: Suspenseful / Ominous / Confrontational