The Guardian gods-Chapter 805
The worry in Crepuscular’s voice made the air in the room grow heavy. Ikenga understood the fear immediately, the protective instinct of a father to be warring with the cold reality of their status.
Ikenga considered his words carefully, searching for a truth that wasn’t just comfort. "I have pondered this," Ikenga began slowly. "I believe the reaction to Ikelos was unique. He is the union of two Origin Gods. That combination birthed a True God with a divinity and function so potent that it was unacceptable in the eyes of many."
Crepuscular’s eyes brightened with a flicker of joy. "Then... Xerosis is not an Origin God like her mother, Keles. She is powerful, yes, but she does not hold that primordial spark." He looked at Ikenga with a hopeful, almost pleading tone. "So it should not be the same for her. The world won’t feel that same shift. Right?"
"Indeed, she is not an Origin," Ikenga said, his voice dropping into a more somber tone. "But she is still a Goddess, and the Origin blood flows in her veins. It may not be as concentrated, but the spark is there. If I were you, brother, I would not overlook that truth."
At those words, Crepuscular’s face contorted into a pained grimace.
Ikenga watched the reaction, a frown deepening on his own features. "Why do you wear such an expression?" he asked, his tone sharpening with a sudden edge. "Do you truly fear the blood that much? Or do you perhaps see a birth like Ikelos’s as... a mistake?"
"A mistake?" Crepuscular murmured the word as if it were a poison. Then he said it again, his voice rising. "A mistake?!"
The air in the Underworld didn’t just grow heavy, it ignited. Crepuscular’s eyes blazed with heat of the sun, and a massive, roaring sphere of flame materialized within Keles’s realm, scorching the shadows. The heat was so intense it threatened to warp the very laws of the sanctuary.
"How could you speak such a word to me, brother?" Crepuscular demanded, his gaze locked onto Ikenga, his divinity flaring in a challenge of pure, wounded pride.
Across from him, the curse markings on Ikenga’s body began to pulse with a rhythmic, rhythmic glow, like a second heartbeat beneath his skin. The power of Nature and Curses stirred in response to the heat. Ikenga was angry, but as he looked at Crepuscular’s trembling fury, the anger turned inward.
He wasn’t truly mad at his brother. He was furious at himself, because in Crepuscular’s desperate, burning eyes, he saw a reflection of himself. He realized they were both just fathers terrified that their nature would become their children’s burden.
As the heat from Crepuscular’s anger scorched the air, Ikenga didn’t flinch. Looking at his brother’s contorted face was like staring into a mirror held up to his own soul from only a few months prior. He realized he must have worn that exact same expression before his own mother had spoken to him.
The "mistake" he had just spoken of wasn’t an accusation, it was a confession.
It was a thought that had gnawed at the edges of his own mind during Keles’s pregnancy. The unpredictable, almost volatile nature of a child born from the union of two Origin Gods had disturbed him deeply. He had spent nights wondering if bringing such a being into existence was an act of love or an error.
The abstract, primordial states of both Ikenga and Keles, Nature, Curses, Death, and Darkness had fused into something entirely new and unpredictable. They hadn’t just birthed a son, they had birthed a Function. A being of Stagnation and Succession who, by his very nature, became an immediate thorn in the side of every ambitious soul in the world of Nana.
The tension in the air, thick with the scent of ozone and whispers of curses, began to bleed away as Ikenga reached out. He placed a heavy hand on Crepuscular’s shoulder, the glowing pulse of his markings dimming to a steady, rhythmic thrum.
"It was not an accusation, brother," Ikenga said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly confession. "It was the echo of my own doubts. I once looked at Ikelos and saw a being whose very breath is a challenge to the world. I wondered if I had done him a disservice by bringing him into a reality that would hate him for simply existing."
Crepuscular’s flames flickered, the great sphere of fire shrinking until it was nothing more than a dying ember in the shadows of the Underworld. The defensive wall he had built around his heart seemed to crack.
"I see the path Ikelos must walk," Crepuscular admitted, his gaze returning to the sleeping child in Jaus’s arms. "And I fear for the one my own child will inherit. If Ikelos is the thorn, what will my child be? A target? A tool?"
Ikenga tightened his grip on his brother’s shoulder, turning him to face the cradle of Jaus’s arms.
"They will be whatever we raise them to be," Ikenga countered, his eyes hardening with a renewed clarity.
Jaus, who had stayed silent throughout the exchange, looked up. The child, Ikelos, stirred in his sleep, a tiny hand grasping at the air as if reaching for a thread only he could see.
"They are not mistakes, Crepuscular," Jaus added "They are the new laws of Nana. It is not our children who must shrink to fit this world; it is the world and its residents who must grow to accommodate them."
Ikenga nodded, the lines of his face softening slightly as he looked at his brothers. "Jaus is right. Besides, Ikelos is just one of many possibilities. Our blood is vast and varied. Who is to say the next of our seeds won’t be an existence beloved by everyone, a light the world actually wants to follow?"
Crepuscular remained silent for a long moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was hollow, stripped of its former anger. "Truthfully... whatever way my child comes out isn’t the problem for me. My deepest worry is for this world of ours."
He looked at his hands, the skin still humming with the residual heat of the sun he commanded. "Moments ago, before you and Keles acted, I was ready to burn this world clean. To glass the surface for their transgression. This is a world we were tasked to guard and protect... yet none of that mattered to me the second I saw their reaction to Ikelos."
Crepuscular’s hand tightened into a white-knuckled fist, his knuckles cracking like cooling stone. "I don’t think I could be as calm as you, Ikenga. If that had been my child... I fear there would be nothing left but ash."
To his surprise, Ikenga let out a low, dry chuckle. The sound was warm, breaking the suffocating tension of the room.
"You underestimate yourself greatly, brother," Ikenga said, his eyes softening as he looked at the powerful god beside him. "You are in far more control of your actions and your anger than you give yourself credit for. You didn’t strike. You waited. That is something"
Ikenga stepped closer, his voice reassuring. "When the time comes, I am certain you will know exactly what to do. And besides..." A small, knowing smirk played on Ikenga’s lips. "There is always us. We won’t simply stand by and watch as you ruin our foundation. We are your brothers, we are the anchors that keep the world from drifting into your fire."
The moment of shared understanding was there until a new sound reached Ikenga’s ears, cutting through the short silence.
The air in the chamber shifted as Ikenga’s figure flickered and reappeared instantly at the bedside. The sheer intensity of his exchange with Crepuscular, the heat of the sun and the pulse of the curses had rippled through the realm, pulling Keles from her short, deep, restorative slumber.
Ikenga reached out, his large hand enveloping hers. Keles, now without her veil, looked up at him. Her first words were a breathless whisper: "Where is my child?"
Jaus stepped forward, moving with a reluctant slowness as he prepared to give up the small bundle. "He is right here, sister," Jaus said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "He is a strong one. He has the heart of a titan."
Keles struggled to sit up, her movements heavy and uncoordinated. Even for the Goddess of Death and Darkness, giving birth to a True God had been a monumental feat, it had drained her essence in a way that no battle ever could. She looked pale, the shadows around her flickering like a dying candle.
As she stared lovingly at the child, Ikenga leaned down, planting a tender kiss on her forehead. The mark of his affection seemed to breathe a small spark of life back into her.
"His name is Ikelos," Ikenga murmured. "A strong name, chosen for him by Jaus."
Keles let the name rest on her tongue, tasting the weight of it before looking up at her brother. "Ikelos..." she whispered, a small, tired smile forming. "Thank you, brother. It fits him perfectly."
