"Why aren't you helping her?"
Elder Wenya whispered urgently as she edged closer to Raiking. Her worried gaze was fixed on the head of the table, where Libinea appeared increasingly trapped by the relentless truths being laid bare in the discussion.
Raiking did not avert his gaze from the scene. "Do you know how Libinea came to possess her Time Magic?"
"Because you gave it to her?" Wenya ventured.
"No, because she earned it," Raiking corrected, his tone unwavering. Finally, he turned his void-black eyes from his disciple to the elder. "When she first understood the true extent of my power, do you know what she asked of me?"
"To help her defend against the Divine Realm?"
Raiking nodded slowly. "And do you know what I told her?"
"Enlighten me."
"I told her I would not get involved in her personal matters. Not for her, and certainly not for her tribe."
Wenya frowned, her brow furrowed with a mix of confusion and mild indignation. "That was in the past. She was a stranger to you then. What about now?"
"To answer that, I must pose a question to you first."
"Oh?" Wenya straightened, her political instincts on high alert. "What insight could this old woman possibly offer someone of your standing?"
Raiking let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "You flatter me, Elder. But don't worry; the question is straightforward."
He turned his attention back to the intense political struggle unfolding in the hall, watching the Chieftains corner his disciple.
"Right now," Raiking murmured, his voice taking on a chilling tone, "if you had to choose between the destruction of your tribe and Libinea's happiness, which would you choose?"
Elder Wenya had lived long enough to know that a 'simple' question from someone like him was a trap. She chose her words with extreme care.
"The village's happiness is her happiness."
"Does she look happy right now?" Raiking asked.
Wenya paused. She looked at Libinea, observing the young Queen labor to navigate the oppressive guilt and impeccable logic the Chieftains were imposing on her. The golden light that had filled her eyes during the festival was flickering, threatening to extinguish under the crushing weight of their history. The situation was becoming increasingly dire.
This time, Wenya found herself devoid of any diplomatic evasions. She decided to address the core of the issue directly. "What are you truly trying to say, Guild Master?"
"You are quite... ancient," Raiking observed quietly, his voice barely rising above the ongoing debate at the table. "If I'm not mistaken, you are the only surviving relic from the Ancestral Era?"
Wenya froze, casting a frightened glance in his direction. She had kept this secret so well that not even her husband, Mushai, was aware of her true age. How could this outsider possibly know?
Sensing her rising anxiety, Raiking spoke before she could refute his observation.
"Do not worry. I have no intention of exposing what you wish to keep hidden. I mention it only so you understand..." He paused, and the air seemed to grow cooler. "...I am not merely a Guild Master."
Wenya swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. "T-then... who are you, truly?"
Raiking's lips curled into a faint, unsettling smile.
"I am known by many names," he murmured. "The Wanderer. The Father. The Void."
He turned his head, his eyes, as dark as a void, piercing through her and capturing her very essence.
"But for someone as historically knowledgeable as you, one name holds the most significance. I am the God of Death."
A primal shiver ran down Wenya's spine. Normally, she would dismiss such a grandiose claim as arrogant nonsense. Yet, standing beside him, her ancient instincts screamed that every word he spoke was true.
The more she contemplated it, the more the implausible became entirely logical.
Libinea's talent was vast, potentially surpassing that of the Ancestor herself. But to master the absolute laws of Time Magic and ascend to the realm of True Divinity in just a thousand years? Such an arduous, miraculous journey could not be achieved through diligence alone. It required the guidance of a being at the pinnacle of cultivation.
And who better to forge a True God than the most powerful deity in existence?
Under normal circumstances, discovering that Libinea had such formidable support would have filled Wenya with immense joy. It meant the Phoenix Tribe had a patron even the Dragon King would fear.
But this was no ordinary deity.
This was the God of Death. The most ruthless, impartial, and terrifying entity to ever exist in the cosmos.
Wenya's eyes widened in horror as she finally grasped the terrifying implication of his earlier question: If you had to choose between the annihilation of your tribe or Libinea's happiness...
He wasn't posing a philosophical question. He was asking her to choose her fate.
"What..." Wenya breathed, her voice trembling as she looked at the man who held the power to end worlds. "What will you do?"
Raiking turned his gaze back to the table, observing the tribal leaders as they continued to pressure his disciple.
"What is necessary," Raiking declared aloud to her.
Yet, beneath his breath, in a voice the frightened Elder could not hear, he made a solemn, ironclad vow.
"No matter what... I will not repeat the mistake I made with Maryal."
Standing nearby, Ezmelral's playful demeanor disappeared instantly. She heard it.
For a fleeting moment, the atmosphere around them grew oppressively heavy. She felt a terrifying, familiar chill sweep through the hall—a hint of the old Raiking. The ruthless, universe-ending Void King who existed long before he settled on this peaceful planet, slowly emerging from the depths of his being.
"Why are you telling me this?" Wenya asked in a hushed, urgent tone, ensuring the others remained unaware.
"Consider it a reward, if you will," Raiking replied, his gaze fixed on the intense debate.
"A reward?" Wenya repeated, her voice tinged with skepticism.
"I glimpsed Libinea's memories," Raiking said smoothly. "I saw how kindly you treated her during her isolation. As her Guild Leader, I owe you my gratitude."
Wenya glanced at the formidable Spirit Sword near the infant, then returned her gaze to Raiking. "And you think harming my kin is how a god shows gratitude?"
"Mercy manifests in various forms, Elder," Raiking stated, his voice carrying the weight of undeniable truth rather than malice. "Sometimes, a perfect outcome is unattainable. We must accept reality as it is."
"What if I can change their minds?" Wenya implored, looking towards Venae and Neihina. "If given time..."
"I can perceive the souls of every living being," Raiking interrupted softly, his void-black eyes surveying the four Chieftains. "Their souls reveal that yielding to her now would feel like a betrayal of their conscience. Betraying one's conscience begets regret, and regret is a spark that often leads to an irreversible path."
"Then why not compel them to submit?" Wenya pressed, her brow furrowing. "You clearly possess the power to end this debate with a single word."
"A rabid dog is only harmless while confined. Once freed, it won't remember who fed it during its most agonizing moments," he explained, his cold logic unwavering.
His gaze then shifted to Libinea, and his formidable presence softened almost imperceptibly.
"Furthermore," he added, his voice dropping to a whisper, "despite her loyalty to me... she would never truly forgive me. Deep down, she would never be happy seeing her people oppressed. Even if it was for her own sake."
Wenya studied him, noting the sincerity in his eyes—a stark contrast to the fearsome figure that had loomed on the roof hours earlier. He wasn't merely addressing the Phoenix Queen; he was speaking to the woman he cared for, attempting to spare her the burden of breaking her own people.
Wenya glanced back at Libinea, whose golden eyes were dimming under the weight of her tribe's history. Finally, she turned her attention to her husband, Mushai, bound by duty to align with the Chieftains.
She exhaled a long, weary sigh, resigning herself to the inevitable.
"Tell me more," Wenya said softly, stepping into the shadows, "... about this reward."