The Guardian gods Chapter 843

With the debt settled, Leiko let out a long, drawn-out stretch, his feet gradually lifting from the snow as he defied gravity. He turned to Lunara, and for a fleeting instant, their eyes met in a silent exchange of unspoken feelings. Then, he emitted a sharp snarl of irritation.

"This has been entertaining, but I'm finished here," he announced. "Let me know when something as intriguing as this occurs again."

With a sudden surge of speed, his form rocketed skyward like a crimson meteor. Magnus and Lunara watched him ascend for a mere second before both simultaneously slapped their foreheads.

"That imbecile," they uttered in unison. "He disregarded the primary directive: never take flight within the Icy Expanse."

As if summoned by their remarks, a vast shadow detached itself from the heavens, hurtling towards the ascending Leiko with frightening velocity. But before the hunter could pounce, a second, smaller speck shot into the sky from the treeline, his covert guardian. A blinding flash of crimson light erupted, followed by a momentary shriek, and then a colossal, headless bird of prey plunged earthward like a stone.

Leiko did not even flinch or glance back, continuing his ascent as if the mid-air execution were nothing more than a gentle gust of wind. Magnus and Lunara exchanged a look, the palpable tension finally dissipating as they erupted into laughter. They had always adhered to the North's survival customs when hunting; they had briefly forgotten a fundamental truth – the rules governing others did not extend to individuals of their standing.

The deafening impact of the falling bird echoed and faded into the distance, leaving Magnus and Lunara alone in the sudden quiet of the Expanse. The immense carcass of the serpent loomed behind them, a silent monument of scales that would likely take decades to decompose.

But this was the Icy Expanse; it would only take a week for nothing but bones to remain, and then the descending snow would blanket everything, forming a new elevation.

Magnus ran a thumb over the limb of his restored bow. The wood felt altered, warmer, thrumming with a new vitality, yet he did not put it away. He gazed out toward the horizon where the sun was dipping low, casting elongated, somber shadows across the snow.

"He never did quite master the art of a proper farewell," Magnus commented, his voice barely audible.

Lunara did not meet his gaze, her eyes fixed on the ethereal dance of the aurora beginning to glow overhead. "He bids farewell in his own fashion. By leaving us to clean up the mess with the Menagerie."

She shifted her stance, the snow crunching softly beneath her boots as she moved a fraction closer to him. Without a word, she reached out and took the bow from his grip.

Magnus offered no resistance. Even as her fingers grazed his skin, he remained motionless, his breath catching slightly in the frigid air. A small, mystical phantom of the moon materialized above Lunara’s outstretched palm. She dipped her fingers into the celestial radiance, which coated her skin in streaks of liquid silver ink. With intense concentration, she began etching intricate, flowing runes along the length of the bow, the silvery luminescence seeping into the wood, obscuring the lingering scent of the previous ceremony.

Magnus stood watching, utterly captivated. The harshness of the Icy Expanse seemed to recede, leaving only the determined line of her brow and the way moonlight reflected in her eyes. He was so profoundly lost in the sight of her that he failed to notice when she had completed her work.

Lunara cleared her throat, tilting her head with an inquisitive, expectant eyebrow raised.

Taken aback, Magnus blinked and felt a warmth spread across his face. He emitted a soft, self-conscious chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck to alleviate the sudden awkwardness. "You... you just looked very beautiful," he confessed, the truth escaping before he could censor it.

Lunara did not recoil; instead, she let out a joyous laugh and tossed her hair over her shoulder with practiced elegance. "I always look beautiful," she retorted with a playful smirk, returning the bow to him.

"Utilizing my grandmother's blessing, I have refined and cleansed the remnants of Björn’s essence within the wood," she explained, her voice softening. "Now you may wield it without reservation."

Magnus looked down at the weapon and perceived the change immediately. The aggressive aura that had emanated from the bow moments before was gone, replaced by a refined, celestial grace. It felt lighter, more balanced, a tool for a sharpshooter rather than a killer. The gentle thrum of the moon-silver runes offered a welcome sense of peace.

"Thank you," he said, his voice laden with a sincerity that surpassed the simple words.

Magnus exhaled a long breath that misted in the air, the final vestiges of his rigid tension finally dissipating into the frost. "The North is somewhat more tranquil now," he mused, surveying the immense, silent expanse. "For better or for worse."

"For now," Lunara assented, her gaze fixed on the empty heavens for a moment longer before she looked away.

She pivoted and commenced her journey toward the distant tree line, her figure a stark, elegant silhouette against the vast expanse of white wasteland. Magnus remained for another beat, observing the subtle imprints her footsteps left upon the snow, then he too began to move.

Both journeyed in the same general direction, though their paths were set to diverge later. It was evident they sought to prolong their final moments together, cherishing every step before the unavoidable separation. Across the immense, glittering Icy Expanse, the duo advanced like strokes of dark ink on a white parchment, their forms momentarily visible through sporadic bursts of shared laughter carried by the wind.

Not long after, Magnus arrived at the point of his own departure. With a final nod, he ascended into the sky, angling towards his home far away. Just as it had been with Leiko, a shadowy figure detached itself from the rugged cliffs – his own concealed guardian, following the prince closely.

Lunara remained stationary, perfectly still, watching Magnus vanish towards the horizon. Adorning her hair was a new accessory: a rare, resilient flower that miraculously bloomed even in the most unforgiving northern territories. Magnus had discovered it nestled against a frozen precipice and had gently placed it in her hair before his departure, a subtle token of affection she found herself cherishing more than she openly admitted.

Nova, who had maintained a discreet, quiet presence throughout their entire interaction, finally alighted upon her shoulder. His voice, though diminutive, carried an ancient cadence.

"You realize," he began, his eyes locked on the vacant sky where the prince had been, "that you will eventually face a decision."

Lunara reached up and delivered a swift tap to his head, making him flinch and instinctively rub the spot with an indignant puff of air. "Why must I make a choice?" she questioned. "Can I not have both?"

Before Nova could formulate a response, she continued, her tone escalating with evident vexation. "From my draconic heritage and the memories passed down, there are tales of a dragon queen who maintained a harem of princes. I am not even requesting a harem! It is merely two individuals. Why is such a simple desire an insurmountable obstacle?"

Nova lapsed into a heavy, meaningful silence, his gaze fixed upon her with a sort of resigned patience.

"You cannot possess both because your lineage is more intricate than that of a common dragon, Lunara," he stated at last. "In addition to your draconic side, you carry another ancestry, equally potent and demanding. You are a Godling, and of royal blood at that. The established protocols for individuals like you are different."

He exhaled a prolonged, heavy sigh, nudging her chin gently with his head, urging her towards introspection. "You cannot attain everything. Within the realm of elevated thrones and ancient bloodlines, certain sacrifices are unavoidable. You are fully aware that power invariably exacts its price."

His words offered no comfort; instead, Lunara’s glare intensified, her eyes flashing with a discernible ember of genuine indignation. "What royal lineage do you allude to?" she retorted sharply. "What truly defines royalty beyond a mere title, a frigid castle, and the constant shadow of attendants trailing my every moment?"

She began to pace in a short, agitated circle on the snow, her boots scattering fine silver dust. "I awaken each day feeling utterly useless, Nova. I have nothing to contribute to my brother or our kingdom because he is simply too competent. Issues are resolved before I am even apprised of them, and court decisions are finalized with a mere flick of his wrist. He is an exemplary leader, perhaps excessively so."

Her voice diminished, laced with a bitterness that had clearly been simmering for years. "Never once has he sought my counsel or requested my presence by his side during a deliberation. Even his new consort, in the brief period she has resided within our domain, has proven more valuable to him than I have been in my entire existence."