The Guardian gods Chapter 850 850: 850

He extended his hand, seeking to touch the familiar, luminous border of his father's domain. Typically, the passage was effortless; his father would acknowledge his approach, and the barrier would dissipate like morning mist, granting him access to the hallowed celestial sanctuary.

However, this instance confronted him with a steadfast, unyielding obstruction. The boundary remained impenetrable, resonating with a subtle power that barred his advance.

A deep frown creased Wulv's brow, yet comprehension followed swiftly. His father was acutely aware of his presence. The former King simply lacked the fortitude to confront his son, to meet Wulv's gaze and deliberate the destiny of the daughter he had doted upon his entire existence.

With a sense of acceptance, Wulv refrained from attempting to breach the barrier. Instead, he positioned himself alongside its edge, settling down with his back against the shimmering expanse of his father's inner sanctum. Gazing out into the dimension's swirling void, he spoke in hushed tones, assured his words would traverse the veil.

"I endeavored to shield her, Father," he murmured, his voice resonating in the immense emptiness. "I aspired to erect defenses so formidable that the world could not touch her. I sought to bestow upon her a tranquility we ourselves never knew."

He rested his head back against the boundary. "But the walls I constructed inadvertently became her prison, and the peace I offered transformed into a mere illusion. Amethyst speaks the truth. You and I... our love rendered her vulnerable. And now, the world stands at our threshold, with her holding the decisive key."

He released a breath he had been holding. "The Silver Kingdom has initiated its stratagem. The Björn are being strategically positioned. If I do not leverage her now, the humans will. I possess the blueprint, Father. My gift has already finalized the intricate map. Yet, to traverse it, I must relinquish my role as her brother. I must assume the mantle of her King."

"I have expended my utmost efforts for her, and more," Wulv continued, his voice rebounding against the resolute barrier. "I even permitted her prolonged association with those princes, despite widespread opposition from our people. I have transgressed and modified numerous statutes within our laws solely to maintain her protection and happiness, but this time... I doubt any avenue exists to circumvent the repercussions."

His gaze swept across the shifting nebulas of the divine dimension, his countenance hardening. "This is no longer an age where humankind passively accepts disappointment and resentment due to our superior might. We can no longer afford to disregard them and anticipate their silence."

"The current era is different. Now, they too wield influence. A crucial decision must be rendered for the welfare of our people. Should we alienate both kingdoms now, it would translate to nothing but immense suffering for the godlings once they venture beyond our protective borders. They would become pariahs in a realm predominantly inhabited by humans. A single path must be selected, Father. One bridge must be established to facilitate passage across the others."

Wulv remained seated for an extended period, the lack of response from the other side of the barrier serving as a heavy, unspoken acknowledgment of his father's profound guilt. Eventually, Wulv rose to his feet. He adjusted his robes and executed a deep, formal bow towards the boundary, a gesture honoring the King his father once was and the God he had evolved into.

"At the very least, she will find happiness," Wulv whispered, the cold luminescence of his Constellation Gift flickering one final time before he subdued it. "She will be united with the one her heart truly desires. This offers the sole solace I can derive from her predicament."

With these concluding remarks, his form flickered and dissolved, vanishing from the celestial expanse. Moments later, his silhouette materialized within the muted glow of his study. He stood behind his desk, the room's stillness now suggestive of an impending deadline. Reaching out, he retrieved the Silver Kingdom's proposal, his grip tightening, his mind already formulating the decree to summon his sister.

Beyond that luminous veil, Maul stood precisely where Wulv had sensed him, his hand pressed against the interior surface of the boundary. He had perceived every inflection in his son's voice, every ripple of the internal conflict between guilt and cold reasoning that now consumed the new King's soul.

He had not parted the veil, nor had he uttered even a hushed word of solace. He understood that any direct interaction would shatter the resolve Wulv was so fiercely striving to maintain. Maul knew his own heart; he would have made an irrational plea, begging his son to discover an alternative path, to ensure the girl's safety, to sacrifice the kingdom's stability for one more year of his daughter's joyous laughter.

"I am a coward," Maul reflected, the stark realization echoing throughout the vastness of his dominion.

A heavy sigh escaped him. He had achieved godhood to secure his people's future, yet here he was, unable to face his successor directly, burdened by the immense cost of that future. He had tasked Wulv with the difficult role of the 'cruel' one, the pragmatist, while he remained detached in the heavens, tormented by the very sentimentality that had initiated their predicament.

Maul let his hand fall from the ethereal boundary. He observed the place where Wulv's presence had dissipated, acknowledging the definitive nature of his son's choice. Wulv was correct; their era of unchallenged supremacy had concluded. The world was undergoing transformation, and any hesitation would lead to obsolescence.

"Forgive me, my son," Maul murmured into the vast, empty brilliance of his domain. "For burdening you with the task of breaking her heart to preserve her life."

Across the sunlit expanse of the continent, a palpable tension permeated the grand chamber of Björn Palace. Yuki occupied her throne, with the current Vessel of Björn seated at her side. Before them, the entirety of the High Council was embroiled in a vigorous discussion, their voices resonating within the hall as they scrutinized the recent actions of the Silver Kingdom and their suspiciously timed diplomatic overtures.

Abruptly, the atmosphere within the hall became oppressive, charged with an overwhelming force.

The Vessel beside Yuki began to convulse. An immensely potent will, far exceeding the capacity of a mortal form, descended into it. The transformation was immediate. The council members, sensing their god's arrival, reacted without delay, falling to their knees in unison, a wave of profound reverence washing over the chamber.

Only Yuki, Olaf, Finn, and the two other Paragons remained seated. Even for them, the weight was staggering; their heads were bowed low, a silent tribute to the deity now observing the world through mortal eyes.

Björn took a moment to acclimate to the Vessel's consciousness. He moved the host body's fingers, experiencing the rush of vitality coursing through it. The muscles felt robust, the circulatory system clear, and the mana reserves were steadily improving.

A subtle sense of self-satisfaction spread through Björn's divine mind. He commended his own sagacity; unlike many gods who obliterated their vessels' souls, he had permitted this one to retain a fundamental sense of self. By allowing the original occupant to maintain a drive for self-betterment, the physical form had evolved into a considerably more robust and adaptable vessel for his spirit.

"Still developing," Björn mused, his voice resonating from the Vessel's throat with a profound resonance absent before.

Björn rose, yet his feet remained suspended inches above the cold stone floor. His initial utterance was not a greeting, but a single, declarative word: "War."

The pronouncement struck the assembly like a physical impact. The council members, previously kneeling in silence, felt their hearts falter before pounding with renewed intensity. Throughout the hall, the legendary ferocity of Björn, a primal, berserker fury carefully contained by law and society for decades, began to reawaken. Eyes that had been serene became clouded with a crimson tinge, and the air grew heavy with the scent of ozone and iron.

Björn's gaze seemed distant, constrained by certain laws that prevented him from speaking with absolute clarity.

"Attend closely," he commanded, his authoritative voice penetrating the very core of their beings.

"The mirror shatters under the claw, and the moon weeps white upon the throne. When the Silver dissolves, it shall surge like a river, submerging the forests. When the Great Wolf consumes the crown, he will find naught but a shard of cold light in his gullet. The map is a shroud. The boundaries are wounds. Seek not survivors where metal meets marrow, but only the Crimson Harvest that flourishes in the wake of flight."

As the final word departed the Vessel's lips, the oppressive pressure receded. The divine luminescence faded from the host's eyes, and the Vessel slumped back onto the throne, drawing ragged breaths as if surfacing from profound depths.