The Exiled King | ✔

Chapter 4 - For Our Creation

Pelos stared at the spot that Taryn had once stood in abject horror.

"Grandfather, how could you...?" Pelos whispered.

A dull thud behind him had him turning to see that Jason Bladesworn had succumbed to his injuries and lay unconscious on the cold marble floor. Not far away, Lirya Throeyns lay in a similar state.

More will die if I don't get them away from here soon, He realized.

Haert approached Pelos again with his hand outstretched and repeated, "You will return with me to the Astral realm."

Pelos stepped back, shaking his head. His eyes darted around, searching for the guardians. Garyth moved around stealthily and gently picked up Lirya and carried her over to the rest of them that stood or lay near the god. No one said a word. Nyuen was crouched next to Eryian, her body curled up to appear as small as possible. Altein stood beside Leus behind Pelos, both barely breathing as they could do nothing but wait anxiously.

With his eyes trained on Haert, Pelos moved back further. His small hand was held behind his back, reaching for one of the mortals. He felt the coarse fabric of a tunic and he grabbed on tightly, channelled his magic through his hand and uttered quiet words of magic. There was a small ripple of wind and his hand closed around nothing but air. Pelos backed up again slowly, his hand searching for the next guardian, all the while maintaining eye contact with Haert.

The creator god's expression was painfully neutral. He showed no emotion at all, even as Pelos felt his heart crumbling up within at the thought of the ice guardian's fate.

"The price has been paid. I will not harm the other mortals," The creator god rumbled, his resplendent golden eyes not missing the second mortal that Pelos sent away.

"I cannot trust your word!" Pelos cried, "You threatened these mortals and the worlds we built!"

Haert's face twisted slightly into an expression mirroring something vaguely mortal. Almost... irritated.

Just as soon as it appeared, Haert's featured smoothed over and he spoke again.

"I speak no 'lies', only truth. All I speak is truth," The creator god said, then continued, "And I will destroy the worlds you have built when you have been removed from it. It must be done."

"I will not go! I will fight for the mortals and the worlds we built," Pelos responded, as he sent away the druid and grabbed hold of Lirya's limp form.

Haert stepped towards Pelos and said, "I have waited long enough. You cannot fight. You will return. Now."

Pelos shook his head, trying to think of a way out of this situation. Only a single time or two had the creator god awoken like now, and his awakening was always followed by destruction and creation.

Haert narrowed his eyes and said, "You have grown attached... to your creations. This is a consequence of your own negligence. Never grow attached."

At last, it was just the two of them standing in the shattered remains of the once beautiful courtyard. Pelos was the only one who could prevent the destruction of Dargon and the parallel worlds.

Desperate and trying to stall for time, Pelos asked, "At least tell me why you're so determined to destroy our creation! It cannot simply be because of how we made it!"

There was a subtle change to the creator god's expression—one so small that anyone else would probably have missed it—and Haert's face returned to stony indifference as he said, "I have no need to explain my reasons to you. Now, return to the Astral realm or I will forcefully remove you from here."

Pelos' heart sank as he heard his grandfather's words. It was clear that Haert's patience had run dry. He sank to the floor with his head slumped and whispered, "Please... grandfather, just give it some more time. Just... a week, is all I ask. Please."

Gods didn't beg, for all of creation was beneath them. Yet here he was, on his knees begging for time.

Oh, how far I have fallen, Pelos thought bitterly.

But the most humbling realization came as he thought of all that had occurred to get to this point.

It was when the demon war broke out that the sibling gods took notice of Dargon. Demons were not supposed to cross over in such numbers. Truthfully, they were never supposed to cross over at all—and there should never have been a bridge between Dargon and the Abyss.

But unexpectedly, the mortals—the weak, weak mortals—drove away the demons. The balance shifted and to restore the balance, the sibling gods prevented the instant inheritance of the guardian powers. For half a century, the weak mortals lived well until one man started to upset the balance—though the gods didn't know that at the time. They returned the powers to the mortals and things spiralled from there. In the short span of mere years, the balance shifted so much that the gods were drawn to the happenings of Dargon.

The young guardians fought back the demons in Silvardor and in Anhua—in everything they prevailed as if it were preordained—but the balance slipped further against them. Then came Garyth Herus' revelation—one that threatened everything Pelos' understanding of the creation. One mortal claimed to have done what no one had done before and his words rang true.

And when confronted by the creator god's awakening, Pelos was met with his own weakness and an unfathomable comprehension. It was a painful admission to realize that it was only in the light of Garyth Herus' meddling with the fate of Dargon that Pelos had grown such fondness for their creation. He'd always loved it—but his love would not have him on his knees before his grandsire, pleading for its salvation.

I only wish grandfather could see how fleeting and wondrous these mortals are, Pelos thought.

If Garyth Herus had created one miracle, could he not create a second one? What was one more god to win over if he'd already done it once before?

"I will grant you a week, but no more," Haert rumbled.

In a jerky, though more fluid motion than previously, Haert held out his hand to Pelos.

"Now come with me. Return to where you belong."