Chapter 486: 486

If the apelings allowed themselves to grow comfortable, to rest upon the laurels of their past victories, it was only a matter of time before they were overtaken. Outgrown.

As for how to deal with this, it requires the inclusion of other godling races.

The heavy silence of the throne room was disturbed as the grand doors creaked open, revealing the arrival of an apeling—a member of the Ripple Clan. The creature moved with a fluid, almost ghostlike grace, its sleek fur catching the dim light, with it’s robe trailing behind. It stepped forward with a deep bow, pressing a fist against its chest in deference.

“There is a call request from the wolves, my king,” the apeling announced in a measured tone, its voice carrying an air of urgency.

Seated atop his throne, Zephyr’s expression shifted from mild confusion to concern. His fingers, which had been absently tracing the cover of an old tome, stilled. His mischievous eyes flickered with realization as he abruptly rose to his feet.

“What day was my sister’s wedding?” he asked, his voice edged with tension.

The apeling hesitated for the briefest moment before replying, “I believe it is two months from today, my king.”

Zephyr exhaled slowly, relief washing over him. At least he had not missed something of paramount importance. However, his brows furrowed once more as suspicion took hold.

“Then why are they calling now?”

He waved a dismissive hand, signaling the apeling to take its leave. As the servant withdrew, Zephyr turned his attention back to his surroundings. His throne was surrounded by scattered books, scrolls, and aged parchments—fragments of knowledge he had been immersing himself in. With a casual flick of his wrist, the collection vanished into the depths of his storage ring, leaving the chamber pristine once more.

Before him, the air shimmered, and a large, ornate mirror materialized in midair. Zephyr straightened his posture, smoothing his robes and composing himself. His reflection stared back at him, regal and composed, though a flicker of curiosity still burned in his gaze.

This call comes at an interesting time… he mused. I, too, have matters to discuss with Wulv.

He reached out with his mind, flexing his will, and the mirror pulsed in response. The polished surface rippled like disturbed water before stabilizing. But just as he expected to see Wulv’s visage staring back at him, the mirror split.

Zephyr’s breath hitched as the reflective surface divided into four separate mirrors, branching out like the limbs of a great tree. His gaze darted across them, taking in the unexpected company.

The first mirror showed Drowz, the son of Tide. His silver-blue skin glowed faintly under the ambient light, and his oceanic eyes carried the calm patience of the tides themselves. Zephyr had dealt with him before—he was calculated and deliberate, much like his father.

The second mirror revealed Kael, grandson of Ursula. Zephyr knew little of him, except that he had risen through the ranks with a meteoric speed, proving himself capable enough to claim the throne after Ursula’s ascension. The young ruler’s demeanor was unreadable, his gaze sharp and searching, assessing Zephyr just as much as Zephyr assessed him.

In the third mirror stood Raina, second daughter of Flowua. Her glistening, pale skin and piercing green eyes made her look every bit the daughter of the great Flowua. She was known for her fierce spirit, and willingness to go against the norm.

And finally, in the last mirror, stood the one Zephyr had anticipated most—Wulv. His powerful frame, draped in the ceremonial furs of his people, exuded an aura of authority. His deep blue eyes, with a twinkle of a star, locked onto Zephyr’s with the weight of unspoken words.

Something had brought these four rulers together, and Zephyr was determined to find out why.

With a steady breath, he composed himself and spoke.

“This is quite the gathering,” he remarked, his voice cool and collected. “I take it this is no ordinary conversation.”

A heavy silence settled between them, weighted by an unspoken awkwardness. Unlike their parents, who had long maintained diplomatic ties and occasional alliances, this new generation of rulers had shared little direct contact with one another. There was an unspoken challenge in their gazes, a quiet testing of strengths and intentions.

Wulv was the first to break the tension, clearing his throat before addressing them.

“Greetings, everyone,” he said, his deep voice carrying both authority and sincerity. “I apologize for the sudden call, but I felt this was a matter that needed to be addressed immediately.”

The others gave small nods in response, indicating they had no objections. Wulv took this as a sign to continue, his expression remaining serious.

“This issue does not directly concern my region,” he admitted, his gaze sweeping across the gathered leaders, “and yet, it has somehow found its way into my lands.”

A shift in energy coursed through the group, subtle but noticeable. The mention of an external force infiltrating Wulv’s domain was enough to command their full attention. Then, Wulv’s sharp eyes landed on Kael.

“Do you know the name Krogan?” he asked, his voice even but carrying weight.

Kael’s expression remained neutral, but his eyes flickered with recognition. He glanced away from the mirror briefly, his mind drawn into the throne he was sitting on which triggered one of it’s ability, as it pulled up a record, sifting through the vast knowledge stored within the records. A brief pause stretched between them before he finally spoke.

“Records indicate that the name belongs to a being from the Cursed Lands,” Kael stated, his voice carefully measured.

A ripple of unease passed through the gathering at the mention of that accursed territory—a place that should have been forgotten.

Wulv remained unfazed. “Why the sudden interest?” Kael questioned, his light red eyes locking onto Wulv’s through the mirror. “There has been no recorded movement from the Cursed Lands.”

Wulv let out a slow exhale, his jaw tightening slightly. “If there was no movement,” he said bluntly, “then there would be no need for this call.”

Kael did not bristle at the statement. He merely regarded Wulv with calm calculation before responding.

“We possess no deep research or insight into the happenings within the Cursed Lands,” he admitted. “The former queen reached an agreement with this Krogan figure long ago. As far as our records indicate, that agreement still stands.” His tone remained steady. “As I said before—there has been no movement from the Cursed Lands.”

The silence that followed was thick, brimming with unspoken thoughts and speculation.

Sensing the rising tension, Raina chose that moment to interject, her voice carrying a calming yet firm presence.

“Let’s not allow this to escalate unnecessarily,” she said, her green eyes moving between Wulv and Kael. “Wulv, please—tell us exactly what it is you have noticed.”

The gathering stilled, all eyes turning to Wulv, awaiting the revelation that had brought them all together.

Wulv’s gaze flickered toward Zephyr for a brief moment before he raised a hand, summoning an image before them. The air shimmered, and a figure materialized—a shadowed silhouette standing against an eerie backdrop.

“Zirikon,” Wulv announced.

The gathered rulers turned their attention to the image, their eyes briefly darting toward Zephyr, as if expecting recognition. Zephyr, however, merely narrowed his gaze, scrutinizing the figure. After a moment, he shook his head.

“No connection,” he stated simply.

The others exchanged glances before offering small nods. As godlings, they each had their own methods of distinguishing beings of significance, be it through divine resonance, spiritual lineage, or sheer instinct. If Zephyr claimed there was no connection, they would take his word for it.

Wulv acknowledged Zephyr’s verdict with a curt nod before continuing.

“This figure goes by the name Zirikon,” he explained, his tone even yet carrying a sense of weight. “He appeared on the Northern continent a day ago.”

The statement alone was enough to stir intrigue. It was no small matter when an unknown entity emerged in a godling’s territory, particularly one bearing a name that had ties to the Cursed Lands.

“He came in the name of Krogan, declaring him as his lord,” Wulv continued. His voice remained steady, but the implication of his words sent ripples of unease through the group. “His target was this.”

With a subtle gesture of his hand, another image materialized beside Zirikon’s—a holographic projection of the Mammoth Beast King.

The towering creature loomed within the projection, its massive frame exuding both primal strength and an ancient, unknowable presence.

Wulv pointed at the image, his expression unreadable. “This is one of the many Beast Kings that roam the Northern Continent,” he stated. “Nothing exceptional has been recorded about this one in particular… except for a trait they all share.”

His eyes swept over the gathered rulers before he spoke again.

“They each possess what we call ’Weird Unknown Talents.’”

The phrase lingered in the air, vague yet ominous in its implications.

“From my observations, the ability exhibited by this particular Beast King appears to be a form of erasure,” Wulv continued, his voice lower now, more measured. “The full extent of its power remains unknown, but…”

He waved a hand once more, and the image shifted. The holographic projection dissolved, replaced by a panoramic display of a devastated landscape.

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