Chapter 639: 639

Finally, Zirikon brought them before a pair of colossal golden doors, their surfaces etched with patterns that seemed to shift when looked at too long, spirals of claw marks, wings, and fangs woven into a single, eternal cycle. Without hesitation, Zirikon pressed his massive hands against them. The doors groaned, then swung open with effortless grace, spilling radiant light into the hall.

Beyond lay the heart of the palace, the place where the king of the Menagerie awaited.

The figure on the throne claimed the room the moment their eyes fell upon him.

Krogan lounged sideways on the golden seat, his humanoid leopard form draped in regal garb woven with threads of deep crimson and gold. His hand rested against his chin, his gaze half-lidded, his expression one of weariness more than majesty.

At his side stood a woman of striking beauty, her form elegant, her presence unsettling. Her hair writhed with living serpents, their scales glimmering in the golden light. She plucked a grape from a platter and pressed it to Krogan’s lips with the familiarity of one who had done so countless times. Only then did her eyes flick toward the godlings. Her gaze was sharp, piercing, and deeply unsettling, like being measured and unmade at once.

Before her stare could linger, a massive shape moved. A Terra clan warrior stepped forward, his towering frame interposing itself between her gaze and the gathered visitors. His presence was a wall of flesh and stone, his actions to the godlings unspoken but clear. The snake-haired woman raised a brow at the gesture, a faint, knowing smile curving her lips, before turning her attention back to her king.

The godlings’ eyes wandered upward, drawn to the raised platform flanking the throne. Three figures sat in silence, their stillness more imposing than movement. A goat-headed general, his horns spiraling outward like jagged spires; an elephant-headed general, his heavy tusks gleaming like ivory spears; and a dragon-headed general, whose slitted eyes glowed faintly beneath a crown of scaled ridges. Their collective presence radiated authority.

A rustle of movement drew their eyes as Zirikon ascended the steps with a familiarity earned through long service, taking his place among the other generals. His expression was unreadable, though the weight of his gaze pressed firmly on the godlings below.

The silence lingered, taut and expectant, until one of the merfolk broke from the group. The humanoid shark moved past the Terra guardian with ease, pausing only to pat the giant’s arm in quiet gratitude. He advanced to the fore, every step echoing across the golden hall. When he stopped, he inclined his head, his voice respectful but steady.

“Lord Krogan,” he said, bowing slightly.

Krogan finally stirred from his languid pose, his molten-purple eyes drifting toward the gathered godlings. His voice was smooth, deep, carrying the lazy drawl of a predator that had no need to rush.

“Imagine my surprise, no, my scare when word reached me that the godlings had wandered into my lands.”

The silence that followed was tight, until one of the apelings stepped forward, his tone half-mocking, half-bold.

“We have heard great things about you, Lord Krogan… but none of the tales mentioned you were also a great jester.”

A ripple of unease passed through the godlings. Even the air seemed to grow still, the weight of countless eyes pressing down on the bold speaker. The generals on the dais did not move, but the sharpness in their collective gazes made the tension palpable.

Then, Krogan laughed. It was not a laugh of amusement alone, it was the kind that rolled low and long, equal parts annoyed and warning. The snake-haired woman at his side tilted her head, her serpents hissing softly in chorus with his chuckle.

“You will find me a man of many talents,” Krogan said, a fanged grin tugging at his lips. “Even being a jester is one of them.”

The humor in his tone slipped away, replaced by something heavier. His gaze swept across the assembly, pinning each godling in turn.

“But I must say, it is a shame. A shame your kings sent you into such dangerous lands without care for your safety. No guardian, no direct envoy to shield you. Not even one who sits on a throne to stand among you. What does that say of their regard for you?”

The words were smooth, but their edge was sharp. A seed of discord, dropped carefully in fertile soil.

Before it could take root, one of the harpies stepped forward, her feathers bristling but her chin held high.

“You need not sow fear or discord among us, Lord Krogan. We do not see neglect in this charge but honor. Our leaders trusted us to handle what they themselves could not. That trust is our strength, not our weakness.”

Her words rang clearly in the golden hall, a defiance meant to shield not only herself but the others who had begun to frown under Krogan’s subtle needling.

“But what about your safety?”

The words rolled from Krogan’s tongue like a sweet tale, but their weight pressed into the godlings’ hearts with the persistence of a whispered temptation. Each syllable seemed to coil around their thoughts, as if some great beast were crouched behind them, breathing doubt into their ears.

For a moment, none spoke. Even the air felt heavier.

Then the same harpy stepped forward once more, feathers rustling as she straightened her back. Her gaze did not waver from Krogan’s purple eyes.

“As I said, there is no need for such words, Lord Krogan,” she replied firmly. Her sharp gaze flicked to the generals flanking him. “Your trusted men… I have no doubt they would give their all to see that no danger ever reached you or your heir if it could be helped. We trust in our leaders as they trust in yours. It is no different.”

The hall stilled. The godlings, stirred by her words, lifted their chins and stood straighter. No longer did they avert their eyes from the generals’ watchful stares or from the snake-haired woman’s piercing gaze. For the first time since entering the throne hall, they looked directly at Krogan and his court, not as timid envoys but as scions of divine blood.

Krogan’s expression shifted. He leaned forward, adjusting his posture until he sat upright upon his throne. The indolence that had draped his form like a cloak was cast aside. Now, his gaze was clear, focused, and heavy with the full weight of his presence.

“When I first learned of your arrival,” he said, his voice resonant, “I was insulted. I thought it a mockery, that your great leaders would send children to face me, rather than come themselves.”

He let the words hang for a breath, his gaze sweeping over each of their faces.

“But now…” His voice softened, tinged with something like admiration. “Now I find myself chastising that thought. For in you, I see not children, but steel tempered by faith. You stand as you are, without trembling, and that is no small feat in this hall.”

A faint smile touched his lips, not the mocking grin from before, but something almost genuine.

“For that,” Krogan continued, his golden eyes gleaming, “I find appreciation. The godling race has raised individuals of uncommon spirit. And I can only hope that, in this realm of mine, I might shape heirs of equal strength and conviction.”

“You flatter us, Your Grace,” one of the werewolves said, bowing low.

Krogan tilted his head slightly, a faint glimmer in his eyes. “I have an idea why you stepped into my land. But tell me, do you know? Did your leaders inform you of what it is you are walking into?”

The godlings exchanged brief glances before nodding in unison, a silent affirmation.

It was then that one of the harpies spoke, his voice sharp and steady. “Lord Krogan, I believe there was once a treaty with our former queen, now a goddess, Ursula, concerning the cursed lands.”

Krogan’s gaze flickered, but he remained still as he continued. “Yet we have received troubling reports from our neighbors. They claim cursed land residents have intruded upon their territories, even seizing their people and dragging them into your domain.”

Krogan’s tail flicked lazily across the side of his throne, though the subtle tightening of his jaw betrayed his interest. He gave a slow nod.

“Indeed. There was such an agreement. But the wording was clear. I was to halt the expansion of the cursed land’s corruption, to keep its blight from spreading. And that, I have done.” His gaze sharpened as his tone grew firm. “But the treaty never forbade me or its residents from stepping beyond its borders. You may claim intrusion, yet I see no breach of pact.”

He leaned forward slightly, his voice carrying through the palace. “If anything, it is I who should be reprimanding you, for stepping into my land unannounced, with no courtesy, no herald.”

The tension thickened. A silence pressed into the golden hall.

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