Chapter 673: 673

His breath caught slightly. He didn’t respond, not immediately. His gaze lowered for a moment as the truth settled into place.

Zephyr, sensing the shift in his expression, smiled faintly.

“It’s good that you understand now. No one here expects perfection, Ethan. But you must stand firm even when you doubt. Especially when you doubt.”

Raina finally spoke, her tone softer but deliberate.

“Your people have been away from the world for a long time. Their return will be met with curiosity… and suspicion. How you carry yourself will decide which one lasts longer.”

Ethan nodded slowly, finally understanding the weight of their earlier words.

He had walked into this meeting trying to appear diplomatic and composed and instead, he had shown them uncertainty. He had thought humility would earn respect. But among godlings, presence mattered more than humility.

He exhaled quietly, meeting their gazes once more, this time without the forced smile.

“Then I’ll learn to reflect better.”

Drowz smirked.

“Good. Start with that tone, it suits you more than the smile.” Their laughter returned, lighter this time, and though Ethan didn’t laugh with them, a faint, genuine curve appeared at the corner of his lips.

For the first time since the meeting began, he didn’t feel like an outsider, just a newcomer who still had much to learn.

He exhaled quietly, almost relieved, but before he could speak further, Raina’s calm voice drifted through the mirror.

“As for the main reason we requested this call,” she said, her tone measured, “it was to offer you some help. You may not yet understand what you are truly welcoming into your home.”

Ethan blinked. The subtle shift in her tone, from counsel to warning caught his attention immediately.

“I don’t follow,” he admitted, brows furrowing. “What do you mean?”

This time, it was Wulv who answered. His smooth cold voice carrying through his his mirror.

“Godlings tend to… let loose during competitions like this,” he said plainly. “You see, decades sometimes centuries pass without true conflict among us. So when a competition begins, when there’s finally a sanctioned outlet for power…”

He paused, a small grunt escaping him.

“They fight without restraint. And the aftermath is never small. The land suffers for it, storms, floods, broken mountains. Even the climate bends for a while before it settles again.”

Ethan’s fist cleneched at this but he still said nothing.

Wulv continued, his tone firm.

“You’ve likely built an arena, yes? Some colosseum for them to fight in?”

Ethan nodded.

“We have. It’s large enough to hold…”

Wulv cut in, not unkindly.

“Then understand this, whatever you’ve built will be reduced to rubble before the competition even begins.”

The words hit heavier than any insult. Ethan’s lips parted, but no reply came.

Zephyr leaned forward slightly, taking over the explanation. His voice carried its usual playful authority.

“That’s why we reached out. In the past, entire valleys were torn apart because we underestimated what godlings were capable of when left unchecked.”

He gestured subtly, and the air before his mirror shimmered. A faint hum resonated as glowing threads of mana intertwined, forming the shape of a sphere.

“To counter this,” Zephyr went on, “we created an artifact, a joint effort from all godling races. One of the very few of its kind.”

The orb completed its form, hovering before Wulv’s reflection, a slowly rotating sphere of light. Within its surface, faint outlines of landmasses and oceans pulsed gently, like a living map.

“It holds the combined magical technologies of our races,” Zephyr said. “The result of centuries of cooperation and mistakes. With it, we can control the extent of force during the competition, containing the energy, protecting the surroundings.”

Ethan leaned closer instinctively, his eyes fixed on the sphere. The craftsmanship was astonishing, runes of every style imaginable pulsed in harmony, weaving through one another like veins of light.

“This,” Zephyr said, “is a world seal. A miniature reflection of the real one that governs balance across the continents. It stabilizes the flow of magic within a designated area, a containment field strong enough to hold the full power of a godling.”

Raina added softly,

“It will ensure your forests, your cities, and your people remain untouched. The competition will rage, yes, but only within its bounds.”

Ethan remained silent for a long moment, staring at the glowing orb as it spun gently in the air. It reflected faintly against his pale skin, casting tiny shards of light across the dark hall.

He finally spoke, his tone subdued but sincere.

“I didn’t realize it was…. ygoing to be this serious. I thought this was just going to be a display, not a war.”

Wulv huffed softly.

“You’ll find that for godlings, the difference between the two is thin.”

Drowz chuckled under his breath.

“But don’t let that frighten you, young king. Hosting the competition is an honor, one that will mark your people’s place among us. Just… prepare well. The southern continent won’t be the same afterward.”

“Ownership of this artifact,” Zephyr continued, “goes to the godling race that wins the competition. The victor holds it until the next one, which as you may know, takes place every decade.”

The orb shimmered faintly, runes crawling across its surface like veins of living light.

Wulv folded his arms and spoke next, his tone prideful this time.

“It so happens my people won the last competition,” he said, “but we’ve decided to share the artifact with you for the upcoming one. You have a few months to study it, to understand how it works, you’ll need it when the time comes.”

For a moment, Ethan said nothing. He simply exhaled, a quiet sigh of relief escaping his lips before he could restrain it.

He hadn’t realized just how heavily this concern had been pressing on him. One of his greatest fears, the collateral damage of hosting such a monumental event had just been resolved in the simplest, most unexpected way.

Truthfully, he had been hesitant to even bring up the subject. It felt presumptuous, almost naïve, to suggest that the elder godlings might limit their people’s destructive enthusiasm. He had imagined asking them to instruct restraint, to hold back, just a little but he knew how impossible that was.

He had seen the aftermath of previous competitions through recordings and reports. Vast plains split apart, mountains hollowed, forests reduced to scorched husks, all from what the godlings called “a contest of skill.”

Even before the meeting, he had been working tirelessly with his people and builders, strengthening the vast dome that enclosed the colosseum. He had hoped, perhaps foolishly, that it would withstand the intensity of the battles to come. Yet deep down, he wasn’t confident.

But now, as he watched the faintly glowing sphere, this artifact hovering in the air before him, his doubts eased.

He could almost feel the power it contained, the harmony of magic woven from five great races. This was no ordinary tool; it was a miracle of unity and craft, the kind of artifact his people has only thought was a possibility but not able to recreate.

And they were entrusting it to him.

Ethan couldn’t help but marvel at the strength and confidence it must take for Wulv to share something so valuable, so sacred. It was more than just a gesture of practicality, it was a gesture of trust.

Deep in his mind, Ethan began to take the competition far more seriously.

The realization struck him like a spark catching dry tinder, the artifact wasn’t merely a safeguard or a symbol of cooperation. It was knowledge. Centuries of progress, woven into a single creation that embodied everything his people lacked.

His race was still young compared to the others, still fumbling through fragments of inherited power and half-remembered theories. They were learning, yes, adapting quickly but in truth, they were still groping in the dark, trying to find their own path.

If he could secure the artifact… if his people could study its design, its runic systems, its energy harmonics, they could evolve. Advance by generations in a decade.

Ethan’s expression hardened slightly, the faintest glimmer of resolve igniting in his crimson eyes. His mind raced with possibilities of what could be.

And that subtle change did not go unnoticed.

Wulv was the first to smirk, his teeth catching the faint light from the mirrors. Then Zephyr let out a low, knowing laugh, and soon, the other godlings followed, a chorus of amused, approving chuckles that filled the space between them.

“Ah, there it is,” Zephyr said, his voice carrying that familiar teasing lilt. “That fire in your eyes. We were wondering when it would show itself.”

Ethan blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Raina’s laughter was softer, more graceful, but equally pointed.

“We know you want this, Ethan,” she said, smiling behind her veil. “And who wouldn’t? You’ve seen what it can do. But don’t fool yourself into thinking it’ll be handed down so easily.”

Drowz leaned forward, his massive frame casting a dark silhouette through the mirror’s light.

“Earn it,” he rumbled. “Let your people prove they deserve to hold such power.”

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