Chapter 800: 800

Ikenga found himself pondering the hypocrisy of the mortal mind. Why was the gaze of a god a comfort or at least a neutral fact while the gaze of a Sixth Tier being was an existential horror?

The Origin Gods were perceived as constant and somewhat distant. They represented the “System” itself. Their gaze was seen as judgmental or protective, but rarely petty. People didn’t fear the gods peeping on their secrets because the gods already knew everything, there was no “scandal” to a being who saw everything.

A Sixth Tier Seeker however was different. They were former mortals, former rivals, and former subjects. There is a specific, visceral terror in being watched by someone who might actually want something from you, your crown, your secrets, or your life.

One accepts the gaze of a God because it is “Right.” One fears the gaze of a Sixth Tier because it is a “Violation.”

Ikenga watched Nwadiebube and the others straining their eyes to see the unseen dimension, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. They were so worried about the “new” watchers that they had completely forgotten about the “old” ones.

“They have lived their entire lives under our shadows,” Ikenga mused to the other Origin Gods, “yet they only start screaming when the shadow takes the shape of a man they know.”

The leaders of the human kingdoms were essentially trying to build a roof to hide from the neighbors, while the sky itself was like one giant, unblinking eye.

Time was a relentless tide, and while many scrambled desperately to reach the heights of the sixth tier, a single figure quietly ascended taking the very step so many others only dared to dream of.

The hour had finally arrived for the coronation of Nwadike, son of Osita. In the world of Nana, the passing of a crown was a startlingly rare event; here, kings often reigned for centuries, their rule spanning generations of common men.

This was especially true for the Kingdom of Osita. The people knew well the nature of their sovereign, they understood the sheer power Osita wielded and exactly how long he could have held that throne had he chosen to. Yet, for reasons known only to him, the king was stepping down, surrendering his seat to his firstborn son.

The guest list for this coronation was an exclusive one, extending invitations only to a handful of trusted allies and no one else. This secrecy left the people of the Osita kingdom feeling deeply conflicted, their hearts pulled in many very different directions.

On one hand, a shadow of worry hung over the streets. The Queen, who had always been the true heart and soul of the kingdom, had vanished. With the royal family maintaining a stony silence, no one could confirm if she was even still alive. To the commoners, the kingdom felt hollow without her presence.

On the other hand, there was a genuine, protective joy for the Crown Prince. The people hadn’t just watched him grow; they had helped raise him alongside the Queen. They remembered a time, long before he was a king-in-waiting when Nwadike was just a mischievous boy running through the dusty streets, stealing treats from market stalls and laughing as he earned a sharp scolding from the local merchants.

It was a version of the royal family that was now fading into legend. Since the Queen’s disappearance, such lighthearted sights had become tragically rare, replaced by the heavy silence of the palace walls.

Beneath the surface of the festivities, however, a cold fear was taking root in their hearts, the fear of abandonment. The people had always known that King Osita held little personal affection for them or their daily struggles, his gaze was often fixed on horizons far beyond their own.

Yet, they could not deny that it was Osita’s strength and his rare, piercing guidance that had elevated them. Under his shadow, they had become one of the most formidable human nations in the world of Nana.

The citizens were not blind. They could see how the rest of the world no longer looked upon the Osita Kingdom with respect, but with the trembling eyes one saves for a monster. To the outside world, their home was a growing threat that needed to be contained.

The only reason a Great Alliance had not yet marched upon their borders, the only reason war had not turned their streets to ash was the sheer, terrifying power their King wielded. His strength was their only shield, and with his abdication, that shield felt suddenly, dangerously thin.

Thus, a heavy cloud of concern hung over the upcoming coronation. The questions burned in every mind, was the new king truly capable of maintaining the fragile peace they currently enjoyed? Or would Osita simply abandon them the moment the crown touched his son’s head?

The people felt Osita was needed now more than ever. In a time when the entire world viewed their borders with hostility, the idea of replacing an experienced, legendary leader with an untested successor sat uneasy with the masses. It felt like trading a mountain for a seedling just as a storm was gathering.

Many of these questions remained unanswered until the day of the coronation finally arrived. On that morning, the people of the Osita Kingdom were on their absolute best behavior.

There were no disturbances, no riots, and no angry crowds protesting the transition. This silence, however, wasn’t born purely out of love for the Crown Prince. It was a calculated, desperate display of loyalty, through their discipline, the citizens wanted to show the new king that they were standing firmly behind him, hoping their unity would be enough to keep the kingdom whole.

They chose to place their faith in his potential, clinging to the hope that he would become a great leader, a king tempered by the grace and love of the mother who had raised him.

Yet, beneath this show of support, fear remained a constant in the equation. While the commoners were barred from the secrets of the royal palace and the schemes of the noble houses, one truth had trickled down to the streets, Osita was in a foul mood.

In the Kingdom of Osita, the King’s temperament was as unpredictable as the weather and far more dangerous. No one dared to incur his wrath. Every bowed head and hushed word was a move for survival, to provoke the King on such a day would be a death sentence. And so, they waited in a heavy, disciplined silence, ensuring that nothing they did would be detrimental to their own lives.

Inside the castle walls, Nwadike stood before a towering mirror, staring at a reflection he barely recognized. Behind him, Osita appeared, a heavy royal garb in hand. With a practiced motion, the King draped the fabric over his son’s shoulders, and Nwadike silently slid into the weight of his new office.

There was no joy to be found in Nwadike’s expression. He had always known this day would come, he had even craved it but never in his darkest dreams had he imagined it occurring like this. In his mind, the coronation had always featured both his mother and father standing proudly beside him, a celebration of legacy and light. Now, that warmth was entirely absent.

“This doesn’t have to be done, Father,” Nwadike said softly, his voice muffled by the thick silk of the robe.

Osita pressed a firm hand onto his son’s shoulder. Though the King had done his best to dress with the dignity the occasion demanded, it was impossible to hide the trut, his current condition was a mess. The sharp, terrifying edge he usually carried was dulled by a visible, bone deep exhaustion.

“You have no need to doubt yourself, son,” Osita replied, his voice raspy “You will make a great king and a leader, just as your mother was.”

Nwadike opened his mouth to protest, but Osita’s voice cut through, stopping him short. “You know as well as I do,” the King continued, his gaze drifting toward the window, “that being a leader was never a true interest of mine. And even less so now, in my current state.”

He turned back to his son, his expression hardening into something uncharacteristically solemn. “The people of this kingdom are great subjects, regardless of my personal views on them as mortals. They are resilient, and they deserve a leader who is better than I was, one who would think twice before taking advantage of their loyalty or leading them into the fires of war.”

Nwadike looked at his father, the weight of the crown feeling heavier with every word. “And you truly believe I am the right choice for this?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

“I know you are, son,” Osita said, a heavy sigh escaping his chest. For a fleeting moment, the cold mask of the King slipped, replaced by a different look in his eyes, a flicker of profound grief and longing at the mention of his wife. “You love them just as much as your mother did.”

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