Chapter 801: 801

At the mention of his mother, the air in the room seemed to thin. Nwadike couldn’t hold the question back any longer. “What do you plan on doing about Mother?”

Osita fell silent. A distant, hollow look settled into his eyes, as if he were gazing at something existing far beyond the stone walls of the castle. Nwadike followed his father’s lead, turning his gaze toward the same empty space.

With his own current power, Nwadike was finally capable of sharing his father’s unique sight. Through the veil of the physical world, they both looked upon the same shimmering essence, one stared at the soul of his mother, while the other stared at the soul of his wife.

“Your coronation has everything to do with my plans to save her,” Osita said after a long, heavy silence.

He turned his head slightly, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. “Stepping down grants me the freedom I need. I will finally be able to act as I please, to take the drastic actions required to bring her back without the weight of a crown or the needs of a kingdom holding me back.”

Nwadike fell into deep thought, the true weight of the silk robes finally making sense. Nwadike’s head snapped up, his eyes widening as the horizontal weight of his father’s words finally settled in. “You surely are not about to take this path, Father,” he stammered, his voice trembling with a mix of shock and budding authority. “I forbid it. It would be a disgrace to everything this family has stood for over the centuries!”

Osita didn’t react to his words. He remained as still as a statue, his gaze fixed on the shimmering essence of his wife. “I know, son,” he said quietly. “But it is the only way to preserve the legacy your mother helped build. It would take a staggering burden off your shoulders as the new king. We are strong, yes, but strength means nothing if the entire world unites to crush us.”

He turned fully toward Nwadike now, his expression cold and calculating. “This is why, after you ascend the throne, we will quarrel. Father and son, divided. Our disagreement will be loud, public, and open for every ear in Nana to hear. And at the opportune moment, you will exile me from the kingdom.”

The air in the room grew heavy as the plan took shape.

“You will issue a royal decree,” Osita continued, his voice devoid of emotion. “You will let the world know that I no longer hold any ties to the Osita Kingdom, that I am no longer a welcome presence within our borders. From that moment on, every action I take to find your mother will be mine alone. The world will see a rogue monster, not a king, and your kingdom will be spared the consequences of my wrath.”

“Father…” Nwadike began, his voice thick with a mix of protest and desperation. But the word was severed mid-air by Osita’s sudden, stern command.

“Boy!” the King roared, his tone rising with a sharp, jagged edge that vibrated through the stone floor. “This has to be done and it must be done.”

Osita paced the small space, his eyes flashing with a cold, strategic fire. “That child, Nwadiebube… he is hellbent on throwing our two kingdoms into the fires of war. Until now, only two things have held his hand, the lack of a truly justifiable reason to strike, and the sheer terror of our strength.”

He stopped, turning his gaze back to his son, his face a mask of grim reality. “But the first pillar has already crumbled. I have given him and the rest of the world more than enough reason to see me as an enemy. I have played the villain too well. Now, the only thing stopping them is our power. But time is a thief, Nwadike. Soon, he will have the strength, perhaps even more than we do, to finally ignite this war.”

Osita stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low, venomous hiss. “He is in league with hands behind the scenes, shadows we cannot yet touch. Your mother’s current state, the tragedies of my own past… it was all a setup. A long, bloody preparation for a war they are determined to start, whether by his hands or by mine.”

“I have no desire to play their games,” Osita stated, his voice now a low, resonant hum. “My exile might look like a mockery to the outside world, they may whisper and guess at the underlying truth but their suspicions do not matter.”

He stepped closer, his shadow engulfing Nwadike. “All that matters is the act itself. No matter their private opinions, once the decree is signed, it is undeniable. My departure robs them of their justification. The kingdom will be safe. You will be safe. Your siblings will be safe.”

Nwadike remained silent, the weight of his father’s sacrifice beginning to eclipse his own fear of the throne. Osita, however, was not finished. He looked toward the heavy oak doors, his gaze piercing through the wood as if seeing the future itself.

“You must understand, son, the world is changing. The tides are shifting, and soon, powers will rise and fall like never before. The level of power we two currently wield? It will soon be held by many. There is a new age coming.”

He turned back to Nwadike, a grim, final resolve in his eyes. “And when those new powers rise, they will seek a target for their old grudges. They will demand answers for my past actions. I will not allow their eyes to turn toward this kingdom. I won’t allow it. So, let me bear all the ire, son. Let me be the monster they hunt, while you remain the king they respect.”

The room plunged into a heavy, charged silence. Osita felt the fine hairs on his arms stand on end as a tingling, electric sensation rippled across his skin. He looked at his son, and for a moment, the boy he knew was gone. Nwadike’s eyes had become twin pools of swirling, restless lightning, the raw manifestation of his current power.

“I understand, Father,” Nwadike said, his voice carrying a new, resonant authority. “Your will shall be done. But I would like to remind you that you have raised a great man and built a great kingdom.”

He began to walk toward the heavy chamber doors. From far beyond the stone walls, the distant, muffled roar of the gathering crowd reached them, a sea of people waiting for their future. Nwadike paused at the threshold and looked back at his father.

“Let’s go,” he said firmly. “We have kept them waiting long enough.”

With that, he stepped out, the cape of his royal garb snapping behind him.

Osita remained alone in the dim light of the room. He raised his hand, staring at his palm and the way the air still hummed with the static his son had left behind. Recalling that fierce, electric sensation, a slow, unbidden smile spread across his face.

He had not laughed, not once in the long year since the Queen’s disappearance. But now, he couldn’t hold back the bubbling laughter that rose from his chest. He had indeed raised a great man. In that flash of lightning, Osita saw the truth, his son was ready. The people would be in capable hands, led by a king who was as loving as his mother, yet as formidable as his father.

The heavy doors groaned open, and the transition from the dim, hushed chamber to the blinding light of the Great Plaza was instantaneous. The roar of the people was a physical force, a tidal wave of sound that crashed against the castle walls.

As they walked onto the high balcony overlooking the kingdom, the air crackled. The few invited allies, kings of neighboring territories and powerful noble leaders sat in a semi-circle of obsidian chairs, their eyes narrowed, searching for any sign of weakness in the young prince.

Osita stepped forward first. He looked more composed than he had moments ago. Slowly, he reached up. The crown of the Osita Kingdom was not made of gold, but of a dark, star-flecked ore that seemed to swallow the sunlight.

The crowd fell into a deafening silence.

Osita lifted the heavy circlet from his own brow. For the first time in centuries, the King stood bare-headed before his subjects. He turned to Nwadike, and for a split second, there was only a father and a son.

“With this,” Osita’s voice boomed, carrying to the furthest edges of the city without the need for a shout, “I give you my burden. I give you my legacy. And I give you my heart.”

He lowered the crown. As it touched Nwadike’s head, a surge of white-hot lightning erupted from his skin, arcing into the metal. The star-ore pulsed with a violet light, recognizing its new master. The ground beneath the balcony trembled, a tectonic acknowledgement of the shift in power.

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