"What did your investigation reveal?" Helios asked, fingers dancing through the air. The floating quills spun and darted, scratching letters onto countless scrolls as if alive.
Michael's eyes followed the hypnotic motion, the quills leaving trails of glowing ink that hovered for a heartbeat before fading. "We asked the nymphs and elves to examine the black fluid," he said, voice measured but tense, "yet a week has passed without reply."
"Black fluid..." Helios muttered, letting the scrolls drift toward his polished desk, where they stacked neatly. The quills returned to their inkwells, almost obediently.
"It is the kind that burns outward, yet leaves the internal organs untouched?" Helios asked, gaze sharp.
Michael pressed his temples, recalling the substance's strange properties. It could corrode flesh and cloth alike, yet Irene's vital organs were unharmed. "Yes," he said, his hand resting at his side. "Which rare poison was used?"
"Corrupt Essence."
Michael froze, the words echoing in his mind. "Corrupt Essence?" he asked, voice tightening. The topic itself was forbidden among the gods, a stain of power few dared invoke. This essence existed naturally in all divine beings, balanced delicately with Celestial Essence. Too much, and it would rot the soul.
"Irene... my sister..." he began, panic flickering in his eyes.
"Mikhael," Helios interrupted, voice cold, a shard of steel behind his gaze.
Michael's jaw clenched, brows furrowed in frustration. His hands curled into fists so tightly his nails pierced his palms. Blood glinted in the golden light, running down between his fingers. He wanted to strike something, anything, but could only stand frozen.
"My son," Helios said softly, rising from his throne, his presence filling the chamber like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. He laid a steady hand on Michael's shoulder. "When did you grow so naïve? The world honors not justice, only triumph and defeat."
Michael's fists clenched again, blood soaking his palms, the warm sting biting into him with each heartbeat. The golden light of the palace glinted off the polished marble floors, reflecting in the swirling mist that veiled the high windows. He could feel it: the weight of failure pressing against his chest, heavy as the mountains that crowned the mortal realm below.
Helios' voice echoed like distant thunder, each word striking with unrelenting authority. "Do not forget the weight of your responsibilities."
Michael's gaze shot to his father's figure, tall and unyielding, a silhouette crowned with radiant light. The quills in the air, once dancing, hovered motionless, as if even they waited for the tempest in Michael's chest to settle. Rage, grief, and helplessness collided violently within him. He wanted to shout, to strike, to tear something apart, yet his body felt as though it were pressed beneath the sky itself.
He stumbled a step back, catching the edge of a marble column. His voice broke, raw with frustration. "Irene… my sister… I—"
Helios' eyes, sharp and cold, cut him off. "Mikhael."
The syllable alone sent a tremor through Michael's bones. He ground his teeth, his fingers flexing until the nails dug deeper into his palms. Blood dripped to the floor in dark drops, leaving tiny scars in the marble that seemed almost sacrilegious.
"My son," Helios said, stepping forward, his presence like a tide rolling in. He rested a firm hand on Michael's shoulder. "Do you think the world honors justice? It counts only victories and defeats. You must understand that even the purest heart cannot escape this truth."
Michael's chest heaved. He tore his gaze from the palace ceiling, its painted visions of the cosmos swirling above him, and looked toward the misted windows. Beyond them, the world stretched in serene beauty, untouched by mortal fears. Yet inside him, the storm raged. He wanted to flee, to hurl himself from the marble steps, but the thought of Irene, her life hanging by a thread of fate, rooted him to the floor.
"Fate…" he whispered, voice trembling. "I thought… I thought I understood the battlefield. Yet I know nothing of the world beyond it."
Peter appeared at the edge of the chamber, silent as a shadow. His eyes widened at the sight of Michael's bleeding hands. "Master… your hands—"
Michael flexed them slowly, crimson droplets falling to the ground like fallen stars. "A scratch," he muttered, the edge of despair sharpening his words. "A scratch, yet I am powerless to protect her."
Peter's chest tightened, the weight of truth pressing upon him. Even the indomitable Michael was human. He could fail. He could be helpless. He could not protect his sister.
Helios watched, impassive, yet his gaze softened almost imperceptibly. He did not intervene; this was a trial not of strength but of heart.
The distant quills resumed their dance, ink spilling letters of fate into the air. Michael's fists unclenched slowly, the crimson fading from his palms as if absorbed by the marble itself. He lifted his head toward the pale blue mist of the sky. The light fell on his face, casting long shadows across his features, illuminating the anguish, the stubborn defiance, and the raw humanity in his gaze.
"I have much to learn," he murmured, voice almost a prayer. "The battlefield, and the world beyond it… I am ignorant of both."
The storm within him did not vanish, but it changed shape. Rage tempered by resolve, grief tempered by clarity. Michael felt the weight of his limitations, yet he also felt the stirrings of purpose, a silent vow forming within his chest.
Helios turned his gaze to the figure leaning in the shadow: the paladin, Elijah. The tension in the chamber was not just between father and son; it rippled outward, touching all who stood in that sacred hall. Michael's struggle, small yet immense, had carved a space for the gods themselves to witness a mortal heart tested against the infinite.
The heavy silence shattered with the arrival of Elijah. He moved with deliberate precision, each step measured, hands folded behind him. Helios' gaze sharpened immediately, a flicker of irritation crossing his otherwise composed expression.
"What summons this servant of Eric to appear unbidden?" Helios asked, his tone calm but wary.
Elijah moved with deliberate grace, each step measured, hands folded behind him like a knight performing ritualized obeisance. The quills above paused mid-dance, as if attentive to his presence. "From his master's words: 'Dear friend, I found amusement at the assembly,'" Elijah said, turning slowly from right to left. "Your son bears much of your spirit. Yet his fondness for sweets nearly forced me to lose my composure when Pyrros mocked that naive child."
Helios' fingers twitched. Each of Elijah's meticulous turns made the veins on his forehead pulse, and his patience wore thin. "Will you ever speak plainly? Must every movement of yours be a jest or a challenge? Did your master command you to provoke me with this… performance?"
Elijah inclined his head slightly, a smile of serene innocence lighting his features. Helios' lips curled in disgust, his jaw tightening. Blinding rays of innocence—it was maddening, he thought, feeling the absurdity of the situation prickling his divine pride.
"My master instructs me to inform the supreme Ruler that he has encountered a witness to the Irene incident," Elijah continued, voice steady and unwavering. His eyes gleamed with both discipline and a subtle amusement, as if he were aware of Helios' inner turmoil.
"Another palace?" Helios asked sharply, his tone laced with suspicion and irritation.
Elijah paused, tilting his head, confusion flickering across his features. "And what reward does he request?"
"A feast," Elijah recited solemnly, "ample enough to satisfy a bottomless pit, and a vast chamber within a cavern of grandeur, furnished with abundance befitting a king."
Helios blinked, frozen for a moment, the golden light of the chamber casting long shadows across his features. He stared at Elijah's expression—pure obedience, tempered by unspoken loyalty. A sigh escaped him, and the color seemed to drain from his face.
How did I befriend one so gluttonous, yet so particular, so vexing? Helios thought, his mind swirling with frustration and disbelief. He rubbed at the bridge of his nose, the absurdity of it all pressing down upon him like an invisible weight.
Elijah's serene smile never faltered. He remained the picture of disciplined service, but even as he delivered a ridiculous demand, there was a subtle undertone of cleverness, an acknowledgment that he could both amuse and vex the ruler of heaven with every word.