"Michael. Return."
The voice rolled through the stone like thunder through mountains, shaking the rune-lit chamber. Mike's head jerked up, his body tense before his mind caught up. Maymun's summons reverberated not in the air alone but in his chest, in the marrow of his bones.
Kelsey stirred faintly at the sound, but did not wake. Mike brushed his thumb gently across her hand one last time and whispered, "I'll be back."
The rune-light dimmed as he rose. It wasn't fear that pulled at his steps, it was weight. The weight of Hamza's warning. The weight of the whispers he had survived. The weight of Maymun's disappointment still echoing in his ears. And yet, beneath it, a steadiness that hadn't been there before. The trial had burned something into him that would not be taken back.
The corridors of Maymun's palace stretched like veins of living stone, every wall etched with ancient sigils that thrummed faintly as he passed. Twice, djinn guards bowed as he walked by, their eyes lingering not with respect but with a wary, unreadable calculation. Word of his survival had spread.
The massive bronze doors of the council chamber groaned open as he approached. Inside, the six thrones blazed with elemental power, sat in a half circle with Maymun's throne in the center. It sat above the others and was much larger signifying his status as king. Thier occupants already gathered in their eternal storm of fire, water, stone, and shadow.
Mike hesitated only a moment before stepping inside. The chamber still smelled faintly of scorched air from his trial. He felt the ghost of chains tightening around his arms as he walked forward.
At the far end of the crescent, Shazir leaned forward on his throne, golden rings clinking faintly in his beard as fire licked along his shoulders. His eyes cut toward Mike like burning coals. There was no welcome there, only challenge.
Beside him, Marid sat in quiet poise, sapphire robes cascading around her like a tide. Her eyes were unreadable, but unlike Shazir's, they did not blaze with hostility. She studied Mike as though measuring a weapon that might yet be sharpened.
Jann loomed, a storm contained in the shape of a man. His thunderclouds roiled lazily above his form, lightning snapping faintly with every breath. Mike felt his skin prickle just standing within his aura.
Binyai's obsidian gaze never wavered. Cloaked in shadows that clung to him like living smoke, he radiated nothing, no anger, no welcome, no fear. Just the constant reminder of judgment deferred.
And there was Hamza. Crimson chains wrapped around his arms, each link glowing faintly, as though ready to ignite at the smallest provocation. His gaze met Mike's, steady, uncompromising but there was no betrayal in it. Hamza had made his stance clear. His support remained, but it had terms Mike could never forget.
Finally, Maymun. The golden throne burned with a brilliance that made the chamber seem smaller. His presence was suffocating and magnetic all at once, his eyes sharp as a blade drawn half from its sheath. When they fell on Mike, the silence of the chamber deepened.
"Michael," Maymun intoned, the syllables reverberating like a verdict. "You have rested. You have bound what should have destroyed you. Now you stand again before the council not as supplicant, not as prisoner, but as one who has claimed divinity not his own." The words carried not praise, not condemnation.
Mike bowed his head slightly. He wasn't sure whether it was respect or instinct for survival. "I'm here."
Shazir's beard crackled with flame. "Here? You crawl back alive, and already you think that makes you worthy of the council's air?" His voice rumbled like cracking stone. "You should have been ash."
"Enough," Marid's voice cut, smooth as flowing water. "He has survived. That is fact. Whether that survival serves us or dooms us, that is what must be decided."
"Survival means nothing if imbalance remains," Jann thundered, lightning snapping from his form. "A fracture in the order cannot endure."
Binyai leaned forward slightly, his voice gliding across the chamber like a blade across stone. "And yet he endures. Which means the question is not if… but what he will break."
Mike felt all their eyes on him. The weight of their scrutiny pressed heavier than the chains ever had. His trial had been survival.
Mike stood in the center of the crescent, the council's collective gaze like a thousand blades pressed to his skin. He refused to look away.
It was Shazir who broke the silence. His fire flared, embers spilling from his beard as he leaned forward, voice booming through the chamber.
"Why are we even entertaining this, my king? This… thief and pretender stains our halls with slaughter and yet you give him audience? If he had been born among us, his throat would have been slit at his first breath."
Mike's fists tightened at his sides, but he said nothing.
Marid's eyes glimmered faintly, catching the torchlight like the moon's reflection on waves. She inclined her head ever so slightly toward Shazir.
"And yet, he lives. He has bound what should have torn him to ash. I have seen warlords and gods fail where this mortal has endured. Dismissing that is not wisdom, it is arrogance."
Shazir's fire roared higher. "You call it endurance? I call it corruption. Divinity consumed by a beast is still corruption. We cannot mend the fracture by feeding it power!"
"Then cut him down if your flame is so pure," Jann thundered, lightning splitting across the air above him. "Strike him now, Shazir, if you are certain the order demands it."
The chamber rumbled with the echo of his words. Shazir's fire flared dangerously but he did not rise.
Hamza's voice cut through the tension, steady, deliberate.
"I already told him the line. Mortals are not his prey. If he breaks that, I will see to his end myself. Until then, his war is mine."
The chains wrapped around his arms glowed brighter as he spoke, crimson heat pulsing like a heartbeat.
Binyai finally stirred. His shadowed form leaned forward, and when his voice came, it was soft, but sharp.
"You speak as though your conditions matter, Hamza. But he is not bound by your chains, nor our kings golden brands. He stands here because he chooses to and because none of us yet dare decide the cost of killing him." His obsidian gaze turned fully on Mike. "But the day will come when your value is weighed against the ruin you will bring. Do not mistake endurance for absolution."
Mike held his stare. His heart thundered, but his voice was steady when he finally spoke.
"I don't want absolution. I don't want your approval. I want the gods gone. I will destroy them all."
The words echoed, too raw to be polished, too fierce to be dismissed.
For a long moment, the council chamber held its breath. Shazir's fire hissed, Jann's lightning cracked, Marid's tide whispered, Binyai's shadows thickened. Maymun watched in silence, his golden aura burning steady as the sun.
Then, finally, he raised his hand, and all the elements stilled.
"There," Maymun said softly, though his voice carried the weight of command. "That is why he stands here. Not for what he has done but for what storms rise beyond these walls."
The chamber dimmed, as if the very air waited for his next words.