"What do they mean by balance?!" I mutter under my breath trying to understand what they mean by that.
The word "balance" keeps echoing in my mind as I watch the official delegation approach, their formal robes rustling in the desert breeze. Balance—what the hell does that even mean in the context of cosmic tribunals and entities that predate creation itself?
"Kamen," Valen says quietly, falling into step beside me as we head toward what I can only assume will be another round of cosmic interrogation. "Before we meet with them, there's something you should know about the nature of their inquiry."
I raise an eyebrow, already dreading whatever revelation he's about to drop on me. "Something worse than a trial to determine if I'm a threat to universal stability?"
"Not worse, exactly. More... complex." He glances around, making sure we're not overheard by the approaching delegation. "They're not just concerned about your actions or Caleif's nature. They're concerned about the precedent you've set."
"Precedent?"
"You've proven that the cosmic order can be changed by individual will rather than collective authority," he explains, his burning eyes reflecting a mixture of admiration and concern. "That's... unprecedented. For millennia, major cosmic changes required consensus among the ruling powers of all realms. You did it alone."
I feel a familiar weight settling on my shoulders—the burden of unintended consequences that seems to follow me everywhere these days. "So they're not just worried about what I did. They're worried about what it means that I could do it."
"Precisely. You've essentially demonstrated that the ultimate authority in the cosmos isn't the councils or the hierarchies or the ancient powers. It's individual choice backed by sufficient will and power."
"And that threatens their entire power structure," I realize, the pieces falling into place. "If one person can reshape reality, what's to stop others from doing the same?"
"Nothing," Valen confirms grimly. "Which is why they're calling it a question of balance. They need to determine whether your existence represents a necessary check on cosmic stagnation or a dangerous precedent that could lead to chaos."
Caleif's hand tightens around mine. "They're going to try to limit your abilities, aren't they? Find some way to prevent you from making similar changes in the future."
"That's one possibility," Valen says. "Though there are others. They might try to co-opt you, bring you into their power structure as a controlled asset. Or they might decide that the threat you represent is too great to ignore."
The implications of that last option hang in the air like a death sentence. I've faced cosmic entities before, but never an alliance of them all working together with a common goal. The thought is terrifying in ways I don't have words for.
"Well," I say, trying to inject some confidence into my voice, "I guess we'll find out which way they're leaning soon enough."
The delegation has arranged themselves in the sanctuary's main conference hall, but this time the setup is different. Instead of the circular arrangement from our previous meeting, they've created something that looks disturbingly like a courtroom. Three distinct sections for the representatives of each realm, with a single chair placed in the center—obviously meant for me.
"Kamen Driscol," the angelic representative says as we enter. I recognize them from our previous meeting—the six-winged figure whose disapproval radiates like heat from a furnace. "Please, take your seat. We have much to discuss."
I remain standing, crossing my arms over my chest. "I'll stand, thanks. This isn't a trial, is it?"
"Not a trial," the demonic representative says, though their smile suggests otherwise. "An inquiry. A chance for you to explain your recent actions and their implications for cosmic stability."
"Recent actions like saving reality from complete collapse?" I ask, letting a bit of sarcasm creep into my voice. "Or recent actions like refusing to become a tool for entities that want to reshape the cosmos according to their personal preferences?"
"Recent actions like consorting with beings from the pre-separation era," the human representative—Director Chen—says sharply. "Like creating unauthorized dimensional pathways. Like demonstrating abilities that shouldn't exist in any single individual."
I feel Estingoth stirring in my mind, his ancient presence radiating protective fury. "Careful, old friend," I think to him. "We need to be diplomatic here."
"Diplomacy is for equals," he rumbles back. "These beings see you as either a tool to be used or a threat to be eliminated. Neither perspective deserves diplomatic courtesy."
He's not wrong, but antagonizing a tribunal of cosmic authorities probably isn't the smartest move I could make right now. Still, I'm not about to grovel or apologize for making the choices I felt were necessary.
"Let me be clear about something," I say, addressing all three delegations. "I didn't ask for the power to reshape reality. I didn't seek out cosmic transformation or interdimensional politics. I made the choices I made because the alternatives were worse."
"And yet," the angel says, their crystalline voice carrying notes of judgment, "you continue to make choices that affect the fundamental nature of existence. The question before us is whether such power should remain in the hands of a single individual."
"The question before you," I correct, "is whether you're going to respect the autonomy of the being who prevented universal collapse, or whether you're going to try to control me because my existence makes you uncomfortable."
The temperature in the room seems to drop several degrees. I can feel the weight of their combined attention, the pressure of cosmic authority bearing down on me like a physical force. But I've been under this kind of pressure before, and I've learned not to bend beneath it.
"Your existence," the demonic representative says slowly, "represents a fundamental shift in the balance of power. Whether intentional or not, you've positioned yourself as a cosmic authority equal to or greater than the established hierarchies."
"I haven't positioned myself as anything," I reply. "I'm just trying to live my life while dealing with the consequences of preventing the apocalypse. If that threatens your balance of power, maybe your balance of power was the problem."
The silence that follows is deafening. I can see the delegates exchanging glances, their expressions ranging from outrage to calculation to something that might be grudging respect.
Finally, Director Chen speaks. "What do you want, Kamen? What would you consider an acceptable resolution to this situation?"
It's a good question, and one I'm not sure I have a complete answer to. What do I want? To be left alone? To have my choices respected? To protect the people I love from cosmic manipulation?
"I want balance," I say finally, using their own word against them. "Real balance. Not the artificial stability of rigid hierarchies, but the dynamic equilibrium that comes from multiple perspectives working together."
"And how do you propose to achieve that?" the angel asks.
I look around the room, at the three delegations representing their respective realms, at my friends who've stood by me through impossible circumstances, at the doorway visible through the windows where beings from different worlds continue to interact and learn from each other.
"By doing what we're already doing," I say. "By creating spaces where different realms can meet as equals. By solving problems through cooperation rather than domination. By proving that the cosmos is big enough for multiple approaches to existence."
"Pretty words," the demonic representative says. "But what happens when cooperation fails? When different approaches come into irreconcilable conflict?"
"Then we deal with it," I say simply. "Together. The same way we've been dealing with every crisis since I reshaped the barriers. Not through the imposition of absolute authority, but through the messy, complicated process of beings with different perspectives finding common ground."
The angel's wings rustle with what might be agitation. "And if that process fails? If your approach leads to chaos rather than harmony?"
"Then we'll face that chaos together too," I reply. "Because the alternative—rigid control imposed by distant authorities—isn't stability. It's stagnation. And stagnation is just another form of death."
I can see them processing this, weighing my words against their own agendas and fears. The question of balance, I realize, isn't just about power distribution. It's about whether the cosmos will continue to grow and change, or whether it will calcify into whatever form the current authorities consider acceptable.
"There's one more thing," I add, feeling the weight of what I'm about to say. "If you decide that my existence is too dangerous to tolerate, if you try to limit my abilities or control my choices, you'll be proving that everything I've said about the need for change is correct. You'll be demonstrating that the established order values its own preservation over the freedom and growth of the beings it claims to protect."
The challenge hangs in the air between us, clear and unmistakable. I've essentially told them that any attempt to control me will validate my entire argument about the need for cosmic reform.
It's a gamble, and I'm not sure it's going to pay off. But sometimes, the only way to win is to make the stakes too high for anyone to want to play.
A sudden alarm chimes as I realize The Guardians have come back. They materialize infront of us and we all collectively take a step back.
"We have come to a decision. Your powers of cosmic proportion shall be limited, the power to manipulate shall be returned to The Creator. You shall remain as you are, but you will no longer be allowed or capable of shaping reality as you have before." The Guardian says as I suddenly feel something inside of me become compressed and then turned into nothing. I realize it's my power as the architect.
I feel something fundamental leave me—a hollowness where cosmic power once flowed. The sensation isn't painful, exactly, but it's like having a limb amputated without anesthesia; I know something vital is gone even though I can't see the wound.
"There," the Guardian intones, its voice echoing with finality. "It is done."
My knees nearly buckle. Caleif is at my side instantly, her arm around my waist, supporting me as the room spins slightly.
"What have you done?" she demands, her voice tight with barely controlled fury.
"Restored balance," the Guardian replies simply. "The power to reshape reality was never meant for individual possession. It belongs to The Creator alone."
I take a deep breath, testing the edges of this new limitation. I can still feel Estingoth's presence, still sense the connections between realms, but the ability to manipulate those connections—to reshape reality as I did during the transformation—that's gone completely.
"You couldn't have discussed this first?" I ask, surprised by how steady my voice sounds despite the cosmic violation I've just experienced. "Maybe asked for my input before performing metaphysical surgery?"
"The decision was not subject to negotiation," another Guardian states. "The risk was too great."
I look around at the delegation members. The angels appear relieved, the demons calculating, and the humans... Director Chen meets my eyes with what might be genuine sympathy.
"You knew," I realize, addressing all of them. "This tribunal wasn't about finding a solution. It was about keeping me distracted while they prepared to strip my abilities."
"A necessary precaution," the angelic representative says, not bothering to deny it. "Your continued possession of such power represented an unacceptable risk to cosmic stability."
I should be furious. I should be raging against this violation, this cosmic theft of something that was part of me. But strangely, what I feel most prominently is... relief.
"Fine," I say, straightening my shoulders and stepping away from Caleif's support. "Take it. I never wanted cosmic power in the first place."
My response clearly isn't what they expected. The Guardians exchange what passes for glances among their kind, their ethereal forms rippling with something that might be confusion.
"You accept this judgment?" one asks.
"Accept? No. But I'm not going to waste energy fighting it." I take another step forward, feeling stronger with each passing moment. "You've taken my ability to reshape reality, but you haven't taken my voice. Or my influence. Or the connections I've built across three realms."
"Those things pose no threat to cosmic stability," a Guardian states.
I can't help but laugh at that—a genuine, if slightly bitter, sound. "Shows what you know about real power. You think reality is shaped only by cosmic manipulation? It's shaped by choices. By relationships. By ideas that spread from mind to mind."
Lucifer, who's been watching this entire exchange with uncharacteristic silence, suddenly applauds—slow, deliberate claps that echo through the conference hall.
"Bravo," he says, his perfect smile wider than usual. "The student surpasses the masters. The Guardians remove his tools but forget that the craftsman remains."
"Be silent," a Guardian commands, but there's an undercurrent of uncertainty in its voice.
"Oh, I don't think I will," Lucifer replies pleasantly. "Not when things are getting so interesting. You've just made the most fascinating mistake, and I want to savor every moment of watching it unfold."
"What mistake?" the demonic representative demands.
"They've made him more dangerous, not less," Lucifer explains, as if speaking to particularly slow children. "By taking his power but leaving his knowledge, they've created something unprecedented—a being who understands cosmic architecture but must now work through influence rather than direct action."
I hadn't considered that perspective, but as soon as Lucifer voices it, I recognize the truth in his words. I still remember everything—the feeling of standing at the Threshold, the knowledge of how reality is structured, the understanding of how the barriers function. I can't implement changes directly anymore, but I can teach others. Guide them. Help them understand what I've experienced.
"It doesn't matter," the Guardian states. "No individual or group can channel sufficient power to affect cosmic change without our awareness and intervention."
"Are you certain of that?" I ask, feeling a plan beginning to form. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you're so focused on preventing another me that you're missing the bigger picture. The barriers are already changed. The doorways already exist. The knowledge is already spreading."
I gesture toward the window, where the central doorway continues to cycle through its connections to different realms. "That's not going away just because you took my ability to create more of them. The precedent has been set. The example exists. And sooner or later, someone's going to build on what I started."
The silence that follows is heavy with implication. I can see the delegates processing this reality, coming to terms with the fact that cosmic change isn't something they can simply undo or prevent. It's already happening, spreading outward like ripples from a stone dropped in still water.
"What do you want, Kamen Driscol?" Director Chen asks finally, her voice cutting through the tension. "Now that your power has been limited, what do you intend to do?"
I turn to her a feeling inside me reminiscent of malice begins to build. "I want you to understand that you made a mistake. I want you to understand that now that I don't have these powers you cannot dictate what I do, and within that I no longer have any obligation to help you. Find someone else to deal with your problems. You've proven to me and everyone of the three realms that you cannot be trusted. Don't try to talk to me or ask for my help again." I say slowly walking towards them, my anger building and unfortunately for them I cant bring it back down.
I can feel Estingoth's presence burning inside me, resonating with my fury. I might have lost my cosmic powers, but I'm far from powerless. The gauntlet still adorns my arm, a constant reminder that I've faced gods and monsters and survived.
"This tribunal is over," I announce, my voice echoing through the chamber with surprising authority for someone who's just been cosmically neutered. "You've made your decision without my consent, and I've made mine. We're done here."
Director Chen rises from her seat, her expression carefully neutral. "Kamen, I understand your anger, but please consider—"
"Consider what?" I cut her off. "That you sat here pretending to have a fair discussion while knowing they were going to strip me of my abilities regardless? That you all conspired behind my back because you were afraid of what I might do with power I never even asked for?" I shake my head in disgust. "Save your diplomatic bullshit for someone who still believes in it."
The angelic representative's wings flare with indignation. "Your tone is inappropriate for—"
"For what?" I challenge, stepping closer to their section of the tribunal. "For addressing the mighty cosmic authorities who just violated me on a fundamental level? Sorry if I'm not showing proper deference after having part of myself ripped away without consent."
Caleif's hand finds mine, her touch grounding me before I can say something that might get us both incinerated. Her fingers intertwine with mine, a silent reminder that I'm not alone in this.
"We should go," she whispers, her golden-flecked eyes reflecting my own anger but tempered with caution.
She's right. Nothing productive will come from staying here, from continuing to rage against powers that have already demonstrated their willingness to violate my autonomy. Better to retreat, regroup, and figure out what comes next.
I turn away from the tribunal without another word, Caleif at my side. Elara and Valen fall in behind us, a united front against the cosmic authorities who thought they could control me through metaphysical amputation.
"This decision was not made lightly," one of the Guardians calls after us. "In time, you will understand the necessity."
I pause at the doorway but don't turn around. "No, I won't. And neither will anyone else who learns what you've done. You've just shown every being in three realms exactly why the old system needed to change. Congratulations on proving my point better than I ever could."
The desert air outside feels cleansing after the stifling atmosphere of the conference hall. I take deep breaths, trying to center myself, to adjust to this new reality where part of me is simply... gone.
"Are you okay?" Caleif asks, her concern evident in every line of her face.
"No," I admit, running a hand through my hair. "I'm angry and violated and... weirdly relieved all at once. Does that make any sense?"
"Perfect sense," Lucifer says, materializing beside us with his usual dramatic flair. "The burden of cosmic power is not a light one. Part of you is grateful to be free of it, even as another part rages against the theft."
For once, I'm not annoyed by his sudden appearance. "They made a mistake, didn't they?"
"Several," he confirms, that perfect smile revealing nothing of his true thoughts. "The most significant being their assumption that power and influence are the same thing. They've removed your ability to reshape reality directly, but they've left intact your understanding of how reality works. Knowledge, as they say, is its own form of power."
"Knowledge I can share," I realize, the beginnings of a plan forming in my mind. "Knowledge that can't be taken away."
"Precisely." His eyes shift colors as he studies me. "They were so focused on preventing another cosmic architect that they failed to consider the possibility of a cosmic teacher."
Valen, who's been uncharacteristically quiet, finally speaks. "The academy already has students from all three realms. Beings who are eager to learn, to understand the new cosmic order. They could benefit tremendously from your... insights."
"And not just students," Elara adds, her practical mind already jumping ahead. "Representatives from different supernatural communities, scholars, even some of the more progressive members of the cosmic hierarchies. People who want to understand what you experienced."
The idea takes root, growing stronger with each passing moment. They've taken my ability to reshape reality, but they can't take what I've learned, what I've experienced. They can't stop me from sharing that knowledge with others who might use it to create the kind of balanced, cooperative cosmos I envisioned.
"It would be a different kind of influence," I say slowly. "Less direct, more... distributed."
"And far harder for them to control," Lucifer points out with obvious delight. "One cosmic architect they can neutralize. Hundreds of beings with fragments of your knowledge, working together toward a common vision? That's a movement."
I look at the central doorway, where beings from three realms continue to pass back and forth, learning from each other, building connections that would have been impossible before my transformation. That's the real change—not the physical restructuring of the barriers, but the shift in perspective that comes from seeing other realms as accessible rather than separate.
"They think they've won," I say quietly. "They think they've contained the threat I represent."
"And have they?" Caleif asks, her eyes searching mine.
I feel a smile spreading across my face—not a nice smile, but the kind that might make cosmic authorities rethink their strategy if they could see it.
"No," I say simply. "They've just forced me to find a different way to achieve the same goal. And honestly? This way might be better."
"Better how?" Elara asks, her practical mind always wanting specifics.
"Because it won't depend on me," I explain. "It won't be one person reshaping reality according to their vision. It'll be many beings, from different realms, with different perspectives, all contributing to a shared understanding of what the cosmos could be."
"A cosmic democracy," Valen says, his burning eyes bright with academic excitement. "Rather than a cosmic monarchy."
"Exactly." I feel a weight lifting from my shoulders—not the hollow absence of my stolen abilities, but the burden of sole responsibility for cosmic change. "They've done me a favor, really. They've forced me to find a more sustainable approach."
Lucifer's laugh is genuine and slightly disturbing. "Oh, this is delicious. They sought to limit your influence and instead may have multiplied it exponentially. I do so love when cosmic authorities outsmart themselves."
I glance back at the conference hall, where the delegations are likely still debating the implications of what just happened. They think they've neutralized me, contained the threat I represent. They have no idea what they've actually done.
"So what now?" Caleif asks, her hand still firmly in mine.
"Now," I say, feeling more certain with each passing moment, "we start building something they can't tear down. Something that doesn't depend on any single being's power, but on shared knowledge and cooperative action."
"A cosmic revolution," Lucifer murmurs, his eyes gleaming with something that might be pride. "How delightfully unexpected."
"Not a revolution," I correct him. "An evolution. A natural progression toward what the cosmos was always meant to be—connected, balanced, free."
As we walk away from the conference hall, away from the cosmic authorities who thought they could control me through metaphysical amputation, I feel a strange sense of peace settling over me. They've taken my power but left me with something far more dangerous—purpose. And unlike cosmic energy, purpose can't be stripped away by even the most powerful entities in existence.
"They're going to regret this, aren't they?" Elara asks, a slight smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
I look at my friends—at Caleif with her newly discovered divine origin, at Valen with his academic passion, at Elara with her practical strength—and feel a surge of something that might be hope.
"Absolutely," I confirm. "But by the time they realize their mistake, it'll be too late to fix it. The knowledge will have spread too far, taken root too deeply."
And that, I think as we head toward the academy where beings from three realms are already learning together, is a far more lasting victory than anything I could have achieved with cosmic power alone.