"If anyone tries to wrong us, I'll crush them…with force and I don't care who it is. Ill crush them to the the point of no return" I say as anger flows over me like a river and black veins appear over top of my skin as my power slowly leaks out cracking through ground beneath us and shaking the surroundings as the tribunal members arrive.
The air around me crackles with dark energy as my power ripples outward in waves. I can feel Estingoth's presence surging through my veins, feeding on my anger, amplifying it. The tribunal members freeze in their approach, their formal robes fluttering in the supernatural wind my outburst has created.
"Kamen," Caleif whispers urgently beside me, her fingers tightening around mine. "They're just here to talk."
But I'm beyond talking. After everything we've been through—cosmic transformations, dragon negotiations, confrontations with ancient beings in the Borderlands—the idea that these self-important bureaucrats think they can put me on trial is the final straw.
"Let them come," I growl, watching as cracks spread across the courtyard stones beneath my feet. "Let them see what happens when they threaten what's mine."
Valen steps forward, his burning eyes wide with alarm. "This display isn't helping your case," he hisses. "They're already concerned about your power levels. This is exactly what they're afraid of."
A tall angel with six wings folded against their back—the same one from our previous meeting—watches me with cold calculation. "The architect demonstrates our concerns rather effectively," they announce, their perfect voice carrying across the courtyard. "Unstable. Dangerous. A cosmic liability."
Their words only feed my rage. The black veins across my skin pulse darker, and I feel the ground beneath us tremble more violently. Small objects—stones, fallen leaves, even a bench near the doorway—begin to float upward as gravity itself responds to my emotional state.
"Liability?" I snarl. "I saved reality itself while your Council was debating proper protocols. I reshaped the barriers when they were collapsing. I've faced down dragons and Forgotten Ones and the Devil himself, and you have the audacity to call me unstable?"
Lucifer chuckles beside me. "While I appreciate the dramatic flair, you might want to dial it back before you accidentally tear a hole in this dimension. It would be terribly inconvenient for everyone."
Part of me knows he's right. I can feel my power building to dangerous levels, responding to my emotions in ways I haven't experienced since the transformation. But another part—the part that's sick of being manipulated, judged, and threatened by cosmic entities—wants to show them exactly what I'm capable of.
"Kamen." Caleif moves to stand in front of me, placing both hands on my chest. Her golden-flecked eyes meet mine, steady and certain. "This isn't you. This is exactly what the Forgotten wanted—to push you toward conflict, toward chaos. Don't give them what they want."
Her words cut through the haze of anger. I take a deep breath, then another, feeling the power recede slightly. The floating objects begin to drift back down, though the cracks in the stone remain.
"Fine," I say, my voice still tight with barely controlled rage. "They get one chance to explain themselves. One."
Director Chen from the Human Supernatural Authority steps forward, her expression carefully neutral. "We're not here to pass judgment, Mr. Driscol. We're here to understand. Your recent activities have triggered monitoring systems across all three realms."
"Activities like saving your students from a dragon?" I ask, directing my gaze toward the demon representative. "Or preventing ancient entities from using my partner as a key to unleash cosmic chaos?"
"Activities like unauthorized travel to the Borderlands," the angel corrects coldly. "Contact with pre-separation entities. Dimensional disturbances that have been felt as far as the Celestial Sphere."
I laugh, the sound harsh even to my own ears. "Unauthorized? By whose authority? I'm the one who reshaped the barriers. I'm the one who created the doorways. If anyone has the right to travel between realms, it's me."
"That's precisely the attitude that concerns us," the demon representative says. I recognize him now—the silver-horned demon from our previous meeting. "You act as if cosmic laws don't apply to you."
"They don't," Lucifer interjects cheerfully. "Not in the conventional sense, anyway. Our friend here exists in a rather unique category. Part human, part demon, part cosmic architect. The rules weren't written with someone like him in mind."
"Which is why we're here," Director Chen says, shooting Lucifer an irritated glance. "To establish new protocols that account for these... exceptional circumstances."
I feel some of my anger cooling, replaced by wary suspicion. "Protocols? What kind of protocols?"
"Guidelines for interdimensional travel. Notification requirements for contact with entities outside the established realms. Safety measures to prevent power surges like..." She gestures to the cracked courtyard. "This."
"You want to regulate me," I say flatly.
"We want to work with you," she counters. "But yes, some degree of oversight is necessary. The barriers between realms are still stabilizing. Your actions have consequences that extend far beyond your immediate vicinity."
I look at Caleif, seeing the concern in her eyes. Then at Elara, whose expression suggests she's calculating exactly how many tribunal members she could take down if things go sideways. Then at Valen, who looks torn between academic fascination and genuine worry.
"And if I refuse?" I ask, though I already know the answer.
The angel's wings rustle with barely contained tension. "Then we would be forced to eliminate the anomaly, tjat woman next to you."
Caleif's eyes go wide and realized that the angel just made a mistake. A big one. Hearing this the black veins instantly appear over my body as I instantly appear in front of the angel clutching its neck lifting it into the air.
"You touch her and I'll fucking kill you and everyone you love." I say rage boiling over as my power comes out completely cracking the ground and making the air around us oppressive and heavy .
The air around me becomes dense with power, my rage manifesting as pure destructive energy. The angel struggles in my grip, those perfect features contorting with something I've never seen on a celestial being before—fear.
"Kamen!" I hear Caleif's voice behind me, but it sounds distant, as though I'm underwater. "Don't do this!"
But I'm beyond reason. The black veins covering my skin pulse with each thundering heartbeat, and I can feel Estingoth's presence surging through me, no longer a separate entity but fully merged with my fury. The tribunal members back away, their formal composure shattered.
"You dare threaten her?" I snarl, tightening my grip on the angel's throat. "After everything she's sacrificed? After everything we've done to save your precious cosmic order?"
The angel's wings thrash helplessly, celestial light flickering around them like a dying star. I can feel their power—immense, ancient—but it's nothing compared to what's flowing through me now. The ground beneath us splits further, fissures spreading outward in a spiderweb pattern as reality itself responds to my rage.
"This is exactly what they want," Lucifer says casually from somewhere behind me. "Quite the show you're putting on for them."
His words barely register. All I can focus on is the threat to Caleif, the casual way this cosmic bureaucrat suggested eliminating her—as if she were a problem to be solved rather than a person to be protected.
"I rebuilt reality," I hiss, bringing the angel's face closer to mine. "I can tear it down just as easily. Remember that before you threaten what's mine."
"Kamen." Caleif's voice again, closer now. I feel her hand on my arm—warm, solid, real. "Look at me, not at them."
Something in her tone cuts through the haze of my anger. I turn my head slightly, keeping the angel firmly in my grip, and meet Caleif's golden-flecked eyes.
"This isn't you," she says softly. "This is what the Forgotten want—conflict, chaos, destruction. Don't give them what they want."
"They threatened you," I say, my voice rough with emotion.
"And I'm still here," she replies steadily. "I'm not going anywhere. But if you do this—if you kill an angel in front of a tribunal—there's no coming back from that. For either of us."
The truth of her words sinks in slowly, fighting against the tide of rage still flowing through my veins. I look around at the devastation my outburst has already caused—the cracked courtyard, the hovering objects, the terrified expressions of beings from three different realms.
Is this what I've become? A cosmic terror that lashes out at the first sign of threat?
"They need to understand," I say, not loosening my grip on the angel. "They need to know what happens if they come after you."
"I think they've gotten the message," Elara interjects dryly, though I can hear the tension in her voice. "Maybe finish making your point without actually destroying the sanctuary?"
The angel in my grasp makes a choking sound, their perfect features turning an alarming shade of blue. Part of me—the part that's still riding the wave of righteous fury—wants to squeeze harder, to show the Celestial Council exactly what happens when they threaten what I love.
But Caleif's right. That path leads nowhere good.
With tremendous effort, I release the angel, who crumples to the ground in an undignified heap of rumpled robes and twisted wings. The cosmic power surging through me doesn't recede, but I manage to contain it, to pull it back from the brink of destruction.
"Let me be absolutely clear," I say, my voice carrying across the courtyard. "I have no interest in your protocols, your regulations, or your oversight. What I do care about is protecting the people I love and maintaining the balance I created."
Director Chen steps forward cautiously, her diplomatic training evidently kicking in. "Perhaps we could discuss this more... constructively. In a setting that allows for calmer deliberation."
"There's nothing to discuss," I reply flatly. "Caleif isn't an anomaly to be eliminated. She's a person with the right to exist without being threatened by cosmic entities with control issues."
"Her nature—" the angel begins, their voice raspy from my assault.
"Is her own business," I cut in. "Just like my nature is my business. You don't get to decide who deserves to exist based on your rigid categories of acceptable and unacceptable beings."
The silver-horned demon studies me with newfound interest. "And if her existence causes interdimensional instabilities? If the Forgotten use her as a focal point for their attempts to breach the barriers?"
"Then we deal with those problems as they arise," I say firmly. "Together. Without threatening to 'eliminate' anyone."
The tribunal members exchange glances, clearly reassessing their approach. I can practically see the calculations happening behind their eyes—weighing the risk of antagonizing me further against the risk of leaving us unregulated.
"A compromise, perhaps," Director Chen suggests after a moment. "Voluntary cooperation rather than imposed oversight. Information sharing when it affects multiple realms. Mutual assistance when threats arise."
I look at Caleif, whose subtle nod tells me this might be the best outcome we can hope for under the circumstances. The black veins on my skin have started to fade, though I can still feel the power humming beneath the surface, ready to emerge if needed.
"I can work with cooperation," I say carefully. "But understand this—any threat to Caleif, any attempt to 'study' her or contain her or control her in any way, and this conversation gets a lot less civilized."
"Noted," the demon representative says, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Your protective instincts are... impressive, if somewhat terrifying."
The angel has managed to regain their feet, though their perfect composure is noticeably absent. "The Celestial Council will need assurances that your... partnership... does not represent a fundamental threat to cosmic stability."
"The only threat to cosmic stability is entities who think they have the right to decide who lives and who dies," I reply coldly. "Focus on actual problems instead of creating new ones, and we'll get along fine."
Lucifer, who's been watching this exchange with obvious enjoyment, slow claps. "Beautifully handled. Threatening enough to establish boundaries, yet restrained enough to avoid interrealm war. You're learning."
I shoot him a glare. "Not helping."
"On the contrary," he says with that perfect smile. "I'm providing valuable context for our esteemed tribunal. They now understand that while you're dangerous when provoked, you're also capable of restraint. That's important information for beings who deal in risk assessment."
As much as I hate to admit it, he has a point. My display of power followed by conscious de-escalation probably communicates more effectively than hours of diplomatic negotiation.
"We will take your... perspective... under advisement," the angel says stiffly. "Further discussions will be necessary to establish mutually acceptable parameters for interaction."
"Translation: they'll go back and tell their superiors that you're too powerful to push around but reasonable enough to work with," Elara murmurs beside me.
"Fine," I say, addressing the tribunal. "But those discussions happen with both of us present." I take Caleif's hand, making my position unmistakable. "We're a package deal."
The tribunal members nod with varying degrees of enthusiasm, and I can feel the tension in the courtyard beginning to dissipate. The immediate crisis has passed, though I have no illusions that our problems are over. If anything, they're just beginning—but at least we've established some boundaries.
As the delegation begins to withdraw, presumably to confer among themselves, Caleif squeezes my hand. "That was simultaneously the most terrifying and most romantic thing I've ever seen," she says quietly.
"Which part? Nearly destroying the sanctuary or threatening an angel of the Celestial Council?"
"The part where you were willing to take on three realms' worth of authorities to protect me," she replies. "Though maybe next time, a little less cosmic destruction would be nice."
I look down at the cracked courtyard, evidence of my power still visible in the fractured stone. "I'll work on that."
"See that you do," Valen says, approaching us with a mixture of academic fascination and practical concern. "While your display was undeniably effective from a negotiation standpoint, the structural integrity of the sanctuary would appreciate a more restrained approach in future."
"Sorry about that," I mutter, genuinely chagrined. The sanctuary has been through enough without me damaging it during fits of cosmic rage.
"On the bright side," Lucifer observes cheerfully, "you've just ensured that no one will be making casual threats against either of you for the foreseeable future. Fear can be a remarkably effective diplomatic tool when applied judiciously."
"I don't want people to fear me," I say, though part of me wonders if that's entirely true. After everything we've been through, maybe a healthy dose of fear from potential adversaries isn't such a bad thing.
"What you want and what you need are often different things," Lucifer replies with unexpected seriousness. "In a cosmos full of entities that would use you, control you, or destroy you, being feared is sometimes the only protection worth having."
I look at Caleif, at the sanctuary around us, at the doorway still cycling through its connections to the three realms. Everything I've fought to protect, everything I've sacrificed to create. Maybe Lucifer has a point. Maybe fear is a necessary tool in the arsenal of someone who stands between order and chaos.
But as I feel Caleif's hand in mine, I also know that fear can't be the foundation of whatever comes next. Fear protects, but it doesn't build. It doesn't create. It doesn't heal.
"We'll figure it out," I tell her, watching as the tribunal members disappear into the sanctuary building. "One cosmic crisis at a time."
She smiles, the golden flecks in her eyes catching the afternoon sunlight.
"Together," she says, and in that single word, I find a flicker of peace amid the chaos of cosmic politics and interdimensional threats.
The tribunal members have retreated into the sanctuary building, no doubt to discuss their new approach to the "anomaly situation." I'm not naive enough to think they've abandoned their concerns, but at least they understand the consequences of threatening Caleif now.
I look down at my hands, watching as the last of the black veins fade beneath my skin. The power is still there, humming just below the surface like a sleeping predator. Ready to emerge again if needed.
"That was quite the display," Lucifer says, examining his perfectly manicured nails as if we're discussing the weather rather than my near-destruction of reality. "Estingoth's influence, I presume? Or something more... fundamental?"
"Both," I admit, flexing my fingers as the residual energy dissipates. "The gauntlet amplifies what's already there. And apparently what's there is a lot of rage when someone threatens the people I care about."
"Understandable," he says with surprising sincerity. "Though you might want to work on your control issues before you accidentally tear a hole in the fabric of existence. Cosmic repairs are such a tedious business."
I shoot him a glare, but there's no real heat behind it. As much as I hate to admit it, he's right. The power flowing through me since the transformation is different from what I experienced before—more integrated, more responsive to my emotional state. I need to learn how to manage it before someone gets hurt.
"I'll add it to the list," I mutter. "Right after 'prevent interdimensional war' and 'avoid getting Caleif classified as a cosmic threat.'"
Caleif squeezes my hand, drawing my attention back to her. "Speaking of which, we need to talk about what happened in the Borderlands. About what I learned there."
The reminder of her revelation sends a fresh wave of confusion through me. Created for me. By God. The implications are still too enormous to fully process, especially standing in a cracked courtyard surrounded by the aftermath of cosmic diplomacy gone wrong.
"Somewhere private," I agree, suddenly aware of how many eyes are watching us from windows and doorways around the sanctuary. Our confrontation with the tribunal hasn't exactly been subtle.
"My quarters," Valen suggests, his burning eyes flickering between us and the damaged courtyard. "They're warded against eavesdropping, and I believe we could all use some... perspective... on recent events."
I nod, grateful for his practicality. "Lead the way."
As we follow Valen through the sanctuary corridors, I can feel the stares of everyone we pass—students, teachers, visitors from other realms. Word travels fast in a place where multiple dimensions intersect, and I have no doubt that my confrontation with the tribunal is already becoming the stuff of legend.
Great. Just what I need. More cosmic notoriety.
Valen's quarters are exactly what you'd expect from an academic demon with centuries of knowledge at his disposal—walls lined with books in languages I don't recognize, artifacts carefully arranged on shelves, and a large desk covered in scrolls and what appears to be star charts for realms I've never heard of.
"Please, sit," he says, gesturing to a collection of comfortable chairs arranged around a low table. "I believe this conversation requires both comfort and clarity."
I sink into one of the chairs, the exhaustion of the day suddenly hitting me like a physical weight. Cosmic rage apparently takes a lot out of you. Caleif sits beside me, her presence a steady anchor in a world that keeps shifting beneath my feet.
"So," Elara says, leaning against a bookshelf with her arms crossed. "Are we going to talk about how you nearly strangled an angel of the Celestial Council, or should we start with the revelation that Caleif was apparently created by God specifically for Kamen?"
Leave it to Elara to cut straight to the heart of things. I run a hand through my hair, trying to organize my thoughts into something approaching coherence.
"I'm not proud of losing control like that," I admit. "But I'm not sorry for making it clear that threatening Caleif is a line they can't cross."
"Understandable," Valen says, settling into his own chair. "Though perhaps a touch excessive in execution. The structural repairs to the courtyard alone will take weeks."
"I'll help fix it," I promise, then turn to Caleif. "But right now, I think we need to understand what you learned in the Borderlands. What exactly did that sphere of light show you?"
She takes a deep breath, her golden-flecked eyes meeting mine with a mixture of wonder and uncertainty. "It showed me my creation. Not my birth—my actual creation. I wasn't born naturally, Kamen. I was... made. Deliberately designed by a power that could only be described as divine."
"For what purpose?" Valen asks, his academic curiosity evidently overwhelming his sense of discretion.
"To be a counterbalance," she says slowly, as if still working through the implications herself. "When Kamen found Estingoth's gauntlet, when he began walking the path that would eventually lead to becoming the Nexus Being... the cosmos needed to ensure he wouldn't be consumed by that power. It needed someone who could anchor him to his humanity while still understanding the supernatural forces he was dealing with."
"So you were created to be what... his cosmic babysitter?" Elara asks skeptically.
Caleif shakes her head. "No. His partner. His equal. Someone who could stand beside him through impossible transformations and cosmic threats without being overwhelmed by them. Someone whose essence could merge with his during the transformation because we were... compatible on a fundamental level."
The revelation hits me all over again, sending a wave of conflicting emotions through my chest. On one hand, the idea that the universe cared enough about my journey to create someone specifically for me is humbling, even awe-inspiring. On the other hand...
"But what about your choices?" I ask, voicing the concern that's been gnawing at me since she first revealed this. "If you were created for a specific purpose, for me specifically, how much of what you feel is genuine and how much is... programmed?"
Her smile is sad but certain. "That's what I was afraid of too, at first. That my feelings weren't real, that my choices weren't my own. But the sphere showed me something else too—the difference between purpose and predestination."
"Meaning?"
"I was created with a purpose, yes. But I was also created with free will. The ability to choose whether to fulfill that purpose or reject it." Her fingers tighten around mine. "Every step of our journey together has been my choice, Kamen. Every moment, every decision, every time I chose to stand with you instead of walking away."
"She's right," Valen interjects, his burning eyes thoughtful. "Divine creation doesn't negate free will. If anything, it amplifies it. The ability to choose one's path despite being designed for a specific purpose—that's the ultimate expression of autonomy."
I want to believe them. I desperately want to believe that what Caleif and I have built together is real, not some cosmic script we're unwittingly following. But after everything we've been through, after all the manipulation and cosmic chess games...
"How can we be sure?" I ask, hating the doubt in my voice but unable to suppress it. "How do we know this isn't just another layer of cosmic manipulation?"
"Because I've felt it," Caleif says simply. "In the Borderlands, when I touched that sphere, I experienced the moment of my creation. I felt the intention behind it—not control, not manipulation, but... love. The desire for you to have someone who could walk beside you through impossible challenges. Someone who could love you not despite your destiny but because of it."
Her words wash over me like warm sunlight after a storm, easing some of the tension that's been building in my chest. I look into her eyes and see nothing but sincerity, nothing but the woman who's stood beside me through cosmic transformations and dragon negotiations and confrontations with entities older than time itself.
"Besides," Lucifer adds unexpectedly from where he's been examining Valen's collection of artifacts, "if you're looking for cosmic manipulation, this is rather benign compared to the usual methods. Creating a compatible partner for the cosmic architect seems downright thoughtful compared to, say, apocalyptic visions or threatened smiting."
"That's... actually a good point," I admit reluctantly. "Though I'm still not thrilled about being part of someone's cosmic design without my knowledge or consent."
"Welcome to existence," Lucifer says with a sardonic smile. "None of us consented to being created. The question is what we do with the life we're given."
I look at Caleif, at the woman who's become the center of my increasingly chaotic universe. "And what do you want to do with yours?"
"Exactly what I've been doing," she says without hesitation. "Standing beside you. Facing whatever comes next. Making my own choices, writing my own story, even if it began with someone else's pen."
The simplicity and certainty of her answer eases something in my chest that I didn't even realize was tight with anxiety. Whatever cosmic design brought us together, whatever purpose we were meant to serve—we're still us. Still making our own choices, still defining our own existence.
"Well, now that we've established the theological implications of your relationship," Elara says dryly, "can we address the more immediate concern of the tribunal wanting to classify Caleif as an anomaly to be 'eliminated'?"
And just like that, my brief moment of peace evaporates. "They're not touching her," I say, feeling that dangerous power stirring beneath my skin again. "I made that perfectly clear."
"Through physical intimidation and property damage," Valen points out. "While effective in the short term, such methods rarely lead to lasting diplomatic solutions."
"So what do you suggest?" I ask, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice. "Because I'm not letting them treat her like a problem to be solved."
"We address the underlying concern," he says thoughtfully. "Their fear isn't really about Caleif herself—it's about what her existence represents. A bridge between realms, a key that could potentially unlock paths to the Forgotten and other pre-separation entities."
"So we show them she's not a threat," Elara suggests. "That she's chosen to remain as she is rather than embrace whatever cosmic potential the Forgotten were so excited about."
I look at Caleif. "Is that true? In the Borderlands, you said you chose to remain as you are now. To seal away that potential."
She nods, her expression solemn. "I rejected what the Forgotten offered—the chance to become a living key to the lost realms. I chose this life, this existence, with you. But..."
"But?"
"But I'm not sure I can completely seal away what I am," she admits. "The knowledge of my origin, the understanding of my nature—it's part of me now. And the Forgotten were right about one thing: my existence does prove that the barriers between realms are more permeable than anyone thought."
"Which is exactly what worries the tribunal," Valen says. "If one such being exists, others might follow. The cosmic order we've all grown accustomed to becomes less certain."
"So what do we do?" I ask, feeling the weight of yet another impossible situation settling on my shoulders. "How do we convince three realms' worth of cosmic beings with competing agendas that Caleif isn't a threat to their precious status quo?"
I'm interrupted by a soft chime that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Valen's expression shifts from thoughtful to alarmed in an instant.
"That's the boundary alert," he says, already moving toward the door. "Something's trying to breach the sanctuary's outer defenses."
Perfect timing. Because clearly, we don't have enough problems already.
We follow Valen through the sanctuary corridors at a run, other beings flattening themselves against walls to let us pass. The alarm continues, soft but insistent, a warning that something is pushing against the protective barriers that separate the sanctuary from the rest of reality.
"Any idea what it is?" I ask as we burst into the central monitoring chamber—a circular room filled with glowing displays showing different sections of the sanctuary's boundaries.
"Not yet," Valen replies, his burning eyes scanning the readouts. "The signature is... unusual. Not demonic, not angelic, not human."
"Forgotten?" Caleif suggests, her face pale.
"No." Valen's voice carries a note of confusion I rarely hear from him. "Something else. Something... older."
A chill runs down my spine as one of the displays flares brightly, showing a section of the eastern boundary where reality itself seems to be folding inward like paper crumpling under invisible hands.
"Whatever it is, it's coming through," Elara says, checking her weapons with practiced efficiency. "And it's not using any of the established doorways."
"It's creating its own path," I realize, watching as the distortion grows larger. "Bypassing all the protocols and safety measures we put in place."
"That shouldn't be possible," Valen mutters, his fingers flying over control panels. "The barriers are designed to channel all interdimensional travel through the doorways. Nothing should be able to create a direct breach."
"Nothing except beings that existed before the barriers were created," Lucifer says quietly from behind us. His usual smirk is gone, replaced by an expression of wary calculation. "The rules don't apply to those who predate the rulebook."
The eastern boundary display flashes red, and a shockwave of energy rolls through the sanctuary, rattling windows and knocking over smaller objects. I feel it as a pressure wave against my consciousness—ancient, powerful, and terrifyingly familiar.
"Seraphina," I breathe, recognizing the draconic signature in the energy pattern. "But why would she—"
"Not just Seraphina," Valen interrupts, his voice tight with tension. "Look."
The display shows the breach widening, and through it step three figures—Seraphina in her human form, flanked by two beings I've never seen before but instantly recognize on some primal level. They radiate power in a way that makes even Lucifer seem subdued by comparison.
"Guardians," Lucifer says, and for the first time since I've known him, I hear something like genuine respect in his voice. "I haven't seen them walk between realms in... well, a very long time."
"Guardians of what?" I ask, though I'm already dreading the answer.
"Of the cosmic balance," he replies. "They predate the separation, predate even my rebellion. They observe, they evaluate, and when necessary... they intervene."
"And they're here now because...?"
"Because of us," Caleif says softly. "Because of what we discovered in the Borderlands. Because of what I am."
The sanctuary trembles again as the three figures move from the breach point toward the central courtyard. I can feel their power washing over the entire complex like waves against a shore, ancient and inexorable.
"We need to meet them," I decide, already moving toward the door. "Before the tribunal does, before anyone else tries to interfere."
"Kamen," Elara says, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "Are you sure that's wise? After what just happened with the tribunal—"
"This is different," I tell her, though I'm not entirely convinced myself. "These aren't bureaucrats with agendas. If Lucifer is right about what they are, they're something much more fundamental."
"All the more reason to approach with caution," Valen suggests, but I'm already halfway out the door.
I can feel the Guardians' presence growing stronger as we approach the courtyard, a pressure against my enhanced senses that reminds me uncomfortably of standing at the Threshold during my transformation. Power that old, that primal, leaves impressions on reality itself.
The courtyard is eerily empty when we arrive, everyone else apparently having the good sense to take shelter when ancient cosmic entities come calling. The three figures stand near the doorway, which has stopped its usual cycling to display only static—as if reality itself is holding its breath.
Seraphina sees us first, her human form somehow more intimidating in this context than her dragon shape had been in her lair. "Architect," she acknowledges with a slight nod. "I've brought visitors who wish to speak with you and your companion."
The two beings flanking her defy easy description. They appear humanoid, but their features shift and change depending on how the light hits them, as if human form is merely a convenient approximation of something far more complex. One shimmers with colors I can't name, while the other seems to absorb light rather than reflect it.
"Guardians," Lucifer says, stepping forward with uncharacteristic formality. "It has been... a considerable time."
"Lightbringer," the light-absorbing Guardian acknowledges, its voice somehow both gentle and overwhelming. "Still walking the boundaries, I see."
"Someone has to keep things interesting," Lucifer replies with a hint of his usual charm, though I notice he keeps a respectful distance.
The colorful Guardian turns its attention to me, and I feel the weight of its gaze like physical pressure. "The architect who reshaped the barriers. The human who became more than human. We have been watching your progress with great interest."
Great. More cosmic entities who've been spying on me. Just what I needed today.
"And you are?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady despite the power radiating from these beings.
"We are the Guardians of Balance," the dark one replies. "We existed before the separation of realms, and we will exist after its eventual dissolution. Our purpose is to ensure that cosmic forces remain in equilibrium, regardless of how they manifest."
"And you're here because...?"
"Because you have created something new," the colorful one says, its shifting gaze moving to Caleif. "The barriers between realms are changing. The doorways you created allow for controlled passage, yes, but they also represent a fundamental shift in how reality functions."
"A shift that has consequences," the dark one adds. "Some intended, others not. The Forgotten stir in their prison-realms. Ancient powers awaken from centuries of slumber. And at the center of it all, a being created for divine purpose stands beside the architect who made it all possible."
Caleif steps forward, her chin raised despite the tremor I can feel in her hand as it grips mine. "If you've come to eliminate the 'anomaly,' you'll find it's not that simple."
To my surprise, the Guardians exchange what might be amused glances.
"Eliminate?" the colorful one says. "No, child of intention. We have not come to destroy, but to understand. To evaluate. To determine whether what you represent is threat or opportunity."
"I'm getting really tired of being evaluated," I say, unable to keep the edge from my voice. "First the tribunal, now you. Is there anyone in the cosmos who doesn't have an opinion about our existence?"
"Your frustration is understandable," the dark Guardian says, its voice carrying what might be compassion. "But necessary. The changes you have set in motion ripple through all realities, all possibilities. They cannot go unexamined."
"And if you don't like what you find?" I challenge. "If your 'examination' determines we're too dangerous to exist?"
The Guardians exchange another look, this one more solemn.
"Then we would seek balance," the colorful one says simply. "Not through destruction, but through adjustment. Through guidance. Through showing you paths you have not yet considered."
"We are not the tribunal," the dark one adds. "We do not seek to control or contain. We seek only to ensure that the cosmic scales remain... balanced."
Seraphina, who has been uncharacteristically quiet, finally speaks. "They came to me first, seeking context for what they had observed from afar. I showed them what I learned from your memory, architect. I showed them the daughter of intention's choice in the Borderlands."
"And what did they think of that?" Caleif asks, her voice steadier now.
"We found it... illuminating," the colorful Guardian says. "You were offered power beyond measure, the chance to become a key to forgotten realms, and you chose instead to remain as you are. To embrace the life you have built rather than the cosmic role you could have played."
"A choice that speaks to your character," the dark one agrees. "But also a choice that has consequences."
"What kind of consequences?" I ask warily.
"The Forgotten will not abandon their interest in you so easily," it explains. "They have waited millennia for an opportunity to reclaim what was lost. They will seek other keys, other means of accessing the pathways you have closed to them."
"And the tribunal," the colorful one adds, "will continue to view you both as potential threats to their ordered realms. Their fear is not entirely without foundation, even if their methods are... questionable."
I feel a headache building behind my eyes. More problems, more threats, more cosmic complications. It never ends.
"So what do you want from us?" I ask bluntly. "What does this 'evaluation' of yours involve?"
"Understanding," the dark Guardian says simply. "We wish to observe how you navigate the challenges before you. How you balance your personal desires against cosmic necessities. How you use the power you have gained."
"You want to watch us," I translate. "To judge whether we're worthy of existing."
"To judge whether the new order you are creating can sustain itself," the colorful one corrects. "Whether the changes you have set in motion lead toward balance or toward chaos."
"And if we refuse to be your cosmic reality show?" Caleif asks, a hint of her usual fire returning.
The Guardians exchange another of those inscrutable looks.
"You cannot refuse what already is," the dark one says gently. "We have been watching since the moment the architect first touched Estingoth's gauntlet. We will continue to watch as this new reality unfolds."
"But our presence here, now, is not merely to inform you of our observation," the colorful one adds. "It is to offer you something few ever receive—context."
"Context?" I repeat, not sure I understand.
"Knowledge of the forces that move around you," Seraphina explains. "Awareness of the currents that shape cosmic events. The Guardians see patterns that even beings like me cannot perceive."
"We offer you perspective," the dark Guardian says. "Not to direct your choices, but to illuminate the paths before you."
I look at Caleif, seeing my own wariness reflected in her eyes. More cosmic entities offering gifts that sound too good to be true—it's becoming a pattern I'm not particularly fond of.
"And what do you get out of this... illumination?" I ask.
"Balance," they say in unison.