The Aethron Altar dimmed, its blue glow fading into silence, leaving only the echo of Gaidan's ragged breaths in the chamber. The boy sat upright now, though weakness still draped across his limbs like chains. His body was healed. His spirit was not.
Magnus, the older of the two butlers, moved with deliberate care. He slid an arm beneath Gaidan's back and lifted him as though he were still the fragile child he once cradled years ago. Ise, sharp-eyed and brisk, brought forward a small tray, steam curling from a bowl of broth.
"Drink, sir," Ise said, propping the spoon carefully to his lips. "You need warmth in your blood."
The boy obeyed, swallowing bitterly. The soup tasted of herbs and salt, but more than hunger it grounded him, tethering him back to the world.
Magnus watched his features twist with thought, shadows deepening across the boy's eyes. At last, he pressed, voice steady but edged with command:
"Sir… you should tell us what happened to you."
Ise nodded firmly, his tone softer but no less direct. "Yes, sir. We don't understand how you could have been defeated. Never—not once—have we seen you bested."
Gaidan's fingers curled tight around the bowl. He hesitated, then finally spoke, voice hoarse as memory dragged itself through him. "I was on patrol. My usual route. Quiet. Normal. Then… he came." His expression hardened. "A super."
The two butlers exchanged a sharp glance.
Aether-blue light flickered in Gaidan's eyes as the words poured out faster. "I fought him. I should have won. But it was as if he could read me. Every strike. Every counter. Even the suit couldn't keep up with him—like he was inside my mind. Predicting everything before I moved." His breath hitched. "He said… I shouldn't have stopped the war between Enttle and Abujasvjko. He said I'll have to pay the price."
The chamber fell quiet, as though the walls themselves held their breath.
Magnus finally broke it. He leaned back slightly, considering, then said with slow, deliberate weight: "Perhaps he was right. For millions of years, Aetherians have never meddled in human affairs. Not once. That line between us and them has always been clear."
Ise stepped forward, his arms folded, his gaze locked on Gaidan's fragile form. "True. We are guardians of balance—not judges, not kings. The Earth does not belong to us. Protect it, yes. Shield life, yes. But to interfere, to choose sides in a war…" He shook his head. "Your kind has never done such things."
Gaidan slammed the bowl down, broth splattering across his lap. His chest surged with fury. "BUT INNOCENT PEOPLE WERE DYING!" His voice cracked, equal parts rage and grief. "Should I have stood aside? Should I have let them perish because of pride? Because of rules so ancient even memory forgot their reasons?"
Magnus immediately reached forward, steadying him as his body jerked under the weight of his anger. "Careful, sir," he cautioned, pressing him back onto the couch. "You shouldn't move like this. Your body may heal, but your strength is not yet ready."
Ise stepped back, lips tight, eyes falling into silence.
The two butlers exchanged an unspoken agreement. Words would not mend the turmoil now clawing at their master's chest. They cleaned the tray, dimmed the lights, and quietly left his chamber.
Alone, Gaidan leaned forward, his hands trembling against his knees. The silence pressed heavy, denser than any battle he had fought.
Were they right?
The question looped again and again in his mind. For centuries his kin had claimed neutrality, had watched humans rise and burn and rise again, never once descending from the sky to choose a side. He had broken that vow—the last of his kind—believing he was saving lives. But tonight, staring into the emptiness of his quarters, doubt gnawed him raw.
Perhaps the war should never have been stopped. Perhaps Enttle and Abujasvjko had needed their conflict to bleed out until no fuel remained to burn. Perhaps, by ending it, he had only delayed a storm and made himself the lightning rod for what would come next.
And if that was true, if the attack was only the first price…
Gaidan closed his eyes, and for the first time since his people had been named gods, the last Aetherian whispered to himself the only question that mattered:
Was I wrong?