A black pattern, like a spiderweb, spread quickly across the ball. The light did not go away. Instead, it got brighter and brighter until the ball could not hold the power anymore. With a loud CRACK that sounded like thunder, the orb broke into many tiny pieces. The bits of glass fell onto the table like shiny dust, glowing softly before they went dark.
Seres stood frozen, his mouth agape, a small cut on his cheek from a flying shard.
"What...? That was a Highest-Grade tool. It... it can measure up to the limit of potential. How did it...?"
Zephyr looked at the shards, a calm, almost apologetic smile playing on his lips.
"Dad, what exactly is the ceiling of that orb?"
"It... it's SSS-rank," Seres stammered, looking at his empty hands.
"It's supposed to be unbreakable by anything of this world."
"Then it explains it," Zephyr said, his voice echoing with a strange resonance.
"That orb couldn't measure me because my potential is EX-Rank. It's a level that doesn't fit into the scales of this orb. You tried to measure an ocean with a tiny cup, Father."
The revelation hit the room like a physical blow. Ruby and Lina stared at the broken glass, their minds unable to grasp the concept. EX-rank—a tier that existed only in the most ancient, dusty scrolls and the half-remembered legends of the Age of Myths.
Seres's face went from shock to a terrifying seriousness. The fatherly pride was gone, replaced by the grim calculation of a warrior realizing he was standing on a battlefield. He stepped closer to Zephyr, his voice a low, dangerous hiss that commanded the room.
Zephyr's smile froze. He looked at his family—his father's intensity, his mother's growing horror, his sister's wide-eyed awe. He realized that the "child" act could only go so far. To lead them through what was coming, he needed to give them a piece of the truth.
"Yes, Dad," Zephyr replied, his voice losing its child smile.
The room seemed to grow colder, the fire in the hearth suddenly dimming as if the shadows were encroaching. "Who?" Seres asked, his hand instinctively ghosting toward where his sword usually hung.
"Which God has laid their hand upon you? Was it the Sun god? The Shadow god?"
"The God of War, Dad."
Seres frowned, searching his mental encyclopedia of theology. "The God of War? I know the God of Light, the Goddess of Life, the God of the Forge... there are cults for the God of Slaughter, but a 'God of War'? Is this a new deity? A low-ranking god trying to manifest?"
"There are not even single one temple we have of this God.
Zephyr's face turned grim, his eyes remembering with memories that were his own.
He remembered the words of God of Light weeping over a fallen Friend. He remembered the feeling of a sad face stopping and sad temperature he have.
The rage that wanted to avenge his friend.
"It's complicated, Dad," Zephyr said, looking at his small hands. "He isn't a new god. And he certainly isn't low-ranking god.
But... he is gone. He was removed from the records, forgotten by the temples, and buried by time. I am what's left of his lineage. I am his last remaining trace.
Seeing the haunted, ancient look in his son's eyes, Seres felt a cold pang of genuine fear. This Situation is a very bad
"Is he okay, Seres?" Lina whispered, her eyes welling with tears. She reached out to touch Zephyr's shoulder.
"No, he is not," Seres said, his voice heavy with the weight of the future. He grabbed Zephyr by the shoulders, his grip firm.
"Listen to me, son. This is not a play. You are not the only one blessed by the gods.
There are others—prodigies in the capital, scions of the Royal Family who carry the marks of the living Gods. They have temples, armies, and inquisitions behind them."
Seres's eyes bored into Zephyr's. "If the other Empire's learns that a 'Dead God' has returned through a child in the provinces, they won't celebrate. They will see you as a opportunity.
They will see you as a opportunity to inherit god abilities. Do not ever tell anyone. Not even the servants, not your friends In the future.
If the world knows, the peace of this house will end in fire. Now, go to sleep. We will speak of this no more tonight."
In the quiet of his room, Zephyr didn't sleep. He stood by the window, watching the moon climb over the trees of the forest where he had first felt his power awaken.
His father's words echoed in his mind, They are blessed by Gods.
He closed his eyes and called upon his inner sight. The blue light of his status screen flickered into existence, hovering in the dark room, visible only to him. He looked at his class name, etched in golden letters that seemed to pulse with a hidden, rhythmic fire.
Class: Heir of the War God
"They are blessed by the living," Zephyr whispered to the darkness, his grip tightening on the stone windowsill until the wall began to crack.
"They have gods who answer prayers and priests who heal their wounds. They have the comfort of the status quo."
He looked at his palm, where a faint, bloody-red aura flickered—a jagged, aggressive energy that felt like the edge of a blade.
"But I am the legacy of the fallen. They have their blessings... but I have the legacy . I have the hunger of a god who refused to stay dead."
He finally climbed into bed and fell into a sleep that was not very peaceful. He did not see the shadows in the corner of his room.
The shadows seemed to bow to him. They were making a silent promise, the quiet, peaceful times were over, and a big, scary fight was coming soon. The old God of War was gone, but his jouney was just starting.