EPISODE 239: SAFE — SOVEREIGNTY AND FEDERAL ENTERPRISE 2

— GREAT EDRYAN, YEAR 7294. SEASON: CENTRAL.

" Oh, how interesting you've become. "

"Wisdom," I commented internally, recognizing the face of the Goddess I spoke with.

My steps led upward, and I smiled and greeted the familiar faces—Bucca, my President of Law's Sweet Golems, Kathrine, my personal maid. So many familiar faces came up to me, showcasing a mix of expressions.

Relief.

Was it for my safety? Was it for their own?

Excitement.

Whispers of what just happened were already making their way forward, faster than I could walk. My pace was leisure, unhurried. If the opponents at SAFE waited this long, then they could stay a bit longer to see me. I had a reputation to upkeep.

The first showcase of the Chosen of Madris on a world stage had to be as grand as the title.

Hope.

Hope for a better future, a brighter tomorrow. The promises I made and the oaths I uphold were for them—to walk ahead and never leave them far behind.

I pointed at Bucca and immediately made her a Vice-leader to the Imperius Faction, an action I wasn't able to do two years ago, as my attention was drawn to slaying Rasheed. The sky-elf's eyes lit up, and notifications of changes to the faction immediately began; her steps slowed. Bucca had always been one of my closest subordinates who made everything run smoothly. It was time I properly rewarded that trust.

Wisdom studied me, her eyes narrowed. We stood at equal heights, and a familiar face, one that could be mistaken for my mother or similar, stared at me.

" Scared to let me in? "

"…yes," I softly voiced, meeting Her eyes. "Very."

My body— sol —was solely mine. No, Madris the Challenger. No, Madris the Lavish. And… no Madris the Sage. Faces of the Goddess, but not truly Her. I was getting it—getting the method to Her madness. Perhaps that was a key to Her strength. A strength that allowed Her to face the Twelve Thrones—neigh, the world as an enemy and keep Her standing time and time again.

If on a world stage, the magi were weak, the Goddess Herself was far from it.

Wisdom seemed surprised, and she glanced me up and down again. She still wore the same outfit when she appeared on my sixteenth birthday. And, the same divinity radiated from her as if not a day, not a minute, not a second of time had passed.

This was Goddess Madris; this was the Sage. And, I…? I was Her Chosen.

Now…?

Now for the first time in nearly twenty years, I held a true measure of control over myself, over my own body. If many emotions showed in the eyes of the magi around me, there was one, just one, I showed to the Goddess Madris.

" Good. Good. Very Good. This is what We saw. This is why you were Chosen. "

Defiance.

That was what showed in my vision.

Defiance, of Authority.

Defiance, of Rules.

Defiance, of Fate.

That one trait remained stuck in my nature. A defiance, a refusal to comply. A hunger for my own Path, my own way. It was the very first trait I showed when Helcantruim provoked me. Defiance even in the face of the unknown and all-powerful.

" You can walk this Path, but do not fail Our magi. You are becoming their everything. My expectations of your future are… " The Sage smiled. A sight that nearly made me pause in my steps. In nearly twenty years, I couldn't recall a time when I'd seen the Goddess smile at or for me.

" Imperius. "

Her words stated that she vanished, leaving the power of her divinity blanketing my outer sol like a comforting blanket.

For the first time in nearly twenty years… I was alone, truly.

"Heh… heh… heh-ha-ha-haaa."

This freedom… I would cherish it. I wasn't feeling in its entirety, but the restrictions I knew not of were no longer present.

My fists clenched, and I looked down at my scarred left hand. A scar I kept as a reminder when facing the [Jackalope – ★ ] all those years before.

Defiance. This was defiance.

"Heh, ha-ha-haa."

The storm cleared, and the sun shone down on the Chosen of Madris. Two scaled wings kept him aloft. Allura Grasci Az'Dawn looked up, her expression complicated with a multitude of emotions.

Surprise.

The young man she met recently took another step forward in his way of life. She looked around her, Intent spreading. Her gaze was on the reaching hands of the magi.

Desperation.

Such power is what she needed for a chance at slaying her father and avenging her mother. Her Sin was strong, yes, but her resources, people, and everything one would need when dethroning the previous monarchy lacked. If not for this young man before her, then Allura would still be decades away from even having a chance at her goal.

Jealousy.

When would she have power such that the masses would answer her beck and call? When could she look down not from the rooftop of a carriage but from the heights of a palace and receive such adoration?

"They reach for him…," she whispered, barely recognizing her voice. "As if he's their God... has he already taken that step?"

"Impossible," Ninjaro whispered to himself, fingers trembling as they grasped at his abacus. Calculations began to run only to lead to limits he could not comprehend. "No, there has to be a way. There has to be."

He expected the Chosen of Madris to be powerful, yes, but this was beyond powerful. This was like watching a divine shepherd tend to their flock. Their every movement was followed, anticipated, and answered appropriately.

It was perfect, and mortals couldn't be perfect, but… Gods could.

Should they point left, none would dare look right. Should they say jump, the only question would be: how high? His command and prestige over the magi was at a level only a demigod, no, only a God should wield.

"Not even Grandfather… not even Grandfather has ever controlled the people in this manner."

A flash of pink appeared, embracing the Chosen of Madris and his companion before disappearing as quickly as it came. If not for the puddles of drying water around them, Ìmólè would have thought the events an illusion.

"…kill him," Ìmólè whispered silently. "I have to kill him… for my brother… for brother."

Her hawk-like gaze was still trained on the spot where the Chosen of Madris once resided. Ìmólè hadn't killed before, not directly. She'd been training and even found it hard to see the sight of blood, but now she experienced a bloodlust like never before. A sole thought continued to repeat itself in her mind. A simple conclusion that seemed obvious yet was distant until she truly set eyes on that figure.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

" If I don't kill the Chosen of Madris, then my brother will die. "

The thought wormed its way deeper into her mind, fumigating all other thoughts until it solidified itself as the sole champion. The sole goal. It wasn't anything special. It didn't hold any hidden traits. Her objective was just… black and white.

Crusade: A Ballad of Black and White

Rarity: Divine

Category: Divine Quest

Quest Details:

Goddess Jhan has recognized your ambition and sense of duty. Cometh One, Cometh All—Whoever Comes is Whoever Dies. Slay the Chosen's of the Mortal Realm, Protect Your Brother.

Location:

Elrunian Continent.

Rewards:

Blessing of Jhan

Failure:

Blemish Responsibility.

In a hidden depth, in a hidden corner. Illusions swayed, and a demigoddess lay.

"Here… something familiar is finally here."

The words were spoken to no one, heard by no one; thus, could they be counted as real? If a tree fell in the forest and no one was around to hear it drop… does it still make a sound?

Kubrat believed so. For she was the Illusion, she was the sound. She was dead, but with the Chosen, life could be found.

She observed a familiar figure, a different time and stance. It was funny, how the Goddess did things, clones stylized in Her image without an ounce of Her Potential, Her Sol. Twice failed, but on the third attempt… they would succeed.

They had to, or she would die.

That wasn't an option. And, her illusion would turn to reality. True death for those beyond mortality wasn't the same as mortals. Mortals held the divine protection of the Gods they worshiped. Pray tell, who held the worship of Gods outside of themselves? Who believed in a God more than themselves?

So, when they fell, whose Divine Kingdom would they end up in? Not their own. Kubrat knew for certain. So, where did the Gods that died, slain by Madris usually, go?

The same question could be asked about demigods and Prestiges. Who safeguarded their souls from Sins and Virtues? Who sent them into the cycle of reincarnation? Who protected those beyond mortal?

"No one," Kubrat commented. Talking to no one, but everyone.

Kubrat came from an age where those who wanted to go beyond mortal were called mad. Those around them believe them to be crazy to attempt such a feat and not be content with the long-lived mortal life they were granted.

And, they were right.

To go beyond. To become a God, Prestige, Aspect… whatever… You have to be mad. You have to go against the world, the gods, the very nature of reality, for the Gods were outside of reality. Their laws were forces that governed reality, but they themselves were outside of it. Existing in a dimension exclusively built for them.

Should they not have the ability to exercise their powers in the Mortal Realm, then perhaps the people would not believe in them as strongly as they did.

Yet the people prayed. They kneel as Kubrat watched, hands reaching for their Chosen of Madris. Was it for salvation? Was it for protection? Was it just because the knowledge of something greater than them existing brought them comfort?

Kubrat knew not.

Kubrat knew… not.

She could not, would not, and shall not because just like the Chosen of Madris they reached for, she was mad. Possessed by the desire to reach beyond and achieve the same status as the one they prayed to daily.

To walk the Path of Gods meant to walk alongside madness, to go against the grain and clear a path where none remained. Kubrat smiled and watched. She was everywhere in Edryan and no where for she did not exist, only the illusion of her did.

The Potential.

The Opportunity.

The Chance.

The Sol… that was all it was. That's all it will ever be.

She watched as grand doors opened, the backs of the magi grew straighter, almost to an impossible degree. It was as if She herself walked before them. But, it was only the Chosen… of Madris. That was just as good.

Their eyes sparkled, their faith strengthened, feeding into the Pantheon of Imperius. A small portion went to her, dividends of their combined might. While small portions went to every other demigod, a part of such a grand thing. The rest? The majority? It went to Madris, nurturing Her strength, sharpening Her blade for even Kubrat knew it would be used soon. And, when it was used… her chance would appear.

A chance to turn black into white and white into black. Such a small thing, such a marvelous thing. Life into Death and Death into Life.

The same coin, but just… a different face.

Fate entwined, and the Chosen of EL watched. Her gaze was more curious than anything as the Chosen of Madris entered the room. They had been kept waiting. And, Wilarax was not disappointed.

"This is the Chosen of Madris," she questioned to herself. If she was being honest, she was entirely uncertain of what she was expecting.

Silver-gold eyes scanned the youth. First, they gazed at the horns emerging from his forehead, one short, the other tall, with a blend of colors at its core. Next, they moved to his face, a chiseled, diamond-shaped clean jawline. Surprisingly, he had a mustache that gave him an air of maturity. Yet, it was his eyes that told it all.

They say the eye is a window to the soul, at least back on earth they did. Wilarax liked to believe it was a window to the sol. The Potential of each individual is focused on a single infinite point.

And finally… finally… Wilarax looked to his eyes.

Red-gold eyes locked into her silver-gold. A spark of power rippled through the air, and visible waves collided from that single gaze. The papers on the circular table flew into the air as if a gust of wind had blown them. Clothes ruffled, and bodies shifted, uncertain of exactly what happened. The Path Walkers present shifted, as they could not sense what had occurred.

Wilarax saw fate, faith , a fate so certain, a faith so strong, a fate so entwined, a faith unlike anything to ever exist. She saw into his sol, and he, hers. After all, this was a two-way street.

Same Coin, Different Faces.

Two fates so entwined, it was impossible to even attempt unraveling them. They were two sides of the same coin, but at extreme opposites.

One was entwined with every single person in their nation, compelled to pull them forward for greatness. To showcase them to the world and complete the game of the Gods.

One was as free as a bird in the sky, able to fly anywhere they fancied with no expectations to carry anything outside of the pack on their back. They were free, adventurous.

One held love for all they saw, for the world itself.

One held indifference for all they saw, for the world itself.

To the world, one was righteous and could do no wrong.

To the world, one was unprincipled and was forever wrong.

Which was which? Neither knew, nor did it matter. For one of them would die at the end and the winner would rewrite history however they saw fit.

They knew—immediately. Their fates are too entwined not to be familiar with one another. They were strangers, yet the closest of kin.

Lovers in one life…

…Enemies the next.

Their gaze swept past each other, the moment over. The dance danced.

Red and Blue .

Black and White.

Light and Dark.

Life and Death.

The Hero and the Villain.

One coin, different faces.

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