Chapter 76: Love, Indifference

Chapter 76 -076: Love, Indifference

Up in the Hall of Divine Light and Countless Stars, she felt it.

The change happening to her most intimate act of creation. She felt the strands, pieces of her, resist with all their might, resisting the transmutation being forced upon them. Every single transformed strand struck her heart in a way she never wanted to remember.

Yet the Goddess of Creation sat with that heavy feeling of loss and separation once more growing within her.

But whatever the concept of love was to Celestials—divine beings who predated even the beginning of the concept—it translated not into intervention, but into a stillness akin to and identical to indifference, even though it wasn’t.

She who had made him out of love, necessity, and the grief of someone who had lost something irreplaceable closed her eyes and wordlessly willed him to continue.

She had known this would happen. She had simply not known, until now, what knowing it would feel like when it did happen.

Nevertheless, she made no move to stop him.

—

Mikael lay on his side against the roots of the massive tree, and for the first time in a long while, he breathed. His body had unilaterally made the decision by itself during the time he halted the conversion process, and he had no will to contest it yet. So he lay still, with the moss cold against his cheek.

All around him, the forest moved—the Ravagers, a bird that only ever sang at nighttime singing a song with a cracked tune, and the slow creak of ancient wood in the slight night breeze.

How did he know it was night? Fortunately, from his lying position, one of the few openings in the dense canopy revealed an even darker sky lit up by stars.

‘Lucky me!’

Ragnarok’s aura still kept him safe as he pondered once more the effects of his conversion.

He was—the transformed parts of his soul were—still celestial and not mortal. Just no longer fully divine as defined under the Goddess’ order, more like pseudo-divine.

It was possible that, in the case of full soul conversion, he might never be able to connect to the Cosmic Gate. The welcome development was that his essence regeneration was now synonymous with and somehow dependent on Ragnarok’s major ability—Absorption!

Directly absorbing essence from Ragnarok.

If there was a drawback, which was also somewhat welcome, it was that he needed a lot—a freaking lot—of whatever mortal material was required to replenish what he lost. A much more welcome development, though, than his essence not regenerating at all.

It was around noon the next day that his body finally decided to cooperate and move, allowing him to turn onto his back.

His theory was correct.

Ragnarok could transmute Aurora’s essence, although the process was barely survivable.

But still, survivable.

The cycle would continue for a while; that was a given. But the limitation was the scythe.

Unlocking the ‘Forge’ charge required other Old Gods’ relics.

These were now a matter of priority, as they were the difference between this process working completely and him dying from unfinished efforts.

By the time the sun had begun its descent, Mikael took his first step on the journey back to the city. Once Ragnarok had stabilized to some extent, he absorbed some of the little essence he had left within it, using it to power up his body and get back on his feet.

‘But sure, I’m a genius, yes!?’

He thought to himself, clearly sure he was becoming delusional from the near-death experience.

—

The capital city of Elyria, the continent of the Elves, was different from the way capital cities in the Human Realm announced themselves.

Just a distinct silence compared to the ‘noise’ of its counterparts.

The Palace was particularly massive, grown from living wood shaped by elven hands over millennia, with bridges that were also branches and undergrowth that had politely receded upon approach.

Maxwell Kaiser Siltvelt had read essays and accounts from diplomats, and he had dismissed them as exaggerations written by fools who could not achieve their aims. But at this moment, he was completely revising his stance. The wonders described in those accounts had been accurate. However, he did not let it show on his face.

The receiving hall was large enough to dwarf the Imperial audience chamber. The very canopy served as the roof, sealed against the weather by magic older than even the eldest of the delegates. Moreover, sunlight still filtered through despite how thick the overgrowth was.

The floor was pale wood, so old that it was practically white from age, with runes covering it in rhythmic patterns.

At the dais of the thrones stood the eldest members of the Elven race, perfectly still. The eldest, a figure Maxwell’s escort had identified only as Elder Gozaty, had a face that had completely stopped aging, his features having settled into expressions that resisted change easily because they had existed longer than some human civilizations.

He and the other elder beside him, a woman called Ahmae with silver hair so long it touched the ground, observed the delegation with a look that was clearly unbothered by whatever terms they might have brought with them.

On the thrones sat the prima inter pares—the firsts among equals—as they received their guests.

The king, like his queen, bore no crown on his head, mere ornaments they had long discarded. He was tall and lean, just like all elves inevitably were.

A green robe with gold seams draped over a black three-piece suit, accentuating his blonde hair and emerald eyes. His face was composed, just like those of the elders, like that of one who had conducted so many audiences that he’d lost count and found them all roughly equivalent.

Queen Khiva was different—really different. Where her husband wore composure like a garment, she wore sharp attention, unhurried and expressionless. Within the first twenty seconds of the delegation’s entrance, her eyes moved with silent, precise swiftness, taking note of everything she wanted before the visitors were no longer worthy of her attentive gaze.

Maxwell, Duke Antony, and Duke Alan had noticed how she had seen what she needed to see and was now simply waiting for their words to confirm or complicate her initial assessment.

Maxwell had been briefed by the Chancellor on both royals. But that did not in any way prepare him for being in the same room as the pinnacle of Elven authority, or for the quiet pride and indifference they subconsciously radiated.

He inclined his head to the degree that courtesy required of sovereign foreign guests and spoke first:

“Your Majesties, Elyria’s hospitality is as renowned as its beauty, though I find that reputation greatly understated.”

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