Kairos’s eyes narrowed, his mind already drawing connections. "Is that why you never stirred a wave of worship when you set foot in our world? For the gods we know, belief is nourishnt, an anchor yet for you, Origin Gods, it seems unnecessary."
"Indeed," Keles answered without hesitation, the simplicity of her reply almost unnerving.
Kairos leaned back in his throne, exhaling a long, heavy sigh. "Once we discovered that beings who called themselves gods walked among us, we waited. We waited for the birth of your religion, for the gathering of faithful, for that familiar ritual that always accompanies divinity. We knew it was a crucial act, a tether that gave such beings strength... and a weakness we could exploit, should the ti ever co."
His gaze sharpened on her, cold and deliberate. "But no such wave ever ca. After a ti, we realized what we faced was sothing... different."
"As for your second question, why do we target your world, your people," Keles began, but then she paused, letting the silence stretch before continuing.
"We did not choose your world. It was the demons who sought it. Our aims simply... aligned. By aiding them in claiming your world, we further our own purpose."
A sharp glint flashed in Kairos’s eyes. He leaned forward, almost too eager. "Then tell , what could the demons possibly offer you?"
Keles’s smile was thin, almost pitying. She shook her head slowly, as though disappointed in his eagerness. "You cannot give us what we seek. Still, for your mind to be at peace, I will tell you this much: what we require is knowledge, the ans to access other planes, other worlds scattered across the cosmos. Knowledge to advance, to expand, and most importantly to prevent what now unfolds in your world from consuming our own."
Kairos’s brow furrowed. His silence betrayed confusion. The concepts she spoke of were foreign, untethered to anything in the archives of the mages or the wisdom of his empire.
Keles watched him patiently, like a teacher with an attentive but unlearned pupil. And so she explained. Slowly, carefully, she wove her words into images of possible planes, veils of existence layered one over the other, each with its own laws, its own birth and decay.
Kairos listened, enthralled despite himself. For once, the Emperor, the man who commanded nations and cowed gods like beings looked less like a ruler and more like a curious child before an elder storyteller. His questions spilled forth, one after another, and Keles, with calm forbearance, answered them all.
Kairos rose from his throne, the defeat in his posture a sharp contrast to his usual regal bearing. The truth Keles spoke wasn’t just about his mortality; it was about the very foundation of his world. He began to realize their world was a cage, a gilded prison left behind by the mages who had abandoned them. They had been given an illusion of hope and power, and they had willingly stayed, believing it was for the best.
His mind couldn’t help but turn toward his brother, Kaelen. Maybe he should have listened to Kaelen and led his people out of the mages’ shadow. But instead, he led them into it, and now, to its fall. The weight of that thought settled on his shoulders, crushing decades of pride and conviction.
With a long, weary sigh, the royal robe covering Kairos’s body dispersed into a cascade of shimring light. He stood before her, not as a king, but as a man who had faced the truth of his failure. As his figure was shown, he saw Keles’s gaze hold no disgust or judgnt, only a deep, weary understanding. She sighed, but it was a sigh of shared burden, a silent acknowledgnt of the price of true sight. In that mont, he saw not a god who had co to destroy him, but a fellow being who understood the profound, bitter weight of destiny.
The robe fell away, revealing a body that was less flesh and more a living ss of ti’s paradoxes. His skin was not a single, consistent tone, but a mosaic of ages. One hand, gnarled and frail, was that of a centenarian, the veins like brittle, blue threads beneath translucent skin. The other was the plump, unblemished hand of a child, soft and smooth, with nails that looked like tiny pearls. His face, when the hood was finally gone, was a dizzying contradiction. One eye, a deep, knowing amber, was frad by the deep-set wrinkles of a man who had seen too much. The other was a bright, curious hazel, surrounded by the smooth, unlined skin of youth.
The rest of his body was a similar collage of temporal disarray. A shoulder was marked with the scarred, corded muscle of a warrior in his pri, while the other was a shrunken, bony knob, the result of so long-forgotten atrophy. Threads of grey hair were interwoven with strands of youthful, raven black, and his breath, when he spoke, was a mix of the musty decay of an ancient tomb and the clean, fresh scent of a spring morning. He was a living testant to his power, a man whose mortal shell was at war with the cosmic force he wielded, a grotesque and beautiful masterpiece of a man who had outlived himself countless tis.
"This is what lies beneath the robe," Kairos said at last, his voice hollow with defeat.
Keles, who until then had lounged with the languid ease of one amused, shifted. The seat beneath her reshaped into a throne of her own, shadows and radiance entwining around its form. Her posture straightened, her air now solemn, carrying the weight of an oracle.
"My unborn child’s divinity brushes against the aspect of ti," she said, her voice resonant, each word deliberate. "That is why he stirs instead of slumbering, why he reaches outward rather than resting as any other unborn would. Sothing in you echoes his nature, and so his gaze lingers upon you."
Her hand moved gently to her stomach, fingers curling as if cradling the unseen presence within. "His father is life, and his mother is death. For long, I could not grasp what such a union would yield. Yet now, as his proxy, I begin to see what he is becoming."
"My unborn child’s divinity brushes against the aspect of ti," she said, her voice resonant, each word deliberate. "That is why he stirs instead of slumbering, why he reaches outward rather than resting as any other unborn would. Sothing in you echoes his nature, and so his gaze lingers upon you."
Her hand moved gently to her stomach, fingers curling as if cradling the unseen presence within. "His father is life, and his mother is death. For long, I could not grasp what such a union would yield. Yet now, as his proxy, I begin to see what he is becoming."
Her eyes lifted to Kairos, steady, unyielding. "The child sees endings. He looks into the streams of ti and recognizes when the old is breaking so the new may take root. And so it is with you, Emperor. As your dynasty falters and your world begins to crumble, his stirrings grow restless. He shows visions of you again and again, for in you he finds a key to that ending."
A single, elegant finger of Keles’s hand lifted, pointing directly at Kairos. "He sees you not as a man, but as an on. An on of a coming end. You were the first sign he noticed on this world, the first tremor of a coming earthquake. He sees you as a clock whose ti is running out. And every beat of your heart, every mont of your reign, echoes in him as a countdown to a new beginning."
"He doesn’t hate you," Keles concluded, her tone softening just enough to make her words more chilling. "He rely sees you as the final page of a story he has already finished reading. And he is here to help turn that page."
Keles watched the confusion flicker across Kairos’s face, a look she found almost charming in its innocence. She didn’t wait for him to respond, a faint, almost pitying smile gracing her lips. "You are a sixth-tier being, one whose power matches that of gods, yet you are still mortal and can die. When your mortal shell dies, what do you think happens to your soul?"
Without a pause, she answered her own question. "In most cases, like in your world, souls upon death beco nutrients for your world’s strength. But that is the case for most souls. A being at your stage is not most souls."
Her voice dropped to a low, conspiratorial murmur. "Their souls will not easily beco nutrients for a world, not unless they desire it or after years have passed, and their soul’s strength and will are no longer as strong. You are lacking in this knowledge, which is why my words make no sense to you. But my child insists that I teach you, as learning is one of your favorite things to do."
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