-Thirteen days later-

  Breaking news flooded the airwaves.

  "The Council had announced a temporary hiatus. For several months, Caelumreach would fall silent."

  Across All Realm, radios crackled with speculation.

  “So how do you think about the situation?” the host asked, his voice sharp with urgency.

  “Frankly, the council carries an extraordinary burden,” the first commentator replied. “Since the appointment of the second generation years ago, they have never truly rested.”

  “To be precise,” the second added, “all of them except Elysius, the All Seeing, have been engaged in near-constant warfare for decades.”

  A pause. Then the host leaned in. “So even gods can grow exhausted?”

  “We can view it from many angles,” the first speaker said calmly. “Are they gods? In some sense, yes. And do gods have lives beyond governing All Realm? Of course they do.”

  “Do you believe the recent District Six incident and related unrest pushed them to this decision?” the host pressed.

  “That is likely part of it,” the first replied. “But look at the present state of All Realm. This is an era of unprecedented peace. One could argue they have earned rest.”

  “But hold on,” the second commentator cut in. “If the council withdraws, what happens to supreme leadership? Caelumreach is the axis of power. Its silence could invite conflict.”

  “They are not abandoning their responsibilities,” the first countered. “Their agents operate throughout All Realm.”

  “So you’re saying governance continues, even without their presence in Caelumreach?” the host asked.

  “Absolutely,” came the answer. “Unus Bank, Sevenstar, Sanctuary, and Cognisource still operating.”

  “And if they did?” the host pushed. “Would that mean we’ve been abandoned?”

  “If that were to happen,” the first speaker said, “a different narrative would emerge. But what matters is this. We are not being left behind.”

  The second commentator scoffed. The host continued firing questions. Voices overlapped. The tone grew sharp, anxious, abrasive.

  The radio clicked off.

  Elysius lowered his hand from the power switch.

  “Annoying,” he muttered.

  Elysius had taken refuge on a secluded island, far from any trade route or banner. There were no people there. Only himself, a small hut, his transmitter, a radio to monitor distant noise, and his staff.

  He fished along the shore, reshaping his golden staff into a spear with practiced ease. He cooked what he caught, ate alone, and watched the sky while he chewed. Somewhere beyond those clouds was home. Or what passed for it now.

  The transmitter rang.

  He answered immediately.

  Bjorn’s voice burst through, loud and unfiltered. “Where are you, you insolent boy?”

  “I’m resting,” Elysius replied flatly. “You’re interrupting. I’ll be back the day after tomorrow.”

  “You talk like an old corpse,” Bjorn snapped. “Listen. For the next month, shut down every council-related issue in the papers. Push news about our organizations instead.”

  “I understand,” Elysius said. “What about the radio?”

  “Let them speculate,” Bjorn replied. “Cryptic notices have already been distributed across the kingdoms.”

  “It’s been a week already,” Elysius said after a pause. “When I return, I want to see Starmist and Leroy first.”

  Bjorn agreed. He would not come himself. He left it to the boy, as he often did.

  The transmission ended.

  Elysius sat still for a moment, letting the sea wind brush against his face. Then he stood, donned his armor, and set off toward Stargate.

  It took him nearly five hours, running and leaping through open air and cloud to reach the citadel. Stargate was calm, unchanged. The guards recognized him at once and allowed him through without question.

  He found Starmist in the garden.

  She was seated beneath the trees, reading. She did not look up when he approached, either lost in thought or simply exhausted by it. Elysius cleared his throat.

  She startled slightly, then smiled faintly. “Elysius. I’m sorry I didn’t meet you at the gate.”

  “No problem,” he said, pretending calm.

  He handed her a small box. Inside were chocolates filled with different kinds of berries. “I know you like sweets,” he added. “Next time I’ll bring a book.”

  He sat beside her.

  Starmist opened the box at once. Inside were dozens of star-shaped chocolates, each melting instantly on the tongue. She took one, then offered another to Elysius.

  He accepted.

  After a moment, he exhaled slowly. “So this is how it ends?”

  The question made Starmist look up at him, eyes widening slightly, her mouth still chewing.

  “We’re disbanded,” Elysius continued, staring ahead as he idly turned his staff in his hand.

  Starmist swallowed. “We’ll gather again. My brother said the first council went through something similar.”

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  “But if it takes too long,” Elysius said quietly, biting into another chocolate, “that can be dangerous too.”

  Starmist could not answer.

  They sat in silence for several minutes, listening only to the steady murmur of the fountain. Water rose and fell, indifferent to councils and fractures.

  Then Elysius let out a soft chuckle. “Unexpected, wasn’t it. Lucretius, I mean. I always thought he had no feelings at all. Still, I’m not surprised he might like you.”

  Starmist swung her feet lightly, her gaze fixed on her toes. Her nails were painted blue. She watched them as if they belonged to someone else. Once again, she said nothing. Her thoughts drifted back to that day, looping where words failed.

  “But you don’t feel that way about him, do you?” Elysius asked.

  She did not react.

  Elysius already knew the answer. Starmist was kind to everyone. Men, women, elders, children. Her warmth did not discriminate. But the heart, he understood now, recognized something singular. Something it never explained aloud.

  “I know you’ll try to bring everyone back together,” Elysius continued, talking more to fill the space than to demand a reply. “But I won’t push you. You’ve already given up too much of yourself for all of us.”

  He touched the golden Celestial emblem pinned to his chest, then lifted it between his fingers. “Still,” he said lightly, “I’ve always wondered about this. The history behind it.”

  That did it.

  Starmist finally spoke.

  She told him about the war decades ago, the one against the League of the Transcendent. How all of All Realm had risen. Superhuman and commonfolk alike. How they had stood together, and fallen together. The death toll had been vast. The horror of those years impossible to fully recount.

  On many battlefields, superhuman and commonfolk fought side by side and died side by side. The seven factions struggled to recover their dead. Factions with vast territories of their own, Abyss, Sorcerer, Cogworks, Celestial, demanded that their fallen be returned home, buried according to tradition.

  That was why the seven emblems were created.

  Small. Durable. Easy to recognize up close, difficult for enemies to identify from afar. There were years when armor and faction uniforms could not be worn openly. In those times, the emblem was the only distinction between superhuman and commonfolk.

  As eras passed, the pin changed meaning. It became pride. Identity. Proof of belonging.

  But everyone who truly understood its origin knew the blood behind it.

  Now it was a symbol. A sacred artifact. A limited commodity. Not even all members of a faction were deemed worthy of wearing one.

  Then leave the others to me,” Elysius said at last.

  Starmist looked at him. She had finished the chocolates and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “What do you mean?”

  “Amaterasu. Lucretius. The rest,” he replied, his expression firm now. “I’ll make sure they all receive the same confidential information until we’re together again.”

  Starmist frowned and took his hand. “You already have more than enough work with Bjorn. You don’t need to burden yourself further. They just need time.”

  “I know,” Elysius said. “But some matters can’t be handled through a transmitter. I need to be there in person. To ensure nothing is distorted.”

  She released his hand.

  “I’m the youngest,” he added with forced confidence. “That means I still have the most energy.”

  Starmist watched him quietly. “Then what can I do to help ease this?”

  Elysius sat back down, thinking. He bit lightly at his index finger, a habit from childhood. After a moment, he lifted his gaze and met her azure eyes.

  “This might be difficult for you,” he said carefully. “But you and Leroy… you’ve been friends for a very long time.”

  Starmist leaned back slightly, breaking eye contact.

  “I don’t understand everything about what happen at that time,” Elysius continued, raising his hands in surrender. “But I think both of you should talk.”

  She toyed with her fingers, her eyes drifting once more to her feet. “I’ll… think about it.”

  “It would be a shame,” he said quickly, suddenly nervous, scratching the back of his head, “if a friendship like yours fell apart because of this. I’m only giving my opinion.”

  Starmist nodded faintly.

  Elysius stood and bowed his head in farewell. Then he rose into the air, vanishing upward into the clouds.

  He flew hard and fast toward the Mainland, cutting through open sky. It took him only three hours to reach Stargate.

  He arrived in District Three, at Pristine House, and pushed the bar’s doors wide open with both hands.

  The sound echoed.

  Everyone inside fell silent and turned toward the entrance.

  Elysius froze under their stares, suddenly self-conscious. He laughed softly, embarrassed, then straightened his posture and lowered his voice.

  “Leroy Livingstone,” he said. “Is he here?”

  Several patrons gestured downward without a word.

  Elysius nodded and descended the stairs toward the lower levels.

  “First time I’ve seen a Celestial in years,” one guest murmured to the bartender.

  Elysius continued down, past several floors, until he reached a closed door. Three shadows sat side by side inside. He opened it and found Leroy seated between D’Hertz and Rufus the Thousand Fist. Their expressions were calm, but the air between them carried unresolved weight.

  Elysius’s presence lightened it slightly. He took a seat opposite Leroy.

  “Elysius,” Rufus said, his massive hand wrapped around a large glass. “Long time.”

  “Hey,” D’Hertz added cheerfully. “I’ve got a new place we should explore sometime.” His metal earrings caught the light as he grinned.

  Before Elysius could respond, Leroy raised a hand. “That’ll be all.”

  Rufus slipped his knuckles back on and headed upstairs without complaint. D’Hertz patted Elysius’s shoulder, winked, and followed.

  Silence returned.

  “So,” Elysius asked, leaning his golden staff against the table, “how are you holding up?”

  “Fine,” Leroy replied, gathering scattered papers into a neat stack. “And you?”

  Elysius nodded. His index finger traced invisible lines across the wooden surface. Restless. “About the sensitive information for the other council members,” he said. “I want to handle its delivery.”

  Leroy straightened. “I’ve already assigned D’Hertz and Rufus. Bjorn sent Sigurd as well.”

  Elysius interrupted gently but firmly. “They’re Vanguard. They have other obligations. The council is fractured. My workload is lighter. Let me do it.”

  He met Leroy’s eyes.

  “All of it. No exceptions.”

  Leroy exhaled slowly. “Within a week, you’d need to travel to the Abyss, Takamagahara, Stargate, Morsalem, Mainland, and the Highland. That’s intercontinental travel, Elysius. You’d lose weeks.”

  “I don’t want this burden on you,” he added. “In three months, I plan to visit them myself.”

  Elysius smiled, half playful, half stubborn. “You’re forgetting something. I’m not like the others.”

  He tapped his chest lightly. “I’m Celestial.”

  Leroy shook his head despite himself.

  Elysius stood and turned his attention to a framed photograph on the wall. He studied it quietly, hands clasped behind his back.

  “If you truly see me as a successor,” Elysius said, “then let me act like one. Not later. Now.”

  Behind him, Leroy listened in silence, lifting his glass and drinking without tasting it.

  “I’m the most neutral among us at the moment,” the boy added. “If anyone can still be heard, it’s me.”

  “Elysius, I…” Leroy began, regret finally surfacing.

  “I’ve already thought this through,” Elysius said, cutting in gently. He reached into his pocket and placed a document on the table.

  His signature was already there.

  Approval.

  With it, three signatures had been gathered. Only one more was needed to truly initiate the cloning program.

  Elysius sat back down, his gaze distant. “Cloning isn’t inherently evil,” he said calmly. “From what I read in your reports. Just make sure the scale remains small.”

  Leroy stared at the paper, his fingers tightening around its edge. “I don’t even know if this still matters,” he admitted. “Or if unity matters more.”

  Elysius stood again and picked up his staff. He laughed lightly, breaking the weight pressing down on the room.

  “I went to Stargate earlier,” he said. “I met Starmist.”

  Leroy froze.

  “Is she… all right?” His voice lacked its usual certainty. It carried hesitation.

  Elysius nodded. “I think you should see her.”

  Leroy lowered his head and pressed his palm to his forehead. Before he could sink further, Elysius slammed both hands onto the table.

  The sound snapped him back.

  “If what Lucretius said is true,” Elysius said firmly, “then you need to speak with her. I’m sure something can be resolved when you meet her properly.”

  Leroy looked up at him, then let out a short, weary laugh. “So you can see that far into the future now?”

  Elysius laughed back. “Maybe. There’s always a chance.”

  He turned and walked toward the door.

  Just before it closed, his voice drifted back into the room.

  “Because Starmist doesn’t like Lucretius.”

  The door shut.

  Leroy was alone again.

  But this time, the silence did not feel empty.

  It felt like a decision waiting to be made.