The council hall of the gods was never silent.
Even when no one spoke, power hummed through the air—ancient, layered, and watchful. It seeped into stone, clung to breath, and pressed down on the chest like an invisible hand. Floating sigils of light rotated slowly above the marble floor, casting shifting shadows that stretched long and distorted behind every figure present.
Those shadows felt intentional.
Like reminders.
Gods.
Guardians.
Heirs.
And one human who did not belong.
Yeshwanth stood at the far edge of the hall, slightly apart from the others. His arms rested loosely at his sides, posture straight but unassuming. To an outsider, he might have looked calm—disciplined, even.
Inside, something was tightening.
A quiet instinct, sharpened by battles and betrayals, whispered a warning he had learned not to ignore.
This meeting isn't for you.
At the center of the hall, the air shimmered. Light folded inward, forming a massive projection that hovered above the council floor.
A weapon.
Dark metal shaped into sharp, deliberate geometry. Its surface looked forged rather than built, as if it had been carved from intent itself. Veins of crimson energy pulsed slowly through it, brightening and dimming like a living heart.
Even without explanation, its presence felt heavy.
Oppressive.
Hungry.
Yeshwanth felt it resonate faintly with something in his chest—not recognition, but challenge.
The God of Light stepped forward, his radiance dimmed deliberately, as if respecting the gravity of what stood before them.
"This weapon is called Xenron."
A low murmur rippled through the hall. Guardians shifted. Lesser gods leaned forward. Even Arkan's eyes sharpened.
"The Xenron is not merely a weapon," the God of Realms continued, his voice layered with authority that seemed to anchor reality itself. "It is a symbol. Whoever wields it leads the charge against the mysterious troops approaching our borders."
Yeshwanth's eyes narrowed slightly.
So this is it.
Not rumors.
Not distant threats.
War.
Light-formed panels appeared in the air around Xenron—reports from the guardians. Fragmented images showed scorched terrain, collapsed sanctums, and empty thrones where minor heirs once stood. Data scrolled beside them: movement patterns, unfamiliar energy signatures, timelines marked with disappearances.
The conclusion was unavoidable.
Someone was hunting divine blood.
Not recklessly.
Not loudly.
Patiently.
Deliberately.
"The God of Spy has confirmed it," the God of Light said, his tone steady but grim. "The enemy is mobilizing. Their soldiers are already prepared."
Silence followed.
Not the awkward kind.
The kind that came when everyone understood the cost of the next words.
Then the question that mattered.
"Who will lead?"
The God of Realms did not hesitate.
"Arkan."
The name fell like a verdict carved into stone.
Arkan stepped forward smoothly, armor catching the shifting light of the sigils. He moved with the ease of someone who had always expected this moment. His expression was composed, confident.
A faint smile touched his lips.
Not proud.
Not cruel.
Just… satisfied.
"I accept," he said.
The Xenron pulsed once—subtle, restrained—as if acknowledging him.
Yeshwanth felt it then.
That quiet click inside his chest.
Not jealousy.
Not anger.
Exclusion.
The God of Light raised a hand, halting further movement.
"One more matter remains."
His gaze shifted—directly to Yeshwanth.
The air tightened.
"Yeshwanth will not participate in the upcoming battle."
The words struck harder than any physical blow.
Lucia's shoulders stiffened instantly.
Tim's jaw tightened, teeth grinding together.
Nila's breath caught, a sharp inhale she couldn't stop.
Yeshwanth did not move.
"…Explain," he said calmly.
The God of Realms answered, unflinching.
"Your ability—Psychological Enmity—is unstable. In large-scale combat, it risks turning you into an uncontrollable force."
He paused, letting the implications settle.
"You may kill enemies. You may kill allies. You may kill yourself."
The hall remained silent.
Not a single god objected.
"This is not a punishment," the God of Light added quietly. "It is protection. For everyone."
Yeshwanth nodded once.
"I understand."
The words were steady.
Too steady.
Lucia stepped forward before she could stop herself.
"No," she said sharply. "You're isolating him because he's human. Say it clearly."
Several heads turned.
Arkan glanced at her, eyes cool.
"You're emotional," he said mildly. "This is strategy."
Tim clenched his fists.
"He saved my life," he snapped. "More than once."
Arkan's smile returned—subtle, precise.
"And that is why he must be removed," he replied. "Heroes attract chaos."
Yeshwanth looked at Arkan then.
Really looked.
And finally understood.
This wasn't fear.
This wasn't caution.
This was convenience.
The God of Realms turned back to Yeshwanth.
"You will return to Earth. This is an order."
Something inside Yeshwanth cracked.
Not loudly.
Just enough.
Lucia swallowed hard.
Tim looked away.
They couldn't fight this.
Not here.
Not now.
Yeshwanth exhaled slowly.
"…Then I'll prepare to leave."
Arkan's smile widened just a fraction.
The Farewell That Wasn't Allowed
The portal chamber glowed with dimensional energy, rings of light rotating slowly around a vertical tear in space. The hum it produced resonated deep in the bones, a sound that spoke of endings and distances that could not be measured.
Yeshwanth stood before it, bag already slung over his shoulder—the same way he had left home.
Circular.
Ironic.
Tim approached first, hands shoved into his pockets.
"This isn't over," he said quietly. "You hear me?"
Yeshwanth smiled faintly.
"Stay alive," he replied. "That's an order."
Lucia stood a few steps away, arms crossed tightly as if holding herself together.
"…You better come back," she said. "I still owe you an explanation."
He nodded.
"I'll collect later."
The portal hummed louder.
Then—
Arms wrapped around him from behind.
Tight.
Desperate.
Warm.
"Nila—?"
She pressed her face against his back, fingers gripping his coat like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.
"Don't go," she whispered. "Take me with you."
The hall froze.
"Nila," Yeshwanth said softly. "You can't."
"I don't care," she replied, voice shaking. "I won't stay here while you're cast aside like this."
The God of Realms stepped forward sharply.
"Daughter—"
She turned.
"I choose him."
The words echoed through the chamber.
"I always have."
Yeshwanth turned fully now, holding her shoulders.
"Nila… listen to me."
She looked up at him—eyes fierce, afraid, determined.
"If I go back now," he said gently, "I go weak. If you come with me… you'll lose everything."
Her grip tightened.
"I already did," she whispered. "The moment you were sent away."
Silence.
The God of Light closed his eyes.
"…Let her go," he said quietly.
The God of Realms stared at him.
"You would allow this?"
"I would allow love," the God of Light replied. "Because it is already shaping the war."
Yeshwanth swallowed.
"Nila," he said again. "Please."
She shook her head.
"No. If you're isolated… then I will be too."
She stepped closer.
"We'll face destiny together. On Earth or among gods."
The portal flared brighter.
Yeshwanth wrapped his arms around her at last.
Not as a warrior.
Not as a challenger.
But as a man who had been left behind one too many times.
Somewhere far beyond the hall, unseen and unheard, a shadow shifted.
A presence observed.
And smiled.
Because isolation was not the end.
It was the beginning.