The Guardian gods

But before he began, he spoke to the open air, a silent address to the being he carried within. "I know you heard my words with my brother, and I plan on keeping my promise. I will drag you down with me before I let you unleash your rage upon us."

He paused, a flicker of something akin to awe crossing his face. "I was too young back then to understand what my mentor meant by 'cursing' me with you. But I cannot deny the help you've been all these years."

"Imagine my surprise when mana and magic, things so simple to me, were a struggle for all my peers and comrades. At first, I thought it was my talent, my genius. But it was only when I tried to diversify into elements that were not my own that I knew the truth—it was all your doing."

Vellok reached out, and the very light in the air seemed to coalesce into a brilliant orb in his palm. "Comprehending the light element was as simple as breathing for me," he confessed, the orb pulsing in time with his words.

"Magic spells about light were so easy to understand, I could create more powerful ones with a single thought. It truly is unfair that beings like you exist. While mortals like us suffer to grasp and grow with each step, all you need to do is breathe and exist to reach a height unimaginable to most." He tightened his grip on the light, his knuckles pale. "Even now, when it seems like I have you in my palm, your existence makes a mockery of mine, where even your cage is too hot to hold." Vellok said this to get a response but he got none.

Vellok's eyes, glazed with a cold anger from the silence, narrowed. He let out a deep, controlled breath, and a massive, pure white wing unfurled from his back.

This was no theatrical display meant to intimidate this time; it was an expression of power focused with a singular purpose. With a sharp snap of his fingers, a sound like a cracking whip echoed through the sky. From him, a wave of pure light erupted and began to spread. The corrupted lands below, bathed in the cleansing light, instantly turned to ash, a testament to the divine power being wielded. In a flash, he was gone, his work complete.

Meanwhile, back at what was once Kaelen's somber mansion, the estate had been completely transformed. It was now a lavish, festive spectacle. The tech puppets Rattan had built were dressed in exquisite outfits, positioned perfectly in their designated places, their polished forms waiting silently for the guests to arrive.

The grand doors of the mansion swung open to reveal the first of the ogre generals. Each one was a hulking mass of muscle and armor, their scarred faces and grim expressions a stark contrast to the festive décor. They grunted and eyed the silently standing puppets with suspicion, their heavy footsteps echoing on the polished marble floors as they moved into the great hall.

As they took their places, Kaelen emerged from a side chamber, still moving with a slight, theatrical limp. His presence silenced the low murmurs, all eyes turning to their king. He looked out at his generals, a subtle, almost condescending grin playing on his lips.

"My brothers," he began, his voice a deep rumble that filled the hall. "I see your loyalty has not wavered, even in my long absence. I thank you for coming." He gestured to the surrounding room. "This is not a meeting to discuss strategy or war, but a celebration. A celebration of a great victory, and of the unity that will secure many more."

With a final, meaningful nod, Kaelen raised a glass. "Eat, drink, and be merry. For tonight, we are heroes."

The tech puppets, moving with an eerie, synchronized grace, began to serve food and pour drinks. The ogre generals, initially hesitant, soon gave in to the feast. The air filled with the sounds of hearty laughter and clinking glasses, a surreal tableau of brute strength and automated grace. Rattan, watching from his seat at the head of the long table, simply smiled. The first step of his plan was complete. The generals were gathered, their guards lowered, and the real festivities were about to begin.

Deep into the party, Kaelen knew it was time. He raised his wine glass and tapped it with his knife, the sharp metallic sound cutting through the boisterous laughter and revelry. The ogre generals, previously lost in their celebration, fell silent, sneaking glances at each other. The party was over; the real reason for their summons was finally at hand.

Kaelen cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping across the tense faces of his brothers. "I have betrayed you, my brothers, in the past," he began, his voice a low, somber rumble. "My status and my power made me no better than those I detest, until that same power I thought I held was taken away from me by the very ones who granted it."

He paused, letting his confession hang in the air. "I will not stand here and beg for your forgiveness, nor will I shame you for bowing before those we swore to stand against. How can I, when I, your king, was the first to bow?" Kaelen's eyes lingered on each general, his stare holding a perfect mix of solemn regret and steely resolve.

"We have all been to the battlefield and seen the true face of horror," Kaelen continued, his voice now a low, captivating rumble. "There, your status doesn't matter, but the comrades fighting at your side determine if you see the next day. Even the ratfolk in my last war became my greatest ally and one of the reasons I can stand here today."

He paused, letting his gaze sweep over the faces of the ogre generals, their expressions a mix of confusion and dawning recognition.

"My fall from glory gave those who wanted us in their grasp a good hold on our necks," he said, his voice rising in volume and passion. "It was my weakness that cracked the thin hope you all once held. You saw your king, humbled and subservient, and your own will to resist was broken."

Kaelen's voice boomed through the silent hall, a powerful crescendo. "Now, I stand before you to regain that hope, to once again act and lead as your true king! What do you say, brothers? Will you stand with me?"

A heavy silence fell over the hall. It was not the silence of awe, but of profound skepticism. The ogre generals stared at Kaelen, their massive arms crossed, their expressions unreadable. They had followed him into countless battles, but the man before them now felt like a stranger, and his words, while stirring, rang hollow.

Finally, a hulking figure with a jagged scar across his brow stepped forward. It was General Grull, one of the oldest and most respected of the ogre commanders. His voice was a low, gravelly rumble that carried the weight of experience.

"It is too late, Kaelen," Grull said, not with anger, but with a weary finality. "The Empire did not sit idle while you were gone. Vellok and his mages used your absence to tighten their grip on our forces. They have placed their own people in our command structure, cut off our supply lines, and made sure that every order we give is first filtered through their damn mages' council."

Grull gestured to the other generals, who nodded in solemn agreement. "We are no longer your army, Kaelen. We are just an arm of the Empire, with a mage's hand guiding our every move. The hope you speak of is long gone."

He met Kaelen's gaze directly. "Unless you can find a way to boost our status to match that of the mages, to give us the power to truly challenge their influence, then things might change. Otherwise, your words are just that words."

Rattan chuckled to himself, but his outward expression remained calm and collected. He snapped his fingers in a sharp, clear motion, and in response, his tech servants began to walk out from the back of the hall. Each puppet carried a tray, and on each tray rested a single, thick, glowing crystal. They moved with an eerie, perfect precision, laying a tray in front of each ogre general before retreating to their positions.

Kaelen gestured with his hands toward the crystals. "What is laid before you is hope," he said, his voice a captivating low rumble. "Hope for a better future, where you can stare the mages eye to eye and tell them to back off."

One of the generals, a younger, more impulsive one, picked up the glowing crystal. "What is this?" he asked, his voice filled with suspicion and curiosity.

Kaelen waited for a tense moment, letting the anticipation fill the room. "What you hold in your hand," he declared, his voice rising, "is my knowledge and journey to the six-tier stage."

The hall fell into a stunned silence, quickly giving way to a frantic energy. Ogres stared wide-eyed at the glowing crystals, then at Kaelen, and back again. One general stood so fast his chair toppled behind him with a crash. "Are your words true, my lord?" he asked, his voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and desperate hope.