The Guardian gods

Kaelen simply nodded.

That single motion sent the entire room into a frenzy. Their reaction was understandable. The great chasm between the ogre generals and the mages was a simple, brutal truth: the mages had a path to the higher tiers, while the ogres believed their own power had a hard ceiling. This was why they had swallowed their pride and become servants to a race they once saw as their equals.

The one exception to this rule was Kaelen, their king, who had found a way to the sixth tier. A stage so powerful it made the mages see him as their equal. He commanded enough influence to give them orders. Now, after all this time, after his fall from grace, Kaelen was offering this power to them.

An unsaid question hung in the air, a silent plea from every ogre in the room: "What has changed?"

"What has changed," he began, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone, "is that I have seen the true face of power. I learned a truth the mages will never understand."

He walked down the length of the table, his gaze intense as he looked at each general. "They believe power is something to be hoarded, to be locked away in towers and guarded by secrets. They see our path as a dead end, a ceiling they built to keep us from ever reaching their height. They gave me power, yes, but only enough to make me their strongest pawn."

Kaelen stopped and placed a hand on Grull's shoulder. "My journey through the abyss did not just make me stronger; it taught me that true power is not held alone. It is shared with your brothers, with your people. It is the strength of a united army, not just one man at the top. I bring you this knowledge now because I am no longer their pawn. I am your king, and I will not let our race be held in chains a moment longer."

He then looked at the crystals resting on the trays. "This is not merely a gift. It is a choice. You can take this and use it to reclaim your honor, to stand as equals and make the mages see that our path is not a dead end, but a new road. Or you can leave it here, and continue to serve as their pawns until they decide you are no longer useful."

The ogres looked down at the glowing crystals, their hearts and minds now ablaze with a fierce, renewed hope. The choice was clear.

The ogre generals, as one, immediately rose from their seats and dropped to a knee, their heads bowed low toward Kaelen. Rattan's soul was alight with a wild, triumphant joy. He watched them with a calculating eye, already seeing a larger picture. Soon, it would not just be ogres kneeling before him, but his own people, the ratfolk, and then the goblins. A chilling thought ran through his mind: Oh, how will they look when they see the true face behind the one they are bowing to?

"Now rise, my brothers," Kaelen said, his voice a low, solemn command.

The ogres stood, their hands tightening around the glowing crystals. Their eyes, once filled with doubt, now burned with fierce resolve.

"Go back this very night and take back the power that belongs to you," Kaelen commanded. "Have no fear in front of the mages. They won't say it out loud, but you are the backbone of this empire. Know your value, and let them know you hold the key to the sixth-tier stage in your hands. Let them know you hold the key to change your fate in your hands."

With a final, sharp gesture toward the door, he added, "I wish you all a happy and blessed evening."

The ogres nodded in unison, their backs now straighter and their steps lighter as they walked out of the hall. The air they carried was no longer heavy with resentment but charged with a fierce, newfound hope. Once the last ogre was gone and Kaelen sensed he was truly alone, he could hardly contain his laughter.

He clapped his hands together, and the mansion responded. The air filled with a hauntingly beautiful classical note, a melody composed by the goblin nobles he'd once known. He felt an overwhelming urge to do something Kaelen would never do, so he began to dance around the hall, his movements wild and free, even grabbing one of his tech servants to accompany him in his strange, silent waltz.

Phantom, who had been observing from the shadows of Rattan's mind, watched with a strange expression. Rattan's actions were something he himself would do, or rather, a part of himself would like—the part that thrived on being in the spotlight. Right now, there was no better spotlight for the ambitious Rattan than this one. His soul, a vibrant beacon of ambition, was exuding such a tempting scent that Phantom wanted to reach out and grab it, but he held back. It was not yet time.

For the next few weeks, a new wave of chaos swept through the empire, a direct consequence of Kaelen's actions. The meticulously balanced power structure, which had seemed so stable before his return, was now a house of cards in a hurricane.

The Emperor's palace became a constant source of pleas and complaints. Military commanders, their faces pale with frustration, reported that ogre battalions were simply refusing orders that came from anyone other than their generals. Supply lines were cut, battle plans were ignored, and the once-reliable brute force of the ogre army was now a wild, unpredictable entity. Ministers, their voices filled with panic, warned of a complete breakdown of the military command structure.

Worst of all, the mages began to feel a deep sense of dread. Their privileged position, once unassailable, was now under threat. They convened in secret meetings within their towers, their hushed voices filled with outrage and fear. The ogres, a race they had long considered their inferiors, now carried a terrifying secret. The knowledge of the six-tier stage, a power they believed was their exclusive domain, was now in the hands of the very people they had worked so hard to keep subservient. The ogre's sudden change was no longer a matter of simple disobedience; it was a revolution in the making, and the mages knew that their status, and their lives, were on the line.

Far from the palace and the mages' councils, Kaelen sat on his throne, observing the turmoil with a deep sense of satisfaction. The reports of chaos were a soothing symphony to him, each report a sign that the old order was unraveling. He was the master puppeteer, and the strings he had pulled were causing the entire imperial theater to collapse.

Amidst all this political chaos, Rattan had finally consolidated his newly promoted fifth stage peak. He fully became qualified for the stage as he comprehended a unique Domain which solidified around his core, a semi conceptual power perfectly suited to his nature: "The Architect."

This domain was a refection to what he sees as his new role as a master builder and grand designer. It wasn't a magic of brute force, but of construction and remote manipulation. At its core, the domain centered on a new form of "weaving." Instead of manipulating traditional magical threads, Rattan used his magi-tech constructs to create a metaphysical web he called the Aetherium Weave. This web was an invisible, ethereal network that extended his influence across his domain.

With his new domain fully consolidated. Rattan's Cube artifact began to shift. It contorted and expanded from its simple shape, transforming into an elaborate, ornate chair that served as his central command hub. From this Nexus, Rattan's consciousness reached out, anchoring him to the very fabric of his domain. He could now see, hear, and feel the world through the constructs he created.

He began to populate his with his creations, devices that were less like puppets and more like extensions of himself. Sensory Orbs the size of his fist flew out, acting as his eyes and ears, that would feed him real-time information once the domain was deployed . He created Automated Turrets, stationary or mobile weapons platforms that he could activate and target remotely, and powerful Golems and Automatons that could be directly controlled to fight on the front lines. He could even partially "upload" his consciousness into these larger constructs, allowing for intricate maneuvers no one else could replicate. To maintain his growing army, he created small, nimble Repair Drones that would fix and maintain his creations, ensuring the Weave remained intact and effective.

All these commands were sent through his Aetherium Weave, the web that now extended from his throne. With subtle hand movements or a simple mental command, he could direct his constructs. He was so connected to them that he could sense the moment they were damaged or destroyed, a faint echo of pain that served as a warning.