Griswa's expression remained calm, but his eyes carried the weight of determination. His voice, though steady, held a hidden fire. "Understood," he said. His gaze met Fheniz's, locking for a moment before he continued, "Not like I can go to Aeartha without knowing Gate Commanding."
His tone was serious, resolute, as if the very air around them thickened with the weight of his words. Fheniz, his posture slightly relaxed but with an undercurrent of seriousness, nodded.
"Start training. From the basics again. Energy to be controlled for energy to be enhanced. No time to rest now," Fheniz said, the steel in his voice impossible to ignore.
Griswa, with his usual presence, stepped forward, his footsteps echoing as if the very ground beneath him acknowledged his divine nature. "Gods don't need rest. But you do, Fheniz," Griswa's voice was even, a mix of respect and quiet assertion. He continued, his voice almost contemplative as he gazed toward the endless horizon outside the hall, "And you won't need to train me anymore, I am not putting any more responsibilities on your shoulders."
Fheniz, catching Griswa's intent through his aura, could tell that the young god was not just speaking about physical training. Griswa was a force in his own right, yet there was an unmistakable depth of internal struggle — the weight of his guilt, his power, and his past. His regret over Master Ehayor's death, while not consuming him, lingered in his heart. Yet, Griswa was not entirely defined by that guilt. There was more to him.
And then, there was the subconscious — a lurking, dangerous enigma inside him that haunted Griswa's existence.
Without skipping a beat, Fheniz met Griswa's contemplative gaze and said, "I have my responsibilities by right. You aren't putting them on me; I'm taking them. Only one person can bring down yourself, and that is yourself... That's much more than a responsibility I'm giving you, Griswa."
Griswa's stoic expression softened, his eyes revealing just a hint of gratitude, but still burdened by unspoken thoughts. He could sense the wisdom in Fheniz's words — not only a declaration but a truth woven into the very essence of their relationship. Fheniz wasn't just a teacher; he was more like a guiding flame, an anchor in the whirlwind of chaos that surrounded them.
Fheniz continued, his tone calm but firm, "And as your master, I do wish to know more about this subconscious of yours before we start training."
Griswa sighed lightly, his broad shoulders rising and falling as if the weight of the world rested upon them. He looked away for a moment, his mind drifting to the deeper thoughts that plagued him. He closed the door and turned.
"Fheniz... I want to know more about myself, more than anyone. Forget the subconscious — I don't even know myself as a conscious person. Even after such a long history of the Skaar Gods, I don't understand why I was born. I don't know my purpose... I have a dream, but it's not directly my own. I'm like a helper to my friends, but... have I been able to help at all?" His voice faltered slightly as he continued, "I killed our comrade. I couldn't save people, even after being a god. Because I thought I wasn't supposed to use my powers, fearing my subconscious would emerge at any moment... and then I learned that it doesn't even depend on that."
His hands clenched into fists, knuckles white with frustration.
"I am a total mess. And yet, I don't give up. I am going to help a person who was our enemy some time ago. What the hell am I doing, thinking I'm still right? My purpose is right, but my actions... they're wrong. And worse yet, they're not even in my control. Do I even deserve to be with you all?" His voice was growing quieter, as if he were speaking more to himself than to anyone else in the room. "I think I should be alone. Always with you, but we'll never be called TOGETHER. We'll free Aeartha... but we'll never be called TOGETHER. We'll defeat Thylme... but still, we'll never be called TOGETHER. So... isn't my very existence wrong?..."
The silence that followed was deafening. His words hung in the air like a lead weight, pulling down the spirits of everyone present. Malaes and Yesdar remained frozen, their expressions a mix of shock and deep empathy. They wanted to say something, but nothing seemed sufficient. Even Orngea, who had been a silent observer, felt the sting of Griswa's internal torment — for he too, in his own twisted way, understood what it meant to not be free, even from oneself.
Fheniz, however, stood motionless. His face, which often held an expression of calm wisdom, now showed a deeper understanding, as if he could feel the very pain coursing through Griswa's veins. His lips pressed together, holding back words of sympathy that Griswa didn't need.
But before Fheniz could speak, Griswa continued, his voice sharper than before. "Forget what I said... We aren't playing a Pain Game. The most I understand fully, undoubtedly, the subconscious calls himself 'Judgement'."
With that, Griswa turned away. The air felt heavier as he reached for the handle, pulling the door open. The cold rush of outside air swept through the room, but Malaes couldn't let him leave without saying something.
"Griswa, I wanted to say—"
Griswa cut her off, his voice lacking the usual warmth. "Malaes... How many times are you people going to stop me from going out?"
Malaes faltered, her voice dying in her throat. "Umm..."
The door closed behind Griswa with a soft thud, but the emotional storm he left in his wake remained. Fheniz didn't hesitate. His instincts took over, and he pushed through the door after him, calling out into the wind.
"GRISWA! TELL ME, WHEN DO YOU LOSE PEOPLE?!"
Griswa stopped in his tracks, though he didn't turn around. The sand whipped up around him as the wind picked up speed. The clouds of dust began swirling between them, like a wall, separating their bodies but not their words. Fheniz didn't wait for a reply; he marched forward with determination, his voice cutting through the gusts.
"Tell me, when do you lose people? Is it when they leave you for dead or when you leave them? Wrong! Is it when you decide to never talk to them or see them again? Wrong again! Is it when either you or they go far away and are never to return? WRONG AGAIN!!" Fheniz's voice rose to a crescendo, each word piercing through the howling wind. "YOU LOSE PEOPLE... ONLY WHEN... THEY DIE."
The last words hit Griswa like a physical blow. They broke through his internal turmoil, striking him to his very core. His hands shook slightly as he clenched his fists tighter, his mind racing through everything he had ever feared. Fheniz, undeterred by Griswa's silence, continued walking forward, his voice softer but just as resolute.
"You say you don't have a purpose for existing? Well, I'm giving you a purpose right here, right now. Protect your comrades! Like you always have. Like you always will. You think you've already lost us, even though we're still together? I'll repeat it for you, Griswa: YOU LOSE PEOPLE ONLY WHEN THEY DIE! SO PROTECT THEM!!!"
Griswa's breath caught in his throat. He could feel the godly blood coursing through his veins, quickening with every word that Fheniz spoke. His purpose — a purpose he had long thought was out of his reach — began to take shape before him. Slowly, he turned around, facing Fheniz with a new light in his eyes. His fists relaxed, the tension leaving his body as if a great weight had been lifted from his soul. The wind that had been tearing through the air seemed to calm, and the sand that had danced so wildly around them fell still as if it was ready to be silent in eagerness.
The entire world around them seemed to pause silently and slowly, waiting for Griswa's next move, his next word.
The silence was deafening, but in that silence, Griswa found clarity. His eyes shone with newfound determination as he thought. His voice filled with the promise of action and a super mass appealing style, he declared...
"AS WAS ANTICIPATED... I WILL!!"
Malaes and Yesdar, who had been lurking behind Fheniz, decided to stop their hiding. They stepped forward, their excitement and joy almost palpable. "Yes, you will!" Yesdar shouted, a grin splitting his face. Malaes followed suit, her voice bright with encouragement, "And never go back from that!"
Griswa, standing tall, allowed a small smile to grace his face. "Of course, I knew you two were hiding back there," he teased, a rare spark of light in his usually stoic demeanor.
"Yes, so? Is that supposed to be an achievement?" Malaes shot back playfully, "The real achievement will be when you help us free our world. And I don't just mean 'help.' You're a part of us, Griswa, so you're a part of our world too. Let's free it—together."
Her voice carried warmth, a calling, as if she was pulling Griswa back to the circle they had always shared. The three of them, together. A simple thought, yet it struck a deep chord in Griswa's heart. As her words settled in, a tune began to play in Griswa's mind, something melodic and light, acknowledging their friendship, their bond. It felt like a promise in the air—a tune of connection, of trust.
Griswa's smile widened a bit, allowing himself to embrace this moment. But then, just as quickly as the light-heartedness had arrived, Yesdar couldn't resist the urge to tease.
"And not to remind the obvious," Yesdar began, a mischievous grin on his face, "but what the hell were you blabbering about earlier? All that nonsense about not being together and all? I didn't expect something so pathetic from you! You go around flexing about being a god, but you can't flex about being a total fool, can you? Hahaha!"
Griswa raised an eyebrow, his smile morphing into something wry, and he decided to roll with it. "A kid like you wouldn't understand pain," he retorted, his voice dripping with mock seriousness.
Yesdar's expression shifted instantly, his voice rising in indignation. "Huh?! I've lived in the slave order since birth, for nine years! I know what pain feels like! At least I didn't kill 70 billion people and regret it afterward!"
That shot hit Griswa's past guilt, but instead of cutting, it actually made him laugh. The humor of the situation washed over him, allowing him to feel lighter. Malaes burst out laughing at their back-and-forth, tears of amusement brimming in her eyes. She admired how they were able to laugh at their pain, how they could release their burdens through playful teasing. Fheniz, standing nearby, shook his head in mild exasperation, rubbing his temples.
"It's impossible to control them," he muttered under his breath, but he couldn't hide the smile that tugged at his lips. Even he found himself letting go of his own pain, laughing inwardly at their ridiculous argument. In this lighthearted chaos, the gravity of their struggles faded, replaced by the shared beauty of this moment.
"Okay, okay, let's stop this nonsense now," Malaes finally said, though she was still giggling a little, unable to resist the infectious joy. But her tone quickly shifted as she brought up a more serious topic. "But are you really serious about not using your powers?" she asked, her eyes narrowing in concern.
Griswa thought for a moment, his usual calm returning as he gave the question due consideration. "About that," he began, his voice steady. "I think I am serious. It's not like I'm abandoning my power—it's more like I'm taking a vacation from it. I'll still use it for things like Dragon Commanding, and I'll only use enough power to rival the strongest of the Yahunyens."
He paused, his tone growing thoughtful as he continued, "I don't want to be a god among them. I'm more interested in showing people what a common man can do, to serve as an example. They need to see that they're enough for themselves. I'm not interested in being the hero who swoops in to free them. In fact, the whole concept of 'heroes' is absurd, isn't it?"
Malaes and Yesdar were hanging on his every word, their expressions showing how much his reasoning was sinking in.
Griswa continued, "If I play the godly hero, how will they ever learn to pick themselves up? They've been slaves, victims to inferiority for so long... If I step in and fix everything for them, they'll start relying on me for even the most minor struggles. They'll need a messiah for every little challenge, even in a well-built world. That's not freedom—that's just a different kind of dependence."
He looked straight into Malaes' eyes, conviction burning brightly within him. "That's why they're going to be the ones to free themselves. Like Sivera wanted. It's not a bad idea—it's the right idea. I think I'm just extending the adventure. And if I'm a part of 'us,' if I'm truly a part of your world, then I should act like it."
A sly smile crept onto Griswa's face as he added, "But don't get me wrong—I'm not giving up my supremacy of dominance. That's a Skaar's pride! Mind it! Whatever we do, we'll do it in style. This will be a revolution, but not the kind anyone's expecting."
Malaes grinned back, the fire in her own heart stoked by Griswa's words. Fheniz, ever the thinker, took a moment to reflect on what Griswa had said.
"I get your point," Fheniz admitted, nodding slowly. "If a common person does something like that, the kingdoms themselves will bathe in shame for not taking action sooner. In the end, even they are slaves. At first, they'll see you as a fool. Then a goon. Then an example. And finally, a revolutionary."
"TRUE!" Yesdar yelled with enthusiasm, pumping his fist into the air. His excitement was infectious, lighting up the surroundings.
Malaes, sensing that the moment was perfect, turned to Fheniz, her voice hopeful. "Fheniz, will you join us? In freeing Aeartha? In freeing Mackenas?"
The clamor grew quieter as everyone waited for his answer. Fheniz's expression, which had been somewhat uplifted moments earlier, darkened slightly. His usual confidence wavered as he lowered his gaze.
"I doubt that," Fheniz began, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Now that Master Ehayor is no more, there's no one left to guard the Gate of Ehayor. Master Ehayor was the one who guarded the Schinong Gates, the ones that lead to the third world. But... he never told me where they were, for obvious reasons."
Malaes' face tightened. She could tell Fheniz was about to give her an answer she didn't want to hear.
"When I found out where one of the gates was, after reading the journal, Master Ehayor didn't let me go. I couldn't summon another gate either, for... the reasons I've discussed. Not enough emotional pressure—the gate didn't call to me. So I have to guard it now. I can't come with you to Aeartha."
Fheniz hesitated for a moment, then added, "But when you return, after freeing Aeartha, I'll accompany you to the third world. That world will be far more dangerous, and you'll need me for that."
Malaes' eyes narrowed in frustration. She knew exactly what Fheniz was doing—he was trying to worm his way out of helping them now, but was eager to jump on the opportunity to venture beyond, closer to the Origin. Her small eyes glared at him with a mix of anger and amusement.
"Hmph!" Malaes huffed, turning on her heel and marching toward the hall, opening the door with a sharp tug.
Fheniz turned to Yesdar, confused by her reaction. "Did I say something wrong?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.
Yesdar crossed his arms, his lips curling into a sly smile. "Well, well, you know what, Fheniz? We don't need you. We'll kick the Yahunyens' asses ourselves, without your help!"
With that, Yesdar strode after Malaes, disappearing into the hall. Fheniz called after him, "Hey, Yesdar! Wait, wait!" But the door slammed shut in his face, leaving him standing there, defeated.
"Sighs," Fheniz muttered under his breath. This was, without a doubt, a funny situation.
As Fheniz stood outside, alone for a moment, Griswa remained by his side, their silent camaraderie speaking volumes. Then, unexpectedly, the door opened once more. Orngea floated out, his presence oddly unsettling as always.
Fheniz, already on edge, eyed Orngea with a mix of suspicion and amusement. "You want to say something? Got any other requests now?" he asked, his tone laced with sarcasm. Though Orngea wasn't exactly their enemy anymore, he certainly wasn't a friend either.
"No," Orngea replied, his whisper-like voice carrying an eerie weightlessness.
"Then?" Fheniz asked, raising an eyebrow.
Orngea floated a bit closer, his hooded form still and shadowed as always. "I just wanted to ask... in how much time will you free the world of Aeartha, Lord Griswa?" His voice, though a whisper, carried a weight of uncertainty that wasn't typical for him.
Griswa's brow furrowed slightly as he replied, "Why do you ask?" His voice, though calm, had a tinge of suspicion.
Orngea's form shifted slightly, a soft rustle of fabric from his floating cloak. "So that I can get an idea," Orngea replied quietly, "when you'll be ready to kick Thylme's ass... in slow motion."
A small chuckle escaped Griswa's lips, despite the seriousness of the conversation. He shook his head and replied, "Cut the 'Lord,' will you? I'm fine with just Griswa. I don't need to be called 'Lord' for the supremacy I can never lose."
Orngea seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if contemplating Griswa's words. The empty darkness of his hooded face remained fixed on the young god, but something about his posture indicated a shift—an acknowledgment, perhaps, of the larger-than-life presence Griswa embodied.
Griswa stepped forward, narrowing his eyes as he gazed into the black void of Orngea's hood. With his godly eyes, he could perceive the faintest outline of Orngea's true face, buried deep within the shadows. A strange, almost imperceptible connection sparked between them, and Griswa's voice grew sharper.
"Hey, Orange," Griswa began, using the nickname in a tone that was both mocking and curious, "you came here three times, right? The first two times you fought with Fheniz. The third time, you fought all of us. But tell me something… Did you go back to where Thylme is, every time you left? Because, logically, it's still quite far, even for someone like you. And while we're at it, Fheniz mentioned you and your army as part of Brighter Dark's forces. So, tell me this…"