The air in the Lower Gardens was still thick with the scent of ozone and the heavy, sweet pheromones of absolute devotion. As the twenty newly awakened mages and the four Pillars of the Kingdom remained bowed in the dirt, chanting the name of a god they had nearly forgotten, Antares felt a strange, jarring sensation.
Internally, he wasn't a god. He wasn't even the ancient, stoic Alexis. He was a man from another world, one who remembered the awkwardness of being the center of attention in a crowded room. As the "Long live king Antares." chants reached a crescendo, a flush of heat crept up Antares's neck. He felt a sudden, sharp pang of human embarrassment. It was a lingering shadow of his past life—the shy, modest side of his soul that recoiled at the sight of elderly men like Velas weeping at his feet. Yeah that creeped him out a little bit.
He let out a short, nervous laugh, a sound that felt entirely out of place in the sacred atmosphere of the garden.
"Enough, enough," Antares said, waving his hand with a frantic, dismissing gesture. "Please, stand up. All of you. This... this is plenty for one afternoon."
The crowd blinked, momentarily confused by the King's sudden change in demeanor. To them, his nervousness was interpreted as "divine humility," a trait only the most enlightened rulers possessed. Velas wiped his eyes with his sleeve, nodding fervently.
"As you wish, Chosen of Antarion," Velas whispered.
Antares turned to Ian, who was watching the scene with a faint, knowing smirk. "Ian, let the youths return to their clan quarters with Lord Velas. They need rest, and Velas needs to... organize them. The rest of us will return to the meeting room. I believe we have more than enough to discuss."
The walk back to the council chamber was quieter. The frantic energy of the garden had been replaced by a somber, focused intensity. Once they were seated back around the Darkwood table, the atmosphere shifted from the miraculous to the administrative.
Servants moved in, their footsteps silent on the stone floor, placing tall, slender crystal flutes before each leader. The flutes were filled with Midnight Flower Juice, the deep purple liquid glowing faintly in the dim light of the chamber.
Antares took a long, appreciative sip. The cool, floral sweetness helped ground him, washing away the lingering nausea from using his communicator antennae. He looked around the table. Yajin, Kael, and Lady Sira were watching him with an intensity that made his skin crawl—not with hostility, but with a desperate, hungry expectation.
Antares set his glass down, the click of the crystal against the wood sounding like a gavel.
"We have addressed the spirit of the tribe," Antares began, his voice regaining its kingly resonance. "But the spirit cannot thrive in a cage. After reviewing the reports provided by Commander Yanrid and Lady Sira, I have reached a conclusion. Our current situation is unacceptable. We are huddled in the dark, using barely a fraction of the territory that belongs to the Ant Tribe. We are acting like prey, waiting for the winter to end or the wolves to find us."
He leaned forward, his eyes locking onto each of them in turn.
"I have devised a plan to regain control of our surface territory. We will wait for the spring to thaw the world. We will move now. And I will lead this operation myself."
The silence that followed was absolute, but it lasted only a heartbeat before a wave of protests erupted.
"Your Majesty, you cannot!" Lady Sira exclaimed, her usual poise wavering. "You have only just returned to us. Your strength... surely it is not fully restored. To risk the last of the royal line on the surface, where the demon wolves still roam..."
"She is right, my King," Lord Kael added, his voice thick with concern. "The tribe is finally stable because you are here, in the heart of the settlement. If you fall, we fall into darkness forever. Stay here, guide us from the throne. Let the Ashfang and the army bleed for the surface; that is our purpose."
Antares raised a hand, and the protests died instantly. He knew their fear wasn't born of a desire to control him, but of a genuine, bone-deep terror of losing their North Star. They saw him as the fragile flame of a candle in a hurricane.
"I appreciate your concern," Antares said, his tone softening but remaining firm. "But a King who hides in a tower while his soldiers die in the battlefield is not a King—he is a prisoner. I have the blessing of Antarion, and I have the eyes of the System. I am the only one who can see the threats before they strike. My mind is made up. This is not a request for permission; it is a declaration of intent."
The Pillars bowed their heads, the weight of his absolute authority settling over them.
Antares turned to Yanrid, who had been watching the exchange with a flicker of admiration in his iridescent eyes.
"Commander Yanrid," Antares said. "Inform the expedition force that they will be returning to the surface soon. However, I am not a tyrant. They have fought a brutal campaign. Give them time of absolute rest, I need them in shape for the next campaign. Double their rations from the new food stores. I want them fed, rested, and their equipment maintained. When we move, I want a force that looks like the hand of a god, not just a group of survivors."
Yanrid saluted, his fist hitting his chest with a sharp thud. "It shall be done, Your Majesty. The men will be honored to march under your banner."
Next, Antares looked to Lord Kael. The man still carried the shadow of his sons' disappearance, but there was a new spark of purpose in his eyes.
"Lord Kael, the surface operation will require resources we currently lack. We need more than bone and stone. I am planning to invest some of our resources and efforts into turning the Godwall mountains into our personal mining ground. We also need the mana-rich clay for new fortifications and the new infrastructures that i have in mind that we will construct in the future . I expect your craftsmen and miners to be ready because it will be alot of work."
Kael stood, his chest swelling with pride. "The Tharvok have waited generations for a King who understands the value of our earth. My miners will work double shifts, Sire. We will provide the foundation for your conquest."
Finally, Antares turned to Yajin Ashfang. "Patriarch Yajin, your clan will provide the elite guard for this mission. I want your most seasoned warriors, those who have faced the beasts of the surface and lived to tell the tale. They will act as the vanguard. We are not just going to the surface to forage; we are going to plant our flag."
Yajin nodded, his expression grim but respectful. "The Ashfang warriors are yours to command, Lord Antares. We will be the shield you require."
As the meeting seemed to be drawing to a close, a heavy silence descended. It was Yanrid who finally broke it, his voice low and tinged with a rare touch of emotion.
"Your Majesty... there is the matter of the fallen. Over a thousand of our brothers did not return from the winter rotations. Their bodies are being held in the mortuary chambers of the hall of cinders. There are rumors... the families are asking for closure."
Yajin cleared his throat, assuming his role as the military head. "The preparations for their cremation are already underway, Yanrid. The traditional pyres are being built in the Great Hall of Cinders. We had planned to hold the ceremony tomorrow evening."
Antares felt a weight settle on his heart. A thousand lives. A thousand families waiting for a handful of ash.
"I will attend," Antares said quietly.
The Lords looked up in surprise. Traditionally, the King only attended the funerals of High Lords or Generals.
"I will not only attend," Antares continued, his voice growing stronger. "I will light the pyres myself. If these men died to protect the kingdom while I slept, the least I can do is see them into the next life with my own hands. Let it be known that every Antman who falls in my service is a son of the Royal House."
The impact of his words was visible. Yajin's jaw tightened, and Lady Sira's eyes shimmered with unshed tears. This single act of empathy did more to secure their loyalty than any display of magic ever could.
"The ceremony will be prepared as you wish," Yajin whispered.
Antares stood, signaling the end of the session. "I expect much from all of you in the coming days. Do not disappoint me, and more importantly, do not disappoint the people who look to you for strength. You are dismissed."
As the heavy stone doors ground shut behind the departing Lords, the mask of the God-King finally slipped.
Antares practically collapsed back into his chair, his shoulders slumping. He let out a long, shuddering breath. His body felt like it was made of lead, and the lingering headache from the communicator skill throbbed behind his eyes with every heartbeat.
"You did well, Your Majesty," a quiet voice said.
Ian stepped out from the shadows of the pillars, carrying a small tray with a fresh glass of water. He set it down on the table with a gentle clink.
Antares rubbed his temples, his voice weary. "Did I, Ian? Or did I just make a thousand more promises I have to keep?"
Ian tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "In this world, the promise is often more important than the result. You gave them hope. You gave them a reason to believe the darkness isn't permanent. That is a heavy burden, but you carried it with grace."
Antares looked up at his advisor. "I'm exhausted, Ian. My mind feels like it's been stretched across the entire settlement."
"Then retire, Sire," Ian said firmly. "The world will still be here tomorrow. The dead will wait for their fire, and the mages will wait for their wards. You have done enough for one day."
Antares stood on shaking legs and made his way through the winding, private corridors that led to the Royal Chambers. The palace was quiet, the only sound the distant, rhythmic hum of the settlement's lifeblood.
When he pushed open the heavy darkwood doors of his bedroom, the scent of lavender and warm stone greeted him. Zarah was there, waiting. She didn't bow or offer a formal greeting. She simply looked at him, seeing the exhaustion etched into the lines of his face.
"You look like you've carried the mountain on your back today," she said softly, stepping forward to help him unbuckle the heavy ceremonial pauldrons of his armor.
Antares didn't say anything. He simply let her hands work, the familiar, gentle touch grounding him in a way that no political victory could. When the armor was finally off, he felt light—dangerously so.
"The people... they think I'm a god, Zarah," he whispered, sitting on the edge of the large, soft bed made of refined silks and moss-down. "Velas was crying. They're all so... desperate. And I hope that i don't disappoint them."
Zarah sat beside him, leaning her head against his shoulder. "They aren't desperate for a god, Antares. They're desperate for a father. Someone who tells them the wolves can be beaten."
Antares turned to her, finding her eyes in the soft glow of the bioluminescent crystals. In that moment, he wasn't the Chosen of Antarion or the King of the Ant Tribe. He was just a man, tired and seeking warmth in a cold, subterranean world.
He pulled her close, and a habit he had developed since he had opened his eyes in that tomb-like world., the weight of the crown felt manageable. They spent the night together, a silent, intimate pact against the chaos that awaited them on the surface.As sleep finally claimed him, Antares's last thought wasn't of clay pits or pirates. It was of the fire he would light tomorrow—the fire that would turn a thousand heroes into stars.