-x-x-x- Made by Arude_Chan on Webnovel! -x-x-x-
Charice and Michael stood in solitude, surrounded by the grandeur of the throne room.
As his butt rose from the cushioned seat, the pink glow flickered and vanished. The pools of Chaos and Order both shuddered, their glow weakening, leaving only a subtle hue behind.
Silently, his skull rattled and stomach rose, then sank, lungs shuddering as he stumbled down the steps. Before correcting himself.
"I think I did pretty well, right?" Charice asked, gradually walking down the steps of the throne until he was at eye level with Michael. His visage was only ever so lightly illuminated by the weak shivers of the two pools.
'Something's off.' Michael quickly registered, but dared not comment.
He nodded, "Yes. You performed excellently." Michael spoke politely with restrained alarm, observing the Consort with a fixed gaze.
Charice, not noticing Michael's sudden rigidity, smiled with glee, "Okay! T-This... This might not be as hard as I thought...!" The pools silently and subtly swirled, as if mirroring, or perhaps encouraging, his rising confidence.
"Of course." Michael said, "If I may... Perhaps we should head to the dining area? You have not eaten today."
Charice swayed his head to the left and right, the pools following the motion with a quiet swivel.
"Fine. I don't really feel hungry though..." He hasn't been hungry since the day he came here. He ate anyway, in case he still needed food, but was too shocked to feel hungry.
Yet, after all that stress, his stress-eater self had never craved some fancy treats more than now. The Consort blushed a little, embarrassed by himself.
Michael nodded, and they walked out of the throne room, Michael breathing a silent sigh of relief as Charice felt something stir in his belly and skull. He quietly held his head in turn.
'....M-Maybe I am hungry after all?' He thought, confused, taking in a deep breath to steady himself.
"Are you feeling alright, Consort?" Michael asked, feeling the tips of his fingers shaking reflexively as he bore the weight of Charice's agitated aura.
"I... No." Charice said as Michael moved in to steady him, offering a hand to lean on. The Consort took it with eager need, leaning on his Chosen for support.
"...May I suggest some rest?" Michael said with an ever-so-slightly concerned expression, and Charice nodded with a weak "Mhm."
Charice's room was not far; luckily, it was just a couple of hallways away. Michael easily guided the Consort there, who seemed more than capable of walking on his own for now.
"I'll have the maids bring you something to eat. I would also recommend getting a divine item for your-"
"No," Charice said with an absolute tone, his fading blue eyes hidden just out of Michael's vision. "I don't want that. I'll just sleep."
"But Consort-" Michael went to suggest, until Charice snapped at him.
"Enough!" His hands clasped around his ears to shut Michael out, his fingers scratching against his skin in a twitchy manner.
"Can I not think about the Gods for one second?!" His eyes were still hidden from his Chosen, yet Michael couldn't help but freeze up for a brief second.
A heavy silence loomed over the two as Michael glanced at any nearby personnel. The maids nearby pretended not to hear anything, freezing only for a moment.
Charice, this time, did not apologize. Michael also remained silent, as neither felt there was anything to apologize for.
'But you're a priest!' Michael's frustration silently boiled, though he quickly contained it.
'I thought the successful diplomatic meeting would have at least given the Consort enough confidence to wear a blessed item; besides, his very body is far more than a blessed item, so what is the problem?'
Michael could not understand. With the foreign delegation well beyond their doorstep, now was a good time as any to gain the divine legitimacy they would need. Not to mention the Gods might not respond well to one of their most favored priests growing silent.
'I even accounted for the Consort's exhaustion and offered only the blessed item, avoiding confrontation with divinity. Such an item would stabilize his agitated aura, which is a burden on me to put it lightly.'
Finally, the thing that irked him the most.Enough for him to close his fists tightly in sheer frustration.
'The throne is arguably the most divine-touched item in the entire city! The Ark is a nigh cathedral!' And he can't touch a mere trinket?!'
Michael had been profoundly patient, granting Charice not only his protection but also emotional and spiritual support. It was a natural extension of his oath.
But he was losing patience now; he had kept the other Paragons, his comrades in arms, intentionally in the dark about the Consort's lack of divine action.
After all, if they learned that they abandoned their families for a man too paralyzed by his insecurity and fear to do his most sacred duty, what would the result be? Michael did not intend to find out.
Their loyalty was limitless, but only to those worthy of it.
"Very well," Michael said with a well-disguised echo of festering anger. "I'll summon a pair of Paragons to guard your room."
Charice nodded, breathing deeply to calm down, not even registering his Chosen's words. His feet brushed against the cold marble floor as they reached the door; his hands gently rested on the warm wooden frame before he swung them open.
Charice paused, his eyes softening for the briefest moments as a flash of guilt appeared in his soft look.
He turned to face Michael, though his gaze fell short of his frustrated pupils. "I'm-"
"No." Michael said, "Don't apologize. You've been sorry enough."
"O-Oh..." Charice squeaked out as Michael grabbed the open door.
He barely suppressed the urge to roll his brown eyes as he stared down at the Consort. Charice could only feel judgment and disappointment radiating from his most loyal and capable servant.
"Rest well. Maybe you'll have it in you to act some day." He said with a taste of spite.
Without another word, Michael closed the door in Charice's face. An act that could only be interpreted as the height of rudeness by any powerful person.
Yet Charice was not offended - he was gutted.
He silently stared at the door; the sound of it shutting echoed in the room and his heart. He closed his soft hands into a tight grip that crumpled his cloth; the opulent garment worthy of only the highest-ranked priests adorning him seemed so unwarranted now.
Tears formed in his eyes, not of sadness or longing, but of frustration and stress.
"Fricks sake...!" Charice whispered while aggravated. "What am I meant to do? I... I can't...!"
How could he just chat up a God? Would he casually kneel and ask how their day has been? How would one even contact divinity? In the game, it was an icon and a simple command word, but was that the case here?
Rituals were described as incredibly painful in the lore. Whenever the Gods acted, it would shatter the game balance entirely; even priests were once useless, yet they have become the most useful class for all groups.
'T-The Gods aren't even... They aren't the kind you want to talk to!' He gripped himself by the hair and pulled, the pain only serving to ground him more.
The Genocide of Spirits, the castration of Gaia, the death of countless priests who said the wrong thing at the wrong time - Charice was meant to interact with that?
'I can't- I just...' He shook, wrapping his arms around himself as if shielding his vitals from some looming predator. The candle, resting on the night table, had continued its perpetual burning. Not once had it faded since Charice had stuck his finger into it.
It, strengthened by his holy touch, was the only light in the room, leaving only the Consort's back illuminated.
His gaze moved to the two symbols hanging above the fireplace, glowing with a subtle blue and red shimmer.
'Are... Are there any friendly Gods, maybe...? Charice tenderly sighed, taking a small, negligible step toward the symbols while his mind raced.
He knew most Gods by name, their incantations, demands, and rewards - All of it memorized in his mind after two decades of consistent in-game worship. But there were as many Gods as there were stars, and he couldn't possibly know them all.
Yet, clouded by fear, his mind couldn't find anything. Rather, it didn't want to. What excuse would there be to run if there is nothing to run from?
Charice paused, the dark carpet underneath him shifting from black to red where he stepped, yet it did not turn yellow as it would normally.
Instead, blue and red shifted underneath his feet, as if trying to show him that the Gods were looming over not only his mind. Charice closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as the scent of bleach, roasted meat, and burnt toast filled his nostrils.
The fireplace flickered with a couple of dozen sparks of red and blue, filling the room with a thin layer of navy blue and crimson fog.
'I... I won't.' Charice decided, turning away from the fireplace. 'I... I don't want to be manipulated! A-And there's still more documents to finish writing up, besides! What if something goes wrong with the prayer while the delegation is here? T-That would be embarrassing, right?'
No. Charice found his lack of conviction to be far more shameful.
Silently, Charice undressed, feeling exhaustion crash over him as his stomach and skull continued their assault on his senses. Burning and humming in a way that truly rattled him.
The blue and red fogs swirled at his feet, his half-naked form relaxing as he sighed in worry, remembering Michael's disappointed gaze. He lay down in bed, covering himself with the thick, comfortable sheets.
He could not sleep. The fog crawled into bed with him, tickling him with just enough warmth and chill to keep him awake, though his mind was doing a fine job of that alone.
'...The Gods don't do things like this...' Charice said, looking at the Fog, which continued to annoy him like a needy pet. 'So what is this? I usually control the fog, but... I don't... I don't want it to do this.'
The conflict within him was not so easily buried; after all, a part of him knew that there was nowhere to run from his duty, another was desperate for answers, while another wanted to make the Gods apologize.
Many more such desires flared at his fearful procrastination, desires and wants that he could not silence. He spent an hour in this silent clash, failing to muffle his mind.
'Umpf... Whatever.' He rolled over in bed to his side, as far from the fireplace as he could. 'My soul, my choice... It doesn't matter if I take my time, Michael and the Paragons are there to help... Right?'
Normally, there would be no need to question that, yet the fact that his servants were now people rested on Charice's shoulders more than ever after Michael's open dissatisfaction.
How much longer did he have to become legitimate, not in the eyes of his people, other nations, or even the Gods, but in the eyes of those he cared for? How long would they wait for him?
Charice writhed in the sheets like a snail covered in salt, shaking from the emotions he felt.
Hours passed, and eventually, with worry and fear of abandonment clawing at his heart, Charice finally slept.
As Charice struggled to reconcile his duties and desires, Michael stood outside his room.
He silently pressed his armored hand to the cool marble wall. A pulse of power shot through his veins, a thin dot of brilliant purple light forming on the wall.
"Go find a pair of Paragons on patrol and connect them to me." He commanded, his brown eyes now glowing purple to match the light.
The light shot outward, following the sharp edges and wide staircases of The Ark's hallways
It did not take long for a pair of Paragons to see the dot; one of them was Jeremy, and he quickly pressed his palm to the wall. Michael felt the line connect, and with his eyes still glowing purple, he spoke into the air.
"Come to the Consort's room, you'll be taking over my shift early today."
Jeremy's eyes began to glow a subtle purple as he spoke, the Order within him reaching out to help steady the connection.
"Got it, we'll be there in a few minutes." He furrowed; he felt Michael's power pushing against his, creating needless friction. "You're vexed. Did something happen to the Consort?"
Michael sighed, the gesture only faintly echoing through Jeremy's mind. "No. The Consort is the same as always." He said so a little bitterly, as if he did not like that fact for once.
"So it's a you problem?" Jeremy asked bluntly, receiving only silence from Michael, though his displeased gaze could be felt through the way his power lurched against his. "...I was kidding. We'll be there in a bit."
Michael then cut the line without another word, his hand pulling away from the wall as the line faded back into white marble.
'What a bad time for jokes.' Michael complained, even as his conscience snapped back at him. After all, even if a bit tone deaf, Jeremy had every right to be annoyed with Michael, too.
'I wish telepathy didn't make it so easy to read everyone involved. It makes things awkward at times.'
His sour mood would have been noticed swiftly enough anyway, after all, the Paragons did know one another decently well.
Soon enough, after only a brief moment of waiting, Jeremy and the other Paragons appeared, approaching Michael with confidence.
"Alright, boss. We're here to take over for you." Jeremy said with a playful tone, though his sharpened gaze revealed he was evaluating Michael's mood in more detail now that he could see him.
Michael didn't give him much to work with; he nodded and motioned for them to take their posts next to the door.
"I'm heading out. Thanks for the help." He then promptly made his leave, sighing as the distance between him and the others grew.
Jeremy clicked his tongue.
"It's weird." He said to his colleague next to him as Michael walked away. "I feel like something happened between him and the Consort. He's obviously not telling us about it though... They were pretty close not long ago, right?"
The other Paragon turned to Jeremy, with blue eyes filled with carefully contained outrage. "You should not say anything untoward about the man we serve."
"I wasn't trying to imply that the Consosrt cheated on our God-King, just that something happened." His colleague said nothing, dutifully manning his post.
Jeremy stood in silence for a bit, relenting his overt questioning. Still, he could not shake the feeling that something felt off.
'Did Michael get rejected? The Consort is taken after all...' His grip on the halberd tightened at the thought of Charice violating the vow of marriage.
'No, the Consort would not allow such a thing. He is a loyal man.' Jeremy affirmed to himself, yet the frustration within him wasn't quenched. Merely silenced, it was sure to return stronger, and he knew it.
'I didn't abandon my family for this shit.' Jeremy cursed, 'I'll give it some more time, but...'
The Consort had their loyalty, but that did not mean they would wait forever. Not when Michael was clearly hiding something from them.
-x-x-x- M@de by @rude_Ch@n on Webnovel -x-x-x-