Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
After recounting what he saw that day—how the Shadows emerged from the breach and how they took shape—came a question that left him cold.
“Did those Shadows pursue your human with particular interest?” the Guardian of Oblivion asked, seeming entirely fixated on this single point.
“That is correct,” Alderian confirmed.
“There are those who claim that, for some years now, you have asked your peers if they have noticed an increase in Shadows in the human dimension,” the Guardian of Oblivion continued, narrowing his eyes. “Why were you so interested in knowing that?”
“I have had the impression that they have sought to approach my human more than usual,” Alderian explained. “More than I ever remember from our previous lives.”
A heavy, suffocating silence fell over those present in the grand hall.
“It cannot be a coincidence,” the Guardian of Threads murmured cautiously.
The Guardian of Oblivion raised his hand slightly, signaling for silence. He turned his gaze back to the spirit. “Have you noticed any anomalies in your human? Anything out of the ordinary?”
Alderian swallowed hard. Without blinking, he looked directly at the council and said, “No. Nothing abnormal.”
It was done. Let Lethe drag him down to her deepest, frozen depths; he knew he deserved a fate worse than death for lying in her sacred presence.
“That is reassuring, for now,” the Guardian of Order said harshly, breaking the tension. “But it is a matter we must watch closely… that girl is like a time bomb.”
Alderian went completely rigid. What did he mean by that?
In that instant, he remembered Aldana’s letters, and the fractured pieces of the puzzle suddenly fit together.
They knew. The council knew something terrible had happened to her in the past. Still, he stood firm, keeping his expression utterly inscrutable.
“Let us move to another issue,” the Guardian of Oblivion interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “You used the technique of Alchemical Transfer to your human during The Breach.”
“I did,” Alderian replied tersely.
“It is not a forbidden technique in itself,” the Guardian of Order added, leaning forward, “but it is highly inconvenient for you to execute it in the human world with so many witnesses present.”
“More than that,” the Guardian of Oblivion said, his voice echoing through the chamber, “I want to understand how you knew how to execute the technique in the first place. It is a practice lost to time. Only a very few ancient masters of war still hold that knowledge.”
Alderian had known they would ask this, and this time, he would not lie.
“I do not know the origin of this knowledge, but I know that muscles also have memory,” Alderian stated firmly.
“I am capable of flying, though I have no memory of when I learned it. I can project myself into the human realm at will, yet I know not who taught me. That is exactly how it felt to execute this technique. It felt like a memory my body already possessed, even if I cannot actively evoke its source.”
The Guardian of Oblivion looked deep into his eyes, maintaining a long, piercing silence. A melancholic sadness seemed to emanate from the child god at that moment. Finally, he nodded slowly.
“It is enough,” the child said. “You may go.”
“But, Guardian of Oblivion—” the Guardian of Threads began, looking thoroughly surprised. “There are still many things in this matter that we need to delve into.”
“It is not the time,” the child snapped sharply. “There is much more at stake than you imagine, Guardians of A’aru. Trust me on this matter.”
Hearing the finality in his tone, no one dared to insist.
Alderian carefully withdrew his Silver Thread from the shimmering waters of Lethe and gave a respectful bow. He offered a crisp, military salute to the High Council and withdrew from the chamber, his mind burdened with far more questions than he had expected to face from this encounter.
He rushed through the grand hallway, eager to return to the sanctuary of his own palace. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he strongly suspected some of the answers he desperately needed might be hidden within Aldana’s letters.
Aldana, you already had an anomaly in the past, didn’t you? he thought, a sense of dread washing over him. They forced us to restart our cycles. I died young in my last human life just to restore your Oblivion.
To Alderian, there was no longer any room for doubt; it had to be true, and he could feel history repeating itself.
The Oblivion had not been enough to permanently suppress her anomaly, and now, as a human, Aldana was expressing it all over again.
Alderian feared with a renewed intensity what might happen if the High Council ever discovered the truth.
He highly suspected they wouldn’t settle for simply restarting their cycles a second time.
* * *
As soon as Alderian left the High Council’s chambers, the Guardian of Oblivion felt two piercing gazes lock onto him. The Guardian of Order and the Guardian of Threads waited rigidly for an explanation. Seeing that the child remained silent, the Guardian of Order finally broke the tension.
“Who is that girl?” he demanded. “Before incarnating as a human in this cycle, she already possessed an impossible anomaly… and now the Shadows are actively hunting her. The Breach between worlds is widening; is she perhaps responsible for it?”
“You should not ask. Oblivion is law for everyone. That was the sacred covenant when the New Order began,” the Guardian of Oblivion said firmly.
“But if I must say something, she is not the cause of The Breach, nor is she the reason the Shadows are entering the human dimension. Losing the Four Seats is the cause.”
Never before had the Guardian of Oblivion alluded to the empty thrones.
“It is nearly impossible for us to fulfill our roles as Sovereign Guardians if we do not know the whole truth,” the Guardian of Order insisted, stepping forward. “Who is that girl?”
The Guardian of Oblivion looked up at him coldly.
“It is true—and I must insist—it is incredibly naive to pretend we can maintain the balance in A’aru when only three seats of our High Council are occupied.
There should be seven. The role of Sovereign Guardians is a heritage granted by Lethe herself,” the child said, his voice carrying an ancient weight.
“It is an ancient lineage. The New Order began with blood, and with death. It was then that those seats left a void whose consequences we are enduring right now. The Breach, the acceleration of human time… all of that is a direct consequence of the New Order and losing the other Sovereign Guardians. Do you truly want to know who is responsible, Guardian of Order? You can look in a mirror, and you shall have your answer.”
The Guardian of Order stared back, completely stunned. “I would do nothing to harm A’aru,” he assured defensively. “Even if I do not possess the memories of the Ancient Order, I know that much to be true.”
The child let out a soft, humorless laugh.
“You do not know what you are capable of,” he whispered.
“The worst atrocities happen when we act for a noble cause that we believe justifies any means. For now, my role is to protect the remaining vestiges of what we once were… and in that, you need to trust me. My sovereignty, my decision.”
Faced with his ancient authority, no one dared to rebut him.
“Is there a way to reoccupy those seats?” the Guardian of Threads asked quietly after a long moment of heavy silence.
“I do not know,” the Guardian of Oblivion admitted, looking down. “But Lethe will either show us the path, or she will exterminate us entirely. No A’aruin can control her will, not even us.”