Chapter 524: The Guardian houses
Her lips parted, then closed again. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. "You don’t know what you’re asking, boy. Some truths aren’t meant to be spoken aloud."
"Yeah, yeah," Julian urged, his voice low but insistent. "Go on. Tell me in detail. I’m sure you know everything."
The elder’s lips trembled. She stared at him for a long moment, before finally whispering, "What exactly do you want to know?"
Julian’s smile sharpened. "Start simple. What role do you and the village head play in this game of curses—the one binding us to the First Patriarch and the so-called Supreme Being of Creation?"
The elder swallowed hard. She lowered her gaze as if the weight of his question pressed her down. Then, with a long breath, she began.
"To start... you must understand the order of the Heavens. At the highest peak stand three ultimate rulers. One governs Creation, one governs Preservation, and the last governs Destruction. At first glance, it might look like a perfect balance." She paused, her voice dropping lower. "But the truth is... their duties overlap. And where duties overlap, conflict is inevitable."
Julian leaned back slightly, intrigued. "So the Heavens aren’t united."
"No," she said firmly, almost bitterly. "They never were. The Being of Creation weaves life and order into existence. Yet even as He creates, the Preserver must intervene—deciding what can be sustained and discarding what cannot. But in choosing what to preserve and what to abandon, Preservation encroaches on Creation’s will."
Her eyes flicked back to Julian, haunted and sharp. "That cycle is endless," she whispered. "Older than time itself. You know how every mother loves her children, no matter how they look, how they behave, or even how they fail? That is Creation. He loves every one of His works, clinging to them with boundless affection. But His ego blinds Him—He cannot see that not everything can be sustained. Without limits, without balance, the world would drown."
She paused, her lips tightening, before continuing. "And so Destruction rises. To Him, all things must eventually end. That is not cruel, that is simply the nature of death. Where Creation dreams eternal, Destruction demands silence. The two have always been at odds, neither able to exist without the other."
Her voice sank lower. "And caught between them is Preservation. He holds no love and no malice, only duty. He chooses what remains and what must fade, caring not for the cries of Creation or the fury of Destruction. He is not their mediator, nor their ally. But in doing so, he becomes hated by both—seen as traitor by the Creator who loves all, and usurper by the Destroyer who wants all gone."
Julian nodded slowly. "So... you mean the whole Heavens is fragmented?"
The elder shook her head, her expression tight. "Not exactly. They cannot afford direct confrontation."
Julian frowned, leaning forward slightly. "Why not?"
"Because," she said, "their power is beyond measure. I am certain that neither of them wants to witness what would follow if they clashed directly. The destruction would be unimaginable... even to them."
Confusion flickered across Julian’s face. "But... it doesn’t add up. You say they have conflict, and now you say they don’t. What exactly do you mean?"
The elder let out a long sigh, reaching for the chair beside the bed. She rested her hands there, then sat down slowly.
"They do have conflict," she admitted, her eyes flicking toward Julian. "But they are not like us, not like mortals. They are beyond petty quarrels and fleeting ambitions. The three of them created a system—an order designed to prevent their personal conflicts from tearing the cosmos apart."
Julian’s brow furrowed as he absorbed her words. "What... what is this system?" he asked, his voice amused beyond belief.
"The Heavenly Court... and the guardian families," she replied, each word laced with fear.
Julian remained silent, letting the information sink in. "Heavenly Court... and guardian families?" he repeated in shock.
The elder nodded slowly, her eyes unwavering. "Yes. The three deities established three guardian families—the House of Aureth, the House of Calyth, and the House of Voryn. Each represents one of the supreme powers: Creation, Preservation, and Destruction. They operate independently and their function is to enforce the will of the gods, all while ensuring that no single divine hand overwhelms the others."
Julian’s eyes widened, a rare moment of awe crossing his features. "You’re telling me... mortals—families—hold power directly tied to the supreme deities themselves? They... they actually enforce the gods’ will?"
The elder’s lips curved faintly. "Not just enforce, boy. They also observe, manipulate, and punish. They are the living threads that bind Heaven to the mortal realm. Your fate, your destiny, it’s all part of their invisible web."
Julian sank back onto the bed, his mind spinning, thoughts tumbling over one another. "But... how?" he murmured. "How are these families capable of ensuring the deities don’t tear each other apart? Aren’t they ultimately under them? If the deities wanted, couldn’t they simply... remove them entirely?"
The elder shook her head, laughing faintly. "You are just a boy in the end... That is exactly why the Heavenly Court intervenes."
"’Heavenly Court’..." Julian whispered, almost reverently. A thrill ran down his spine—he hadn’t been this captivated by a single phrase in ages.
"They are the pillars of Heaven," the elder continued. "They deliver judgment to every being, mortal or immortal alike. Families, even the supreme deities themselves are bound by Heavenly court’s decrees. Their purpose is to maintain order, to enforce balance, to ensure that Creation, Preservation, and Destruction remain... in check."
Julian’s mind raced, trying to digest it all. The complexity, the scope, the sheer audacity of it—mortals acting as the enforcers of gods. His pulse quickened, a mixture of awe and a shiver of excitement coursing through him.
The elder watched him silently. She wasn’t sure if before her sat merely a boy, or someone far older, far more cunning, cloaked in youthful flesh.