CHAPTER 666: 666

Meanwhile, Ikem’s roar echoed shaking the fabric of the divine realms. The other gods turned their gaze toward the source of the sound, only to witness a sight that made even their immortal hearts falter, Ikem forcefully tearing through the boundaries and crashing into Tide’s realm.

For a moment, silence reigned. The gods felt an invisible hand clutch their hearts as they beheld the impossible. Conflict, true violent conflict was something foreign to them. Among their divine family, disagreements had always been settled with words, never blows. Even in anger, their restraint was always there.

But now, that sacred peace was shattered.

The tension rippled through every corner of their realms. The gods could no longer remain still; they burst forth from their celestial abodes, streaking through the firmament like stars falling in reverse, racing toward Tide’s domain. Yet by the time they arrived, it was already too late.

The rift Ikem had torn between their realms was gone, mended, sealed by Tide. The breach stood closed, its edges gleaming faintly as if marked by divine sorrow.

The gods gathered at its boundary, their powers thrumming in agitation. Some clenched their hands, ready to force their way in; others hesitated, torn between duty and reverence for the sanctity of another’s realm. The choice before them weighed heavy, intervene and risk further destruction, or trust their kin to resolve what had already been set in motion.

It was then that Ursula, goddess of the Ascendant Hearth and Everflame Bonds, stepped forward. A soft radiance surrounded her warm, steady, and familiar, like the glow of a fire on a cold night. Her gaze swept over the uneasy assembly, her expression calm yet resolute.

"The Hearth still burns strong," she said gently, her voice carrying like a lullaby through the space. "This is their trial. They need this moment alone."

As her words settled, Ursula’s form began to waver, her light scattering like embers caught in a soft breeze. One by one, the stars reclaimed her glow until she vanished entirely, returning to her realm, leaving the others in silent contemplation before the sealed gates of Tide’s domain.

Maul, hearing Ursula’s words, let out a slow breath. The fire of worry in his chest dimmed, replaced by a calm resolve. He wanted to believe her, that all would be well but if it wasn’t, he knew his path. As elder brother, he bore the duty to stand beside Ikem, no matter what storm awaited them.

Flowua stood nearby, her expression mirroring his quiet concern. When their eyes met, no words were needed. Both prayed the matter would resolve without further strife, for they did not wish to be forced into the cruelty of choosing sides between kin.

Within Tide’s realm, the air was stillheavy. The once-glistening expanse of waters had dimmed into a still, gray mirror that reflected the two gods standing at its heart. For a long while, neither spoke. The sound of shifting waves was the only thing that broke the silence.

Then Ikem finally spoke, his voice low but steady.

"My child will soon be born," he said. "That means you are to be an uncle."

Tide’s head remained bowed. "I know that."

"Do you?" Ikem asked, taking a slow step closer. The tension that had once radiated from him was , replaced by something else, disappointment, perhaps even sorrow.

Tide looked up slightly, but Ikem didn’t give him the chance to answer.

"I don’t think you do," Ikem continued, his tone cutting but not cruel. "Because if you truly understood, if you valued what that meant you wouldn’t have done what you did. You were willing to shatter the bond we’ve built over centuries... all for someone you’ve known for a few fleeting decades."

Tide’s lips parted, but no words came at first. The silence stretched, the weight of Ikem’s words pressing down on him.

Finally, Tide whispered, his voice almost trembling, "I don’t expect you to understand."

Ikem didn’t respond right away. Instead, he walked forward and lowered himself onto the wide marble steps leading up to Tide’s throne, the motion slow and deliberate. His back was to his cousin, his gaze fixed on the fractured wall he had burst through moments earlier. The divine barrier was already mending itself, glowing faintly as the cracks sealed with a soft hum.

"Try me," Ikem said, his voice steady, though the sharpness had faded.

Silence lingered between them, heavy but not hostile. It was the kind of silence that invited truth to surface.

At length, Tide exhaled and began to speak. "I’ve asked myself, over these last few weeks, why she made me act the way I did. I’ve had partners before consorts, companions. Perhaps not as breathtaking as her, but beauties nonetheless. Women for whom mortal kings would have waged wars for."

A faint, wistful smile tugged at his lips. "And yet, I left them all behind without a second thought as our ascension neared. I didn’t even remember them once I took my place as a god. They became like mist, gone with the dawn."

He paused, his expression dimming. "But with Siren... it was different. I don’t know if it was her voice, her eyes, or the way she looked at me as if I were just a man, not a god. She made me feel something I thought I’d long outgrown."

He laughed softly, a tired, hollow sound. "And then, in the quiet, I realized why it hurt so much. Why her betrayal cut deeper than any wound I’ve known. It reminded me of our parents."

Tide’s gaze drifted upward, toward the domed ceiling of his realm, where waves of light shimmered faintly. "I’m grateful for what they gave us, the power, the legacy. But gratitude doesn’t erase the truth. They were terrible parents, Ikem. Cold. Demanding. Never once did they teach us how to love, only how to endure."

A small, self-deprecating chuckle escaped him. "And I wasn’t any better. I wasn’t a good parent either, not even close." He rubbed his face with one hand, as if trying to wipe away the weariness clinging to him. "I’m getting off topic," he muttered.

Ikem, still seated, said nothing. He didn’t need to. The silence between them spoke louder than any judgment could.

"My coupling with Siren felt... different," Tide said at last, his voice softer, almost uncertain. "Because I wanted her. Not because I had to. Not because I could."

He paused, his eyes unfocused as he stared into the slow ripples spreading across the floor of his realm. "Every action we took before our ascension, every alliance, every bond. It all felt like something we did because we had to. Because that was what our parents demanded of us. They set the rhythm, and we danced to it without question."

Ikem listened in silence, the sound of the waves filling the space between them.

"At the time," Tide continued, "I didn’t think much of it. But now, as a god, I’ve begun to notice how my choices differ. For the first time, I can act, not out of duty or expectation but out of desire. I can, and I do, because I want to. Not because our parents would have wanted me to."

He let out a low, weary sigh. "I married, I expanded the Mermolk, I fathered children, I took consorts all because it was expected of me. Because I could. Power gives us many privileges, cousin, but none of them are freedom."

Tide’s expression softened as he spoke her name. "But with Siren, it wasn’t like that. I desired her because I wanted her not because the role of the god of tides demanded a consort of grace and beauty, but because she was what I wanted."

A faint smile ghosted across his lips, tinted with both fondness and pain. "When she accepted my chase, it filled me with something I hadn’t felt in ages joy, accomplishment. For once, my divinity felt irrelevant. My position, my power none of it mattered. She saw me, me, not the god, not the symbol."

He gave a small laugh, distant but genuine. "She’s not divine, but her essence... your father’s creation... she’s as radiant and proud as any of us. I found myself reversed in my own story. I was the one chasing, striving, trying to make her happy. And strangely, it brought me peace. It brought me joy."

For a moment, that smile lingered on his face soft and wistful, as though remembering a distant sunrise. Then it faded, replaced by a shadow that darkened his features.

"To me," Tide said quietly, "she was a treasure I could never own, but absolutely needed. And when she betrayed that, when she let that mortal, Erik, touch what we built everything I believed in collapsed. It felt as if the ocean within me turned to stone."

He drew in a slow, trembling breath. "And now... I can’t even face her. I can’t punish her. I can’t speak to her. She’s hidden, kept safe in Aunt Mahu’s realm. Beyond my reach."

Tide’s voice broke slightly as he added, "And so, my anger found another shore, Erik. It just ended up crashing into you, Ikem."