Now, all that remained was to reshape the land to obey it.

As for how to deal with the curses themselves, Erik believed he had found a method.

The flaw was not in the theory.

It was in how to execute it, how to bring the theory to life and guarantee it working.

Long ago, Erik had discovered that his elven blood granted him a rare resistance to cursed energy. It did not merely lessen its effects; in certain circumstances, it allowed him to touch it, to endure its presence without being twisted by it. On rare occasions, he had even found himself able to make use of that energy without suffering corruption.

That discovery had not remained his alone.

His children, his offspring had inherited the elven bloodline from him. Unknowingly, they became proof of his hypothesis. So far, none among his family had succumbed to the curse's influence. No madness. No loss of self.

Encouraged and wary Erik began introducing cursed energy to them without their consent in a controlled measures. Carefully. Gradually.

Just as he had suspected, its effects were diminished.

Unlike him, they could not yet manipulate cursed energy. It remained inert within them, resistant to command. But it also did not rot them from within.

Instead, Erik observed something unexpected.

The cursed energy was changing them.

Not corrupting, refining.

It flowed through their elven blood, stripping away weakness, strengthening what lay dormant. Their appearances began to shift subtly: sharper features, altered hues of hair and eye, the human aspects of them growing indistinct, blurred by something older and less fragile.

They were not becoming monsters.

They were becoming less human.

And stronger for it.

With this realization, Erik found himself at an impasse.

If elven blood could endure cursed energy, if it could adapt, purify, and stabilize it then the solution was clear in principle and terrifying in scope: the bloodline itself would have to change.

Not just for his family.

For his people.

For those already twisted by cursed energy, and for the still-normal folk standing on the brink of it.

If he could find a way to alter the bloodline on a large enough scale, safely, deliberately then those already afflicted might recover on their own. The curse would lose its hold. The unrestrained impulses it induced would no longer dominate them

Erik stared into the open sky, the enormity of the task settling in his chest.

The method existed.

The path did not.

And whatever solution he chose next would decide whether his people survived as themselves… or as something entirely new.

As for Siren… since her departure, Erik found his body betraying him.

It ached for her presence.

His dreams filled with fragments of her, glances exchanged, words left unsaid, the brief moments they had shared replaying themselves with cruel clarity. Every instinct urged him to find her again, to close the distance that now felt far greater than it should have been.

And he hated himself for it.

He knew better. Siren was not merely a complication, she was a problem unto herself. Entangling with her now would endanger more than just his resolve.

With a sharp breath, Erik shook his thoughts loose.

Desire had no place here.

Breaking the sound barrier, he vanished into the distance in a violent rush of displaced air. The sky screamed briefly in protest before falling silent once more.

There was too much to do.

People to save, experiments to conduct. Research that could not wait. Time was the one resource he could not afford to waste.

Back at the court, the crowd slowly began to thin.

Yet before each figure departed, whether noble, superpowered, or common-born they paused before the statue of Xerosis. Some bowed. Some placed a hand over their heart. Others simply stood in silence for a moment longer than necessary.

Respect was paid in many forms.

It was strange, the sense of safety the goddess inspired. Even when their power had been suppressed, none of them had felt threatened. No one had stood on guard. No hand had hovered near a weapon.

Somehow, they had known.

Under her gaze, harm would not be allowed.

And the way her court had been conducted left a lasting mark, especially upon the humans present. Many looked upon Xerosis now with something new, something deeper than reverence or fear.

Trust.

At no point during the proceedings had the goddess spoken in favor of the godlings, nor had she sided with humanity. She had not guided testimony, nor steered emotion.

She had listened.

Every voice had been heard before judgment was rendered. Every grievance weighed without haste, without bias.

Xerosis had stood not as a ruler defending her kind, nor as a protector favoring the weak but as a silent observer until the moment action was required.

And when she spoke, the matter was settled.

The manner in which the court had been handled left many of those watching with an emotion they had not expected.

Envy.

They found themselves wishing it had been them standing among the wronged. Wishing they had been the victims whose voices had carried such undeniable weight.

Through Xerosis, those victims had transcended the fragile category of common folk. Even the little girl, once insignificant in the eyes of the world had stood equal beneath the goddess gaze. Their suffering had been acknowledged, their words made law, their existence affirmed in a way few ever experienced.

They would walk out of this court changed forever, elevated.

It was a transformation the onlookers knew would likely never be afforded to them. For most common folk, lives were lived quietly and ended quietly, injustice swallowed and forgotten.

And so their respect for Xerosis was genuine.

They bowed not out of fear, nor blind worship, but hope, hope that if their time ever came, the goddess would judge as rightly as she had today.

The nobles felt much the same.

Despite their wealth and influence, they too offered sincere respect to Xerosis and her court. They knew the truth of what they had done: they had played a dangerous hand, deliberately testing the goddess, probing to see whether divinity would once again favor its own.

She had answered them.

Justice, she proved, did not belong solely to godlings. It was not the privilege of the ascended alone. It extended to humanity as well.

They could not say the same of the other ascended gods.

But now they knew something vital, some gods cared. Some divinity still reached downward, rather than only outward or above.

As for whether this would be the last time they tested a goddess… they were not so naive.

Time changed everything.

A goddess who was just today might not remain so tomorrow. Power, after all, had a way of reshaping even the most principled of beings.

So they would continue to test her.

And the others.

Not out of malice, nor rebellion but necessity. To ensure safety in a world they were to share with godlings, they needed proof again and again that justice would not drift beyond their reach.

Faith alone was not enough, vigilance was needed.

They could hardly be blamed for their caution.

Humans were the only existence in this world without a direct connection to either the Origin Gods or the Ascended. No divine lineage bound them. No patron god claimed them as their own. It was difficult to feel safe in a world shaped by divinity when humanity stood alone, unclaimed, unshielded.

Until this world gained a human god or gods they had no choice but to keep testing the waters.

To ensure that their existence, fragile and finite, was taken into account alongside beings of far greater power.

This court had taught them much.

Next time, they would be even more prepared. They now understood the contours of such trials, the limits of godling authority, and the ways in which justice could be claimed even when standing against the ascended. Knowledge, once gained, could not be unlearned.

And they would remember.

As for the victims, their existence had been elevated to the highest standing among all human kingdoms of the western continent. What they carried now, knowledge gained through judgment, gifts bestowed through divine recognition was something every kingdom desired a share of.

But this was not something to be seized.

Rushing would only invite resistance.

Instead, the kingdoms would proceed with patience, careful diplomacy, and deliberate humility. They would need to prove they stood with the victims, not against them, that they sought cooperation, not exploitation, if those gifts and truths were ever to be shared freely.

Across the hall, a quieter moment unfolded.

The lawyers, both human and godling exchanged handshakes and measured congratulations. Despite having stood on opposite sides of the court, there was no bitterness between them. In the end, they had all served the same authority.

They had spoken under the same law. They had pleaded beneath the same gaze.

They were, all of them, servants of the goddess Xerosis.

And was everything was done, justice had left no one with cause to contest its outcome.