Chapter 786: 786

Ezinne watched him closely, the question burning in her mind. She desperately wanted to ask about the Goddess’s blessing, what he had seen, what visions had been seared into his mind but she bit her tongue. Despite her closeness to the royal siblings, there were still boundaries of blood and crown she dared not cross.

She glanced at the Princess, grateful that Nwadimma’s concern would likely lead where her own curiosity could not.

"What did you see, Brother?" the Princess asked.

The question acted like a sudden breach in a dam. Nwadiebube’s brow furrowed deeply, his hand flying to his temple as if to physically hold back the surge of memories. A sharp, stinging pain flared behind his eyes, but Nwadimma did not rush him. She stood as a silent pillar, giving him the space to stitch his thoughts back together.

Slowly, he began to recount the visions, the blurred passage of a week that felt like a lifetime and finally, his encounter with Osita.

Hearing that name, Nwadimma’s composure shattered. "Are you certain, Brother?"

Nwadiebube nodded, his eyes wide and hollow. "Yes, Sister. Osita has been walking among us for the longest time, unseen and unknown."

He cast a frantic, paranoid glance around the shadows of the room, as if the very air might solidify into a threat. "He could be right here with us at this moment, watching, and we would never know."

His fingers curled into a fist, his knuckles emitting a series of sharp, dry cracks. "My bedroom, my wife... everything was laid bare to his gaze. I was helpless, Nwadimma. A spectator in my own life."

The king’s voice dropped to a low, dangerous tremble. "He could take the Queen from me at any moment. How would that look to my people? To the vassals? A king who cannot protect his own family, how can he claim to protect a kingdom?"

He turned to her, his teeth gritted so hard his jaw muscles corded. "I need power, Sister. And I need it fast."

The Princess did not reprimand her brother this time. There was no attempt to reason him out of his fury or temper his ambition. As she processed his words, a cold clarity settled over her; he was right. There was no other way.

This lingering weakness was a rot that had to be cut out. Playing fair and staying "safe" had brought them to the edge of a cliff. They needed power, and they needed it immediately.

She felt a strong understanding of her brother’s helplessness. What had the centuries of tradition and expansion truly bought them? The great kingdom they had painstakingly built, what did it amount to if a single man could dismantle its very foundations with a glance?

Placing a steadying hand on her brother’s shoulder, the Princess spoke with a new, hardened edge to her voice. "Rest and recover well, Brother. When you are whole again, we will seek this higher power together. No matter the price we must pay."

Ezinne stood in the corner, her mind reeling from the weight of their words. Despite her shock, the practical reality of the palace pushed her to speak. "And what of Queen Taiwo’s state?" she whispered. "What should be done about her?"

Nwadiebube hauled himself into a sitting position, his movements stiff but determined. "Taiwo knows nothing of her current soul-state," he said, his eyes dark. "I have gone to great lengths to ensure she remains in the dark... though after my recent actions, it may be far harder to hide the truth this time."

"Do you truly believe it is wise for her to remain unaware?" the Princess asked, her voice hushed.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Nwadiebube nodded. "I believe her ignorance is her only protection. From everything I have observed, it has left no negative mark on her thus far. All has been well, save for those brief, hollow dazes she falls into."

He let out a heavy, ragged sigh, the weight of his secrets pressing down on him. "I fear that informing her would only spark a hunger for answers,a path of discovery that wouldn’t bode well for her, or for any of us. I have no idea where to even begin helping her, and I doubt even Ezinne could offer a remedy. Not after what those eyes showed me."

A heavy silence stretched between them. Finally, Nwadimma gave a single, sharp nod and stood up, smoothing her robes.

"Leave the Queen to me. I will handle the explanations for what happened today," she said, her tone brookng no argument. "You must focus only on recovery—and on how to make contact with Mei’s Master."

With that, she turned and swept out of the room, leaving the King and Ezinne in the sudden quiet of the chamber.

Nwadiebube turned his gaze toward Ezinne. "My thanks for your help," he said, his voice softer now.

Ezinne bowed low, her eyes averted. "It was nothing, Your Grace. Only my duty."

A shadow of hesitation crossed the King’s face, a question hovering on his lips before he finally spoke. "Tell me... we don’t seem to have a temple dedicated to the Lady Keles, do we?"

Ezinne raised a brow at the suggestion, her expression thoughtful. "It was discussed in the court previously," she reminded him softly. "The consensus was that a temple dedicated to Lady Keles might unsettle the people. Her relationship with death is... intimate. Many still fear what they do not understand."

Nwadiebube let out a dry, sharp cough, shifting against his pillows. "Times have changed," he countered, his eyes burning with a sudden, feverish intensity. "The Death Shamans have gained a formidable reputation over the last month. We should seize this momentum. A grand temple, built in the Goddess’s honor, would be seen as an act of gratitude, a tribute for allowing us mortals to glimpse even a fraction of her power."

Ezinne saw right through his political maneuvering. She knew his "gratitude" was merely a bridge to the power he so desperately craved, but she had no intention of calling him out. As a Death Shaman herself, the King’s ambition sang to her. Any path that brought the kingdom closer to the veil of death was a path she was eager to walk.

The pull was even stronger now, ever since she had felt the freezing, absolute touch of the Goddess on the spiritual path she and her fellow shamans had carved. That divine intervention had scoured a great danger from her very soul, leaving her with a terrifying sense of peace and the clarity to push her craft further than ever before.

She looked at the King, her gaze steady and knowing. "I understand, Your Grace. Leave the matter of the Goddess and her temple to me."

With a final, lingering bow, she swept out of the chamber, leaving Nwadiebube alone with the silence and his own dark thoughts.

As soon as the door clicked shut, the mask of royal composure shattered. Nwadiebube’s face contorted, his eyes bulging as he scanned the empty corners of the room. He was desperate to claw back the visions, to see through the veil once more. He went so far as to force raw mana into his optic nerves, straining until his vision swam with static, but he found nothing. Aside from the standard physical enhancement of a mortal, his sight remained stubbornly ordinary.

He fell back against the pillows, staring at his trembling hands with a hollow, haunted expression. "Power," he whispered to the silence, the word sounding more like a curse than a prayer.

A week bled by before the King regained enough of his faculty to appear in public. He resumed his duties, a hollow imitation of his former self, until the universe seemed to offer a cruel mockery of his progress.

Nwadiebube sat in his private study, the air thick with the scent of old parchment as he reviewed the mountain of state affairs he had neglected. He was deep in concentration, his quill scratching rhythmically against a decree, when the light in the room suddenly flickered and died.

He snapped his head up. Sitting across him was the face that had haunted his nightmares every night since his collapse.

"Osita."

The moment the name left his lips, the massive, ethereal key manifested within his vision, hovering over the intruder. But this time, Nwadiebube didn’t collapse in terror. A manic, jagged grin spread across his face as he began to flood the key with every drop of mana he possessed, the ancient symbol beginning to pulse with a violent, blinding radiance.

Osita sat casually in the heavy oak chair across from the desk, watching the King’s frantic display. He raised a brow, a flicker of dry amusement crossing his features before he slowly shook his head. "There is no need for such hostility, Nwadiebube. I simply came to talk."

The calm, steady vibration of Osita’s voice acted like a bucket of ice water. Nwadiebube froze, his chest heaving as he fought to pull his racing heart back under control. He took several ragged, deep breaths, the golden light of the key dimming but remaining dangerously present in his vision.