"Hah! You're just jealous this king has one and you don't!" Nico barked, squeaky voice somehow carrying royal indignation.

"Jealous? Hardly. My rights outstrip yours a hundredfold," Vorta shot back, smugness coiled around every syllable.

Their bickering ricocheted off the walls, and with every exchange the air thickened. My ears rang, my head spun, and the oppressive weight of their egos pressed me flatter than the floor could manage.

Finally, I snapped. "Okay, fantastic reunion, really. Love the energy. But I'm mortal. Fragile human. Not exactly built for this… divine auditory sensation contest. So unless you want me redecorating the hall floor with my stomach contents, maybe save the eloquent banter for, say… inside?"

Silence fell. Even the air seemed to pause.

Then Vorta, ever the gracious host, exhaled a snort of disdain. "The door isn't locked. You may enter. Or do you require me to hold your hand and show you how hinges function?"

Nico's chest puffed like a kettle ready to blow, a tirade loading on his tongue. I cut in fast, hand on his tiny back before he detonated.

"Save it, your majesty," I hissed. "Front-row theatrics work better when you can see his face. Think about it—every twitch, every flinch, perfect ammo for your comeback."

The idea hooked him instantly. His eyes gleamed, ego stoked. "A king always performs better with an audience," he declared, smoothing his whiskers like a curtain call.

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding as he strutted forward, throwing open the massive door with all the pomp of a stage actor. I trailed behind, nerves still bristling, praying that I don't have to experience the two storms collide.

I walked in expecting feathers, talons, and a wingspan that could blackout a sun. Instead… a teenager. Or someone who looked the part. Thin frame, thick-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose, hair silver with fiery-orange tips spilling over his shoulders. Not exactly the image of cosmic terror.

He didn't even glance at me—he was too busy scrawling equations across a whiteboard that floated in the middle of chaos.

And by chaos, I mean chaos.

The room wasn't a room at all, more like a collapsed star that forgot how to behave. Books and gadgets drifted through the air as if gravity had called it quits. One wall—if it even counted as a wall—was plastered with posters of galaxies, nebulas, swirling space art that looked one supernova away from devouring itself. Screens flickered with constellations and orbital paths, the kind of calculations that could either map a planet or blow it up.

But the centerpiece—the thing that stole my breath—was a massive chunk of obsidian rock suspended dead center, like someone had ripped a meteorite straight from space and left it hovering.

Shards of fractured orbs circled it at erratic speeds, glowing faintly as they cut through the air. And above it all, the ceiling bled into infinity.

No paint. No stone. Just… stars.

Endless, pulsing, living space.

My jaw fell open. "Holy crap. What in the—"

Words failed me. I was equal parts terrified and mesmerized, like a moth staring at a black hole.

Vorta didn't bother turning around. He didn't have to. His voice carried across the cosmos of his sanctuary, dripping irritation.

"What do you want, Nico? I don't have time to babysit your royal pain in the ass right now. I'm busy."

I blinked at him, taking in the rolled-up sleeves, the ink-stained fingers, the universe literally orbiting his mess of a workspace.

This wasn't some all-powerful deity towering with menace.

This scene was… the universe's grumpiest grad student named Vorta.

Nico spread his hands like it was nothing.

"Well… it's not this king who wanted an audience with you. It's the human—Carl."

My name cut through the room. Vorta froze mid-scribble, marker pen hovering in the air like he'd forgotten gravity existed. Slowly, he turned his head.

The moment his face angled toward me, my throat clenched. His glasses slid just enough for me to see them—eyes glazed over, blind, milky-gray with a sheen that pulsed faintly like embers. They glowed. Not brightly, but enough to make my skin crawl.

I nearly yelped. Very dignified of me.

Vorta tilted his head, studied me for half a second, then turned back to his equations like I wasn't worth his pen stroke.

"He shouldn't be here," he said flatly.

Déjà vu hit me hard. Those exact words—the same ones I heard when I stumbled on his colossal Roc form earlier. Consistency, at least.

"I know," I rushed out, pulse thudding. "But I need your help."

"Yeah, Vorta. The kid needs your help." Nico chimed in like my wingman, though less supportive, more let's-see-how-this-goes.

Vorta exhaled, sharp and heavy. "Send him back where he came from. I can't help him." He jabbed a line across the whiteboard, irritation in every stroke. "You do realize this isn't a tourist place, right?"

That was it—I had to go all in. "I have your fragments!" I blurted. "Two of them, actually."

The marker pen broke at the tip. Vorta didn't walk—he was just there, right in front of me, collapsing the space between us like the world bent for him.

Every hair on my body stood rigid. His glowing, sightless eyes bore into mine, brighter, sharper, as though they were searching through me rather than looking at me.

"Who are you?" Vorta demanded.

"Uh—Carl," I stammered. "You know, Nico literally introduced me thirty seconds ago. And we've met before, kind of—you were a massive, fiery bird last time."

I tried for steady, but my voice was thinner than I liked. Because no matter how young he looked, no matter the glasses or the nerd-lab vibe, standing that close I could feel it—Vorta wasn't some teen. He was ancient. Wiser. Terrifying.

"You met me in my Roc form?" Vorta's tone sharpened with curiosity. He leaned forward like he wanted a closer look.

"Nope. Stop. Right there." My voice shot out, sharp and panicked. I threw up both hands like I was holding back a train.

"I know that look. You're about to sniff me. Not happening. No sniffing. I am not up for divine aroma testing today."

I lifted my other hand in mock surrender, then shoved the token toward his face like it was a badge of honor.

"And this here," I added quickly, "—here's your proof. I've got Kaleon's essence in me. So sniff this."

Vorta's glowing eyes locked on the token. In an instant, the cool arrogance drained from his expression—his eyes widened, and then he dropped to one knee.

My jaw unhinged. Did Vorta just kneel?

And before I could process that sight, Nico went further. He didn't just kneel—he threw himself flat on the ground in full-blown prostration, forehead pressed to the floor like I'd just turned into a sun god on casual Friday.

"Owner," they said together, voices heavy with reverence.

Then Nico babbled, his voice muffled by the floor.

"Forgive me, Owner! This king—I mean, this worthless, insignificant little mouse—did not recognize you!"

I blinked, utterly lost, the token still dangling stupidly in my hand. I'd only meant to stop a sniff.

What was I supposed to say? The silence dragged, my skin prickling from the sheer awkwardness. My tongue felt clumsy, useless.

Nico's forehead was still pressed to the ground. Vorta hadn't moved either. Both of them were waiting—for me.

I cleared my throat, shifting my weight like a teacher caught in front of a class he didn't sign up to teach.

At last I managed, voice low, almost hesitant:

"…Uh. You may rise."

The words sounded feeble against the weight of their reverence, but it was all I could muster.

I couldn't believe how much reverence Nico suddenly showed. From what I'd seen of him, the guy treated Kaleon, who was the Owner, like an overdue landlord. He'd ranted about unpaid Caretaker tasks and contracts long past their expiration date.

Respect? Not exactly the vibe.

I had to ask.

"Uh, Nico… you went pale the second you called me 'Owner.' But earlier you were chewing Kaleon out like he owed you rent."

Nico immediately lowered his head. His shoulders stiffened. He didn't lift his head when he spoke.

"Please forgive me, Owner. I will show Lord Kaleon the proper respect from now on."

"Wait, wasn't Kaleon the Owner too?"

The air shifted. Vorta and Nico exchanged a glance, a wordless conversation happening in the tilt of Vorta's head and the twitch of Nico's jaw.

Nico swallowed. His voice came out hesitant, each word dragged like a confession.

"Kaleon is a Realm Owner… but not of Mythica. His dominion lay in the Upper Heavens. This realm was never his. Mythica was… his gift. A realm he created and temporarily tended, on behalf of the true Owner."

My brain short-circuited. Wait—what?!

The words crashed against me like cold water. My throat went dry.

A gift? Then Kaleon wasn't the real Owner?

Then who was? …Don't tell me it was Hestia.

Next chapter will be updated first on this website. Come back and continue reading tomorrow, everyone!

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.