The Guardian gods-Chapter 447

Juggernaut exhaled, his arms falling to his sides. "She thought justice was enough. That it could stand alone. But justice without strength is a dream... and strength without justice is tyranny. She understands now."

The Oracle tilted its head. "Does she?"

For a long moment, Juggernaut did not answer. His gaze lingered on Xerosis, watching her brow twitch in restless dreams. Even in slumber, the battle had not left her.

"She will."

The Oracle turned its gaze back to the great tree, tracing a hand over its ancient bark. "Then let us see if she has the will to claim it."

The wind stirred. The leaves blew by.

And beneath the roots of the great tree, Xerosis dreamed of the path she was about to take.

Beneath the ancient tree, wrapped in the warmth of the sacred earth, Xerosis drifted into a dream—a dream that felt more like a vision, painted in shades of prophecy and doubt.

She stood once again before the great pyramid, the very one drawn by the Despairing Virtuoso. The layers of power remained the same—the godlings at the peak, the nobles and mages beneath them, and the common folk clawing for even a taste of the power that reigned above them. Yet, something had changed.

At the very top of the pyramid, where once stood the godlings basking in divinity, now stood herself.

Draped in the cold authority of justice, she loomed over the structure, her presence undeniable, but the moment her shadow fell upon it, the world below began to tremble.

The nobles, once secure in their stations, cried out in fear. The warriors and mages, who had once wielded their power with confidence, clutched their weapons and whispered of her tyranny. Even the gods, those who had long ruled the celestial order, turned their gazes upon her with suspicion and doubt.

Her cousin.

Her brother.

Her kin among the divine.

Would they see her as a savior?

Or a threat?

Would they resist her justice, fearing it was but another form of judgment in disguise?

Her breath grew heavy as she gazed at the faces before her. She had dreamed of justice—of a world where the scales balanced for all, where the weak did not suffer under the weight of the strong. Yet, looking at the pyramid before her, she saw the terrifying truth:

Justice did not serve the powerful.

If she were to truly uphold it, she would find herself standing against them.

Would her cousin, the one who welcomed her into godhood, stand beside her?

Would her brother, the one she once trusted, raise his blade against her?

And if the day came when her justice demanded that even the gods be judged—could she pass that judgment without hesitation?

As these thoughts clawed at her mind, the world around her warped.

The pyramid beneath her cracked, splitting down the center. The cries of the people blurred together—some screaming for salvation, others cursing her name. The gods above stared down in judgment, the nobles whispered in fear, the warriors prepared for war.

And in the midst of it all, she stood alone.

Her fingers clenched, her breath ragged.

"Am I to become a tyrant... just as they are?" she whispered, her voice lost in the storm of voices around her.

Then, a deep voice rumbled from behind her.

"Do you think justice is kind?"

Xerosis turned, and there, standing over her like an immovable mountain, was Juggernaut. His massive form cast a shadow over the chaos, his golden-red armor gleaming against the fractured world. His presence was unshaken, his expression unreadable.

"Strength is neither good nor evil," he continued, his voice steady. "Justice is the same. A sword does not choose who it cuts. It simply does."

She looked down at her own hands. Would she wield her justice like a sword?

"This path will set you against the world," Juggernaut warned. "Can you bear that weight, knowing there is no fairness in battle, no peace in judgment? Knowing that even those closest to you will call you unjust?"

Xerosis inhaled sharply.

She had known justice as a concept, a guiding force. But now, standing on the threshold of godhood, she saw its full nature.

Justice was not a promise. It was not peace. It was conflict.

"I do not seek fairness," she finally said, her voice resolute. "I seek justice. And justice does not ask for permission."

Juggernaut studied her for a long moment, then gave a slow nod.

"Then wake, young goddess. Your path begins."

The dream’s fading echoes still clung to her thoughts as Xerosis awoke beneath the ancient tree. The great roots cradled her like a sleeping infant, the air thick with the scent of earth and divinity. Yet the weight on her soul had not lightened.

She had seen the future—or at least, a version of it.

Justice did not serve the powerful.

Justice did not serve the weak.

It simply was.

A sharp exhale left her lips as her senses adjusted, but before she could gather herself, a familiar presence emerged from the golden mist before her.

Nana.

The old goddess stood with a knowing gaze, her gentle presence radiating warmth in contrast to the chaos that still churned within Xerosis. For some reason, Xerosis felt a deep, uncontrollable urge—to seek solace, to be held, if only for a moment.

She threw herself into Nana’s embrace, trembling as tears of blood streamed from her hollow eyes. Her body shook from exhaustion—not just of the flesh, but of the soul. The weight of justice, the weight of choice, threatened to consume her.

Nana’s arms were steady, unwavering, like a mother cradling a child who had wandered too far from home. She ran her fingers through Xerosis’ hair, her voice soft yet unbreakable.

"You have put too much pressure on yourself, child," she murmured. "But you will come to understand—your worries are naught once you ascend."

Xerosis, still raw from the battle within her heart, pulled back slightly, confusion clouding her face.

Would her worries truly fade? Could ascension grant her the clarity she desperately sought?

Her hands clenched into fists against Nana’s robes.

"Then why does it feel like I am losing myself?" Xerosis whispered. "Why do I feel like justice demands more than I can give?"

Nana smiled, though there was something old and knowing in her expression.

"Because it does."

Xerosis stiffened.

"Justice is not gentle, my dear," Nana continued. "It is cruel. It is merciless. And it will ask of you everything, whether you are willing to give it or not."

A lump formed in Xerosis’ throat.

"Then why do I walk this path?" she asked, voice strained.

Nana reached out, brushing a crimson tear from her cheek.

"Because you were born to."

Silence stretched between them, heavy yet comforting.

Then, Nana stepped back, folding her arms. "Now, child, tell me of your path."

Xerosis inhaled deeply as she began explaining the understanding she came to understand during her trail at last she said " Her voice was quiet but firm, unwavering despite the weight pressing upon her:

"I will not seek fairness. I will not seek peace."

"I will be justice. Even if it sets me against the world."

Nana’s gaze softened, her smile deepening. "Then, my dear child, you are ready."

As those words left her lips, the very air shifted. The sky above, infinite and unfathomable, pulsed with divine resonance. It was as if the stars themselves were leaning closer to bear witness.

With effortless grace, Nana lifted her hand, and in her palm a throne manifested—a construct of celestial authority, woven from the very essence of judgment. It was neither lavish nor imposing but carried an air of absolute certainty, of inevitability.

She raised it toward the heavens, and the vast cosmos, once impossibly distant, felt no further than an arm’s reach.

As she set the throne among the constellations of the ascended, Xerosis’ body began to rise.

The wounds and exhaustion that had plagued her from the trial, the battles, and the weight of her choices faded as golden light enveloped her. The divine aura seeped into her very being, strengthening her in ways beyond flesh and bone.

A veil-like hat materialized upon her head, its ethereal fabric cascading down to obscure her features. It was not meant to conceal her, but rather to symbolize her neutrality—justice’s refusal to be swayed by familiarity or sentiment.

Her throne awaited.

As her body ascended, the very essence of her domain took form among the celestial expanse. It was a realm woven into the fabric of divine authority, a dot of light among many—a seat of judgment, existing in tandem with the others.

And yet...

As she rose, her sight changed once more.

Despite her blindness, Xerosis had gained a vision far beyond mortal comprehension. And now, she saw them.

Figures clad in flowing robes of golden radiance stood in solemn observation. Each bore the insignia of judges, their presence exuding an overwhelming aura of impartiality and wisdom.

Yet, it was not their mere existence that shook her.

It was the threads that bound them.