"If doing whatever it is you need to do will bring you peace, then do so," she said at last, her voice steady. Then she fell silent and began walking toward the great doors of the palace.

Just as her hand touched the gilded handle, she stopped. Without turning, she asked, "Can I take over the teaching of the crown prince?"

Nwadiebeube, caught off guard, widened his eyes. But after a brief pause, he understood. A slow nod followed. "He is lucky to have you guiding his growth."

The princess inclined her head slightly, though her face remained hidden, and continued her departure. The heavy doors closed behind her, their echo lingering in the vast chamber.

The king sat back on his throne, his expression calmer than it had been all day. The gnawing conflict in his heart eased, if only slightly. His sister was one of the few people he would not allow himself to disappoint, and her words had steadied him more than she could know.

"Pride as a human…" he murmured, letting the phrase roll across his tongue. Then, suddenly, laughter burst from his chest, a deep, unrestrained laughter that filled the court and bounced against its marble pillars.

How strange it was, he thought, that such words came from Nwadimma, who once would never have spoken them, who once found such notions fragile, almost childish. Yet here she was, speaking them with unshakable conviction.

And in that conviction, he found a piece of himself he thought he had lost.

Meanwhile, back when Nwadiebube had his maid inform the envoys about the court meeting, the whispers of this decision did not remain confined within the palace walls. The news rippled outward, reaching even the apeling, who in turn carried it swiftly back to Zephyr.

Upon hearing it, Zephyr's first instinct was to act. His blood stirred with the reflex his father, Ikem, had instilled in him to always watch the humans closely, to correct their missteps before they could spiral into disaster.

But he stopped himself.

Unlike Ikem, whose vigilance over humankind had shaped much of their history, Zephyr found the practice increasingly hollow. He had been raised under the same doctrines, taught that humans could never be trusted with their own strength or ambition, yet he found himself questioning it more and more.

Why not let humans deal with human problems? he often asked himself.

It wasn't that he was blind to the truth of his father's caution. He understood well enough that unchecked human ambition could threaten not only themselves but even the balance of the wider world. Still, Zephyr could not shake a restless disdain for the pattern: step in, correct, restrain, and watch the same cycle repeat again and again.

Where Ikem saw duty, Zephyr saw monotony.

To him, it was almost comical. He, the leader of the apeling kingdom, rarely had to interfere with his own people's affairs. The apelings governed themselves with a natural harmony, their disputes never spiraling into the destructive chaos humans so easily courted. Yet somehow, his time and thought were consumed not by his kingdom's wellbeing, but by the endless need to manage humans.

And lately, he had begun to wonder if perhaps the humans needed their mistakes. If perhaps, in shielding them, Ikem had denied them something essential.

Hence, once the news reached him, Zephyr chose not to act. He gave no order to interfere with Nwadiebube or the meeting. Instead, he instructed his watchers to continue their quiet surveillance of the envoys.

The humans, he decided, could bear the weight of their own choices. But the same could not be said for the envoys and, more importantly, the master who had sent them. If they revealed even the faintest intent to stir trouble among the apelings or bend the balance of the wider world, then he would strike without hesitation. Until that moment, however, he would wait. Let the humans wrestle with the monster they had willingly welcomed into their halls.

His concerns lay elsewhere.

Zephyr's most pressing issue was not the humans but his own people. The apelings were strong, their bodies unmatched, their minds keen, their kingdom overflowing with abundance and stability. But therein lay the problem: they had grown too comfortable. Too wealthy. Too unchallenged. A race born for growth and struggle had become dulled by their own prosperity.

He had seen the same sickness elsewhere, a human kingdom far across the sea, once mighty, now rotting under the weight of its own excess. Its fall was slow but steady, born not of enemies but of its own complacency. Zephyr would not allow his people to share such a fate.

He had already had the foundation of a countermeasure. Measures designed to shake his people and other godlings race from their stupor and awaken their hunger for growth once more. Yet pieces of the design were still missing, elements only the chaos of the wider world could supply.

And in this, perhaps, the humans had their use.

Whatever storm brewed in this continent, whether kings, demons, or envoys. It might well provide the very equation he needed to complete his design.

Down in the western continent lay the Humanity Kingdom, the first human realm to rise from scattered tribes into a unified nation. Once hailed as a beacon of potential, it was believed that this kingdom would serve as the model for all other human domains, a shining example of unity, ambition, and progress.

For a time, it lived up to that expectation. Its scholars reached far in their studies, its warriors pushed back rival powers, and its people carried a fiery determination to expand and strengthen themselves. That fire burned brightest during the great war against their equal, a rival kingdom whose power and influence threatened to snuff out their existence. The conflict was long and bloody, but in the end, the Humanity Kingdom emerged victorious, though at a tremendous cost. Their armies lay shattered, their fields barren, and their population thinned to a fraction of what it once was.

Yet all assumed that from these ashes, the kingdom would rise anew. Many expected the war to be a crucible, forging an even stronger and prouder Humanity Kingdom that would dominate the continent. But the opposite happened.

After the war, something subtle yet profound shifted. The kingdom did not surge forward in conquest or ambition. The drive to grow, to grasp at greatness, seemed to vanish. Instead, a strange new desire took root among its people, a yearning not for glory, but for something quieter, simpler, almost decadent. The hunger to achieve and expand, which had once defined them, was replaced with a hunger to endure, to live comfortably, to never again be consumed by the furnace of war.

It is still debated whether this transformation was born from the will of their sovereign or the soul of the people themselves. Did the king guide them toward this path, weary of sacrifice and loss, or had this yearning always been there, buried beneath ambition, waiting for the king's blessing to bloom? Whatever the truth, with his permission or perhaps his silent approval, the new desire grew.

The Humanity Kingdom no longer chased greatness. Instead, it became a land where ambition turned inward, where strength was no longer a tool for expansion but a means to preserve stability. Their warriors blade dulled, their scholars slowed, and their leaders ceased to dream of empire. Other kingdoms looked upon them with a mix of confusion and disdain, wondering how the once-bright hope of humanity had dulled into something so strange, so alien.

It was difficult to fathom how a kingdom once hailed as the vanguard of humanity's potential had become what it was now after so many years. A forsaken land, shunned and condemned by all. To set foot in the Humanity Kingdom was to sever ties with the rest of the world. Any traveler, merchant, or wanderer who dared cross its borders found themselves branded and banned from every other kingdom. No exceptions. No mercy.

The reason was as clear as it was horrifying: the Humanity Kingdom had become the greatest concentration of cursed beings in existence. What once had been the heart of human ambition was now a breeding ground for cursed spirits and cursed being most prominently, those born of lust.

Unlike other cursed beings, whose birth often twisted flesh into grotesque forms, the ones touched by the cursed spirits of lust manifested differently. Their appearance did not degrade, it intensified. Beauty became sharper, alluring beyond measure, and their presence carried an intoxicating pull. What should have been monstrous became dangerously enchanting, spreading like a plague that was both desired and feared.

To outsiders, the rise of these cursed beings seemed inevitable given the Humanity Kingdom's strange decline and latest hobby. In the wake of their devastating losses, King Erik himself had sowed the seeds of ruin. Faced with empty fields, silent villages, and dwindling numbers, he sought to restore his kingdom through indulgence.

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