SUPREME ARCH-MAGUS

The 7 Eternal Sages Sanctuary…

The sanctuary was in complete peace. The animals were playing all around with happy cries.

The eternal sages, clad in normal looking robes, were deep in discussion about the Yaga energy. Each face bore the weight of countless ages, their expressions contemplative and grave.

"A half of Yaga energy will be sufficient to achieve our objective. A quarter of it goes to Kent. What do we do with this reamaing Yaga energy?" Sage Paras asked, his voice heavy with concern.@@novelbin@@

"Protection?" Sage Konan asked with a doubtful concern. "This is not the time for restraint. With the Demon Prince dead and the Abyssal Ghosts now surely moving, we should use this energy to strengthen ourselves and prepare for war."

Sage Paras raised a gnarled hand to silence him. "The Yaga energy was gifted to us by the gods themselves. Its purpose is not to serve personal ambitions but to sustain the world. To use it for war would be to dishonor its essence."

"Then what do you propose, Paras? That we simply store it away like relics in a treasury while chaos brews around us?" The 4th sage asked with a serious look.

Paras closed his eyes, his voice calm but resolute. "The Yaga energy should be dispersed slowly, through the natural currents of the world. It will restore vitality to the land and bring peace to realms scarred by the demonic wars."

A younger sage, Avir, hesitated before speaking. "But what of Kent? He was the one who brought this energy to fruition. Should he not have a say in its use?"

All eyes turned briefly to Kent, who sat alone under a massive tree at the edge of the sanctuary. His form was still, his thoughts seemingly elsewhere, far removed from the sages' debate.

The second sage sighed. "That one is lost in his own world. He doesn't even know what path he walks, let alone what to do with the Yaga energy. This is a matter for us, not for him."

Paras glanced at Kent, his gaze softening.

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Kent sat beneath the large green tree, its sprawling branches casting shadows that danced with the flickering light of the sanctuary. The raised platform beneath him was cool, grounding him as his thoughts churned. He was still, but inside, a tempest raged.

The words of the Goddess of Life echoed in his mind: "Find your own path… believe in yourself… the gods will not guide you."

"What path?" Kent muttered to himself, staring at the ground. "What do I even want? Power? Vengeance? Peace?"

In his soul space, the Goddess of Lust, a radiant figure with an air of commanding allure, leaned against the swirling wall of energy. Her voice was sultry but steady as she spoke. "You're overthinking, Kent. Your path will be decided by fate. Don't suffer over it."

Kent closed his eyes. "Then tell me, Goddess, how did you find your path? How did you become a demigod?"

The goddess chuckled softly, her eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and nostalgia. "It's not a glamorous story, I assure you. I was born a slave to a wealthy family. My life was nothing but servitude—scrubbing floors, enduring abuse, and dreaming of freedom.

"But I had a sharp mind and an even sharper will. I watched the sons and daughters of that family practice magic, learning their spells and techniques in secret. My desire to escape—no, to rule—grew with every passing day. It consumed me.

"I clawed my way up, Kent, through blood, pain, and betrayal. I sought power relentlessly because my desire burned brighter than anything else. That desire led me to godhood." She smirked. "Desire, Kent, is the foundation of every path."

Kent nodded slowly, digesting her words. "So, your desire was your guide."

"Precisely," she replied. "And yours will be too—once you figure out what it is."

Turning his attention, Kent addressed another presence in his soul space. "And you, God of Mischief. What was your path?"

The ancient figure materialized reluctantly, his sly, fox-like eyes narrowing at Kent. "Why should I tell you?"

Kent's voice grew cold. "Because if you don't, I'll throw your soul into open space, where it will drift for eternity."

The God of Mischief sighed dramatically. "Fine, fine. No need for threats. I was born into luxury, Kent—my family controlled an entire city. Wealth, power, and influence were mine by birthright. I lived a life of indulgence, wasting my days in pleasure houses."

His voice darkened. "But then, a rival family rose to challenge us. They killed my parents and branded my forehead with fool words before banishing me. My heart burned with vengeance, but I was powerless against their might, especially since they had the backing of the emperor family blessed by the God of Righteousness.

"That's when I realized the truth: I could never defeat them as I was. To crush my enemies, I needed to rise above them—and above the gods who protected them. That desire drove me to embrace mischief and cunning. I became a god not through strength, but through wit and perseverance."

The god's eyes glinted with pride. "It wasn't easy. I suffered countless defeats and humiliations. But in the end, my desire shaped my path."

Kent sat in silence, pondering their words. Two gods—so different, yet both driven by desire. He looked up at the sky, its vast expanse stretching endlessly above him.

"What is my desire?" he murmured. "What is my path?"

The sanctuary grew quiet as the sages' debate ended. Kent remained under the tree, lost in thought. His mind replayed the desires of the Goddess of Lust and the God of Mischief—their pain, their determination, their triumphs.

His own thoughts swirled chaotically. He thought of his father, whose shadow loomed large over his life. He thought of his mother, whose suffering had driven him to seek power. He thought of vengeance, of peace, of strength.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't pinpoint the burning desire in his heart.

"Why can't I see it?" he whispered, frustration lacing his voice. "What do I want? To defeat my father? To save my mother? To become the strongest? Or is it something else entirely?"

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Tq you all!