The Guardian gods

Chapter 373: 373

The ratman leader, also pulling back with his forces, abruptly stopped. He scanned the retreating crowd, searching for Phantom, though there was no trace of him. Determined, the leader occasionally grabbed a fellow ratman, scrutinizing their features in his search.

Unaware of this, Phantom had already moved far from the battlefield. He now felt the full weight of the world pressing against him, no longer shielded by the corrupted lands’ influence.

The oppressive sensation didn’t last long. Not far from where he stood, Ikenga’s carriage materialized. Phantom shifted back into his true form—his face a constantly shifting mosaic of features—as he stepped inside the carriage. Instantly, the crushing pressure dissipated.

Ikenga greeted him with a warm smile. Phantom, like a child caught in mischief, dropped to one knee and bowed his head. "I apologize, my lord. I let myself get carried away."

Ikenga stepped forward, placing a firm but gentle hand on Phantom’s shoulder and lifting him to his feet. "No, my son, you did well. Your gift was given to you so you could learn and forge your own path. Watching how you chose to use it brings me joy."

One of the many faces flickering across Phantom’s form briefly displayed surprise before disappearing. Phantom turned to bow toward Keles, who acknowledged him with a nod. Taking his seat as directed, Phantom waited attentively.

Ikenga studied him thoughtfully before asking, "Keles and I watched your actions with the ratmen. Tell me, was it worth it?"

Phantom sat in the carriage, his ever-shifting face momentarily settling into a blank, neutral expression as he considered Ikenga’s question. The steady rhythm of the carriage wheels and the eerie, hushed calm within the protected space offered stark contrast to the chaos he’d just left behind.

He finally spoke, his voice carrying a tone of reflection and curiosity. "Worth it? That depends on what you mean, my lord. The ratman leader intrigued me. His fire burned brighter than most, even in the face of despair. I wanted to see how far he would go... how long that light could last before it was extinguished. In the end, he survived, but at what cost? His hope now walks a knife’s edge."

Ikenga leaned back, his eyes keen and probing. "And you? Did you find satisfaction in watching their struggle? Or were you seeking something else entirely?"

Phantom hesitated. For a moment, one of the faces on his head shifted into an expression of unease, only to fade back into a calm mask. "I sought understanding, my lord. They are so fragile, yet they cling to their purpose with such fervor. I thought perhaps I could learn something from them... something about myself."

Keles, silent until now, leaned forward, her voice soft but edged with critique. "And did you, Phantom? Did their desperate attempts to survive teach you anything, or was it merely a fleeting amusement?"

Phantom’s form shifted slightly, the faces on his body flickering in a kaleidoscope of emotions before settling once again. "Perhaps a bit of both," he admitted. "But their resilience was... admirable, in its way. Even knowing they stood against impossible odds, they fought. Even as despair consumed them, they pressed on. It made me question whether their hope is truly a strength—or merely a distraction from inevitable ruin."

Ikenga chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that filled the space. "I have a question for you, son. When did the flames of ambition become hope to you? Or are they so similar that you’ve blurred the line?"

Phantom’s expression shifted into one of confusion at Ikenga’s words. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the question, but rather that he couldn’t answer when, exactly, he had begun to call it hope.

His talent allowed him to see ambition in most beings—the drive that pushed them to act as they did. If that was true, then surely the light he had seen in the ratmen was ambition.

"Ambition for what?" Phantom thought to himself. Their situation had been utterly hopeless without outside intervention. How could ambition spark in one of them?

Was the line between ambition and hope so easily blurred? Phantom found himself lost in deep confusion, unable to answer Ikenga’s question.

Ikenga observed Phantom’s silence with a knowing smile, his eyes glinting with an almost playful wisdom. "You see, my son," he began, pacing slowly within the carriage’s dimly lit interior, "ambition and hope are not opposites, nor are they identical. They are threads from the same cloth, often tangled, sometimes indistinguishable. But there is a difference—a subtle one, yet profound."

Phantom’s ever-shifting face flickered between expressions of frustration and curiosity, his voice uncertain. "Then tell me, my lord. How do I discern between them? What separates one from the other?"

Ikenga paused, his towering frame casting long shadows as he gestured with open hands. "Ambition seeks to achieve, to grasp what lies ahead, often for oneself. It is fueled by desire and a vision of what could be. Hope, however, clings to what is, fragile yet unyielding. It does not demand control but instead whispers, ’Perhaps... perhaps all is not lost.’"

Phantom mulled over the words, his form momentarily still as his thoughts churned. "Then the ratman... his fire was ambition, wasn’t it? A drive to change his fate, to conquer the despair that surrounded him?"

Ikenga’s smile widened, his voice gentle but firm. "Indeed, his was ambition. A fierce, desperate blaze that burned because he believed he could shape his destiny. But here’s where the line blurs: to his companions, to those who followed his lead, his ambition became hope. It gave them purpose, even if fleeting, in the face of annihilation."

Phantom’s face shifted again, a mask of realization forming for a brief moment before melting into a neutral expression. "So, the distinction is not in the flame itself, but in how it is perceived... by the one who carries it and by those who witness it."

Ikenga nodded. "Precisely. And it is a lesson worth remembering. For what you saw on the battlefield was not merely a struggle of flesh and steel, but of ideals—ambition feeding hope, hope fueling resilience. Even the demons you so disdain play this game, though their flames often burn with cruelty and self-interest."

Phantom’s gaze dropped to his hands, which flickered with the faint glow of his own power. "Then what of me, my lord? Do I carry ambition, or do I offer hope?"

The carriage fell silent for a moment as Ikenga studied Phantom, his expression softening. "That, my son, is for you to decide. But know this: the one who understands the balance between ambition and hope wields a power few can rival. For in that balance lies the ability to inspire or destroy."

Keles, who had been quietly listening, finally spoke, her voice calm and deliberate. "And if you find that answer, Phantom, remember that it is not fixed. It will change, as all things do. What matters is that you remain vigilant, aware of the flame you carry and its impact on the world around you."

Phantom looked up, his face cycling through a mix of determination and gratitude. "I will, my lord. And you, Keles. Thank you."

Ikenga’s eyes gleamed with knowing amusement as Phantom wrestled with his thoughts. He leaned forward, resting his chin on interlaced fingers. "You see, Phantom, ambition and hope are but two sides of the same flame. One burns to achieve, the other to endure. Perhaps the real question isn’t when you began to see hope—but why you couldn’t see it before."

Phantom’s faces flickered again, reflecting his turmoil. "Perhaps... I was too focused on outcomes," he murmured, almost to himself. "Ambition drives towards a goal, an end. But hope... hope seems to exist purely in the act of striving, regardless of the result."

Keles tilted her head, her sharp eyes piercing. "So, you’ve observed their resilience, their ability to cling to hope even when all logic dictates surrender. Yet here you sit, unable to comprehend the roots of their flame. Tell me, Phantom, is it understanding you lack—or is it something more fundamental? Have you ever had hope yourself?"

Her question struck deeper than Phantom expected. For all his ability to observe and mimic the emotions of others, he realized hope had always been a distant concept. Ambition, yes—that he understood. It was tangible, something he could grasp and dissect. But hope? Hope was an intangible force, elusive and maddening.

"I... do not know," Phantom admitted. "Hope feels like an abstraction, a refusal to accept what is inevitable. And yet, when I see it in others, it stirs something within me. Something... unsettling."

Ikenga chuckled again, his voice like rolling thunder. "Unsettling, is it? That’s the weight of possibility, son. It’s easier to dismiss hope as folly than to reckon with its power. The question remains, though: does witnessing their hope change you, or does it merely amuse you? If you claim to seek understanding, what are you prepared to sacrifice to gain it?"

Phantom’s shifting faces froze for a moment as the weight of the question settled over him. "Sacrifice?" he echoed. "What could I sacrifice that would bring me closer to an answer?"