North POV
Delaying ascension was never meant to be spoken aloud.
Gods were not taught to hesitate. From the moment divinity awakened, we were shaped to advance toward purpose, toward completion, toward the form the world demanded we become. To pause was not caution.
It was failure.
Yet that morning, I stood before the High Preservation Council and said only four words.
"Delay it by one cycle."
The reaction was immediate.
Cold spilled from me before I restrained it.The air thickened, pressing against lungs and wings alike.
Elders stiffened.
Angels straightened, wings half unfurled in reflex.
Saints froze, caught between prayer and panic.
Whispers rose and died just as quickly.
Only one person did nothing.
My father remained seated.
He did not frown.
He did not rise.
He did not speak.
My father joins the court only in special occasion.
Like today.
He only looked at me.
That silence unsettled me more than outrage ever could.
"One lunar cycle," I continued, my voice calm, controlled. "No longer."
A murmur rippled through the council.
Someone shifted.
Someone swallowed.
But no one dared to whisper my name.
At last, my father stood.
The room fell silent instantly.
"North," he said, his voice steady, carrying no divine pressure of its own. "Do you understand what you are asking?"
"I do."
"You are standing at the threshold," he continued. "The world has already begun to shape itself around your ascension. Delaying it will not make the pressure disappear."
"I know."
His gaze sharpened.
"Then why?" he asked. "Why step back when everything has aligned? Why hesitate now?"
I met his eyes.
"Because alignment is not safety," I replied.
A ripple of tension passed through the council.
My father studied my face carefully, as if searching for doubt.
"You fear failure?" he asked quietly.
"No."
"Death?"
"No."
"Loss of power?"
"No."
His jaw tightened slightly.
"Then speak," he said. "As my son before you speak as a god."
The chamber felt smaller.
I exhaled once.
"I have seen the cost of ascending alone," I said. "Not in prophecy. In consequence."
His eyes darkened.
"You believe waiting will change that cost?"
"No," I answered honestly. "But moving forward blindly guarantees it."
A long pause followed.
"You are Preservation," my father said slowly. "You exist to endure. To stabilize. To remain."
"And if I ascend without understanding what I am preserving," I replied, "then I will endure nothing but emptiness."
The words struck harder than frost.
Somewhere behind me, an elder inhaled sharply.
My father closed his eyes for a brief moment.
When he opened them again, the angel was gone.
Only a father remained.
"You were always like this," he said quietly. "Even as a child. You would stop before a door, not because you were afraid to open it—"
"But because I wanted to know what would break if I did."
His lips pressed together.
"Yes."
Silence stretched between us.
Finally, he nodded once.
"So be it," he said. "One cycle."
Relief flickered through the chamber, mixed with fear.
"The council will not interfere," he continued. "But understand this, North."
I waited.
"If you delay and the world fractures anyway," he said, "the blame will not fall on fate."
"It will fall on me," I finished.
"Yes."
I inclined my head.
"I accept that."
The council dissolved into low murmurs. Some fearful. Some uncertain. None brave enough to object.
Still, doubt clung to the air long after they departed, like frost that refused to melt.
My father did not stop me as I turned to leave.
But as I passed him, he spoke one last time.
"North."
I paused.
"Do not mistake restraint for mercy," he said quietly. "The world will not forgive hesitation."
I did not turn back.
"I am not asking it to," I replied. "I am asking it to survive."
After discussing about some domestic matter's I ended that court for today and left.
Everyone stood up but my father remaind in the court.
Alone.
_______________
The great doors of the High Preservation Court closed with a low, echoing sound.
Silence followed.
Not the respectful silence of an audience, nor the tense silence of judgment but the hollow kind that lingered after something important had already passed.
North was gone.
The elders had departed one by one, robes whispering against marble. Angels followed, wings drawn close, eyes averted. Saints offered final bows and left with prayers unfinished.
Soon, only one figure remained.
Neil stood at the center of the court, unmoving.
Faint traces of frost still clung to the marble floor where his son had stood. Thin lines of white spread like veins through stone, slowly fading as the hall's preservation wards corrected the imbalance.
Neil did not intervene.
He watched the frost melt on its own.
His hands were clasped behind his back, posture straight, expression composed. To anyone who might have seen him now, he would have appeared unchanged still the unshakable pillar of the Kingdom of Preservation.
But the court was empty.
There was no one left to maintain appearances for.
A soft sound broke the silence.
Footsteps.
Light. Unhurried.
Neil did not turn, yet he knew who it was the moment she crossed the threshold.
Elsa entered the court alone.
The doors closed behind her, sealing them within the vast chamber. Her presence felt different from the others who had stood here earlier. Where the air had been cold and tight, it eased slightly, as if remembering warmth.
She stopped a few steps behind him.
For a while, she said nothing.
Her eyes traced the empty seats. The vacant space at the center. The place where North had stood when he spoke those four words that had frozen the room.
"Everyone's gone," she said softly.
"Yes," Neil replied.
Her gaze settled on the fading frost.
"…He left quickly."
"He always does," Neil said.
Elsa stepped closer until she stood beside him. She folded her hands before her, fingers lacing together in a familiar gesture one she used when she was worried but trying not to show it.
For a moment, they simply stood there.
Then she spoke again.
"When he asked for the delay," she said, "you didn't hesitate."
Neil's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
"I couldn't," he said.
She turned to look at him then.
"You could have refused," she said gently. "The council would have followed your lead."
"I know."
"You could have demanded an explanation."
"I didn't need one."
Elsa studied his profile. The lines at the corner of his eyes. The stillness he wore like armor.
"…Why?" she asked.
Neil was quiet for a long time.
When he finally spoke, his voice was lower than before.
"Because if I had asked him to justify it," he said, "he would have."
Elsa's breath caught.
"And that," he continued, "would have meant he believed he needed permission to protect himself."
She looked away.
Neil exhaled slowly.
"I saw it in him today," he said. "Not fear. Not doubt."
His voice softened.
"Weight."
Elsa closed her eyes.
"He carries too much," she whispered.
"Yes."
"He always has."
Neil's fingers curled slightly, then relaxed.
"I taught him that," he said.
Elsa turned sharply. "Neil—"
"I praised him every time he endured," he went on. "Every time he solved problems alone. Every time he stayed calm when others broke."
He let out a quiet, humorless breath.
"I taught him how to be strong," he said. "But I never taught him how to rest."
Elsa reached out, placing her hand over his.
"He came to us," she said. "He spoke. He didn't disappear."
"Not yet," Neil replied.
The word lingered between them.
She tightened her grip on his hand.
"Do you regret allowing the delay?" she asked.
Neil did not answer immediately.
His gaze drifted upward, toward the high ceiling, as if he could see beyond stone and wards beyond the palace, beyond the kingdom.
Toward the road his son now walked.
"No," he said at last. "I regret that the world made him believe delay was weakness."
Elsa swallowed.
"He smiled when he was younger," she said suddenly.
Neil stiffened.
"You remember," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "He used to laugh at the smallest things. Snow falling. Birds arguing. The way his cloak never sat right."
"Yes," Neil said quietly.
"He laughs less now."
Neil closed his eyes.
The silence returned, heavier than before.
Outside the sealed court, the kingdom moved on. Bells rang. Servants worked. Life continued, unaware that something precious had shifted.
Neil opened his eyes.
"He chose not to ascend alone," he said.
Elsa looked at him.
"That matters."
"Yes," he agreed. "More than the council will ever understand."
They stood together in the empty court, beneath a ceiling that had witnessed centuries of judgment , power and Parents.
Watching the space where their son had stood and feeling, for the first time,
how far ahead of them he had already walked.
_______________