The Guardian gods
Chapter 543

Chapter 543: 543

"Do you understand now, Rattan? You are not just endangering the Goblins. You are putting the entire foundation of this world’s balance at risk. And you are placing your own people—your kin, your blood—in the path of extinction."

Vellok’s voice grew quieter, almost reverent, as he gestured again toward the pulsating mass beneath them—Mother. The light in his eyes dimmed, but his words carried the weight of history carved in blood and secrecy.

"Mother is the continuation of our race... and our most sacred, most preserved secret. It is because of her—because of the lie we buried in silence—that we are able to maintain the illusion of a normal, functioning society."

He looked at Rattan, his expression unreadable.

"Our people—our entire race—no longer understands the concept of bloodlines. Of mother or father. Those words exist in stories, in formality, but not in meaning. They were erased—surgically removed—from the soul of the goblin identity."

He walked toward one of the conduits connected to Mother’s flesh, its dull green glow illuminating his grim features.

"Through subtle manipulation, cultural redirection, and magical suggestion, we made it so that procreation between male and female goblins is seen as natural, even expected. But it is a lie. A beautiful, necessary lie."

Vellok’s tone darkened as he recounted the origin of their new race.

"We were not born—we were grown. Bred in containment vats, stabilized by arcane filtration systems. The prototypes of a new era. And when we were deemed stable—our minds sharpened, our bodies perfected—the rest of our kin were declared obsolete."

He let the words hang in the air.

"They were condemned."

"All of them."

"The mages wiped out the old goblins, down to the last screaming child. Not out of hatred, but out of cold necessity. There could be no coexistence. No split evolution. Only us, the improved ones—the engineered vessels of a new destiny."

He turned toward Rattan, his gaze now heavy with something that felt like shame.

"But even our birth was not what it seemed. You see, the mages didn’t just change our minds and bodies—they rewrote the source of our reproduction itself."

Vellok took a breath, as if steeling himself to say the next part aloud.

"Every female goblin born after that—every last one—carries a latent magical seed embedded within her womb. It is inert, lifeless... unless it is awakened."

He pointed down to Mother.

"That... is her role."

"The Mother Organ doesn’t birth us directly. She doesn’t swell with children like some goddess of fertility. No. She emits a subtle magical frequency, a fertility aura that flows unseen through the environment. It is like pollen on the wind, like static in the air. It drifts through the underground, through the rivers, through the dreams of our people..."

He stepped back from the conduit, voice tightening with intensity.

"And when a goblin female—unknowing, innocent—lives near Mother long enough, that aura activates the seed inside her. Her body begins to change. She grows heavy, as if naturally pregnant. She believes it is from her partner, from love, from chance. But it is a lie. The child was never theirs. It was grown by design, shaped by our buried programming."

Vellok’s voice dropped into something softer, more intimate—like a priest sharing a sacred truth too heavy for the common mind.

"Over time, we wove a tradition... a beautiful, quiet rite. A goblin male, when planning to start a family, performs the secret blood offering. It is seen as a gesture of love, of commitment to one’s partner. A symbolic ritual to bless the union and usher in a healthy child."

He gave a humorless smile.

"But it is not love he feeds. It is not a family he empowers."

He looked directly at Rattan.

"That blood is for Mother. That offering, drawn with reverence and poured in secrecy, becomes fuel. It nourishes her. It sharpens her pulse. With every offering, a channel opens—and from her vast, unseen body, a wave of activation energy flows."

He stepped closer, the pulsating light of the hidden organ behind him casting shadows on the walls like veins.

"That energy then reaches out... unseen, unfelt... and it selects."

"It selects a female goblin—one who lives close enough to Mother’s aura, whose latent seed is ready. And then the spark ignites."

He snapped his fingers sharply.

"The ’pregnancy’ begins. So ordinary. So natural. A swelling belly. The tender joy of expectation. A child on the way, born of love, nurtured by hope..."

"But the truth is far colder."

His voice hardened.

"The true father of the child is not the male who offered his blood. Not truly. The child’s blueprint comes from Mother—from the essence she was imbued with by the mages. It is she who shapes the child. It is she who determines its strength, its talents, its loyalty."

Vellok circled Rattan now, slowly, deliberately.

"We let our people believe it was their will that shaped their children. We let them believe in ancestry, in lineages, in affection."

"But there are no bloodlines. No parents. Only hosts. Only vessels."

He stopped in front of Rattan, face twisted in quiet fury.

"You are able to stand in front of me today because of that process. You exist because of a blood-offering made in ignorance. Because a mother believed in a child that wasn’t hers."

His voice sharpened into a warning.

"And yet—that same process... that ancient, hidden lifeline of our race... is what you are now on the path to rendering useless."

He thrust a finger at Rattan’s chest, eyes aflame with intensity.

"You and Kaelen. Your actions are unsealing old truths. Stirring old blood. If the Ratfolk rise again, the world will remember who its first children truly are. The seal will break. And Mother—this sacred, infected god-organ—will be recognized for what she is."

"And then the world will purge her."

"And with her death... will come the extinction of us all."

Rattan could hardly describe the surge of emotion coursing through him. It was a cruel mix of ecstasy and terror—ecstasy from witnessing the downfall of a force once thought untouchable, and sheer dread at the uncertain path that lay ahead.

The information Vellok had just revealed left him breathless. A truth too heavy to ignore.

He understood, in that moment, that he stood at a precipice. One wrong move, one moment of hesitation, and Vellok would turn him into ash without a second thought. And the Ogre King—once his shield, his patron—would not lift a finger to save him now. His worth had plummeted since the recent events with the Empire. In the eyes of power, he was expendable.

But Rattan’s ambition would not die here. If anything, it flared hotter. What he had just heard validated his path, confirmed that his cause—his dream of liberation for the ratfolk—was just. He had to live. He must continue. Even if survival now meant swallowing his pride.

Questions lingered on his tongue—bitter, burning questions for Vellok—but he knew better. Silence would serve him more than curiosity. He forced himself into character, his face transforming, like an actor on stage slipping into a role he’d rehearsed a hundred times.

He let his eyes widen with fear, his posture slump with guilt. He dropped to one knee, head bowed low.

"Your Grace," he began, voice cracking, "I had no idea the consequences of my actions. It was never my intention for things to spiral like this. I merely sought to push the Empire—to awaken it, to force it to fight for its people. To give them a reason to believe in themselves again."

He hesitated, eyes darting to the floor as if seeking forgiveness there.

"Lord Kaelen was the only one who offered support. He claimed to want the same thing—a better Empire. I thought... I thought we were allies. But clearly, I was deceived. He had his own agenda, and I see now that I was a pawn in it."

His voice quivered as tears welled in his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. There was sincerity in it—perhaps not for the reasons he claimed, but the shame, the regret, the fear... all real.

"I feel such deep shame for what I’ve done. For the thought that I may have doomed the very people I meant to save. Please, Your Grace..."

He raised his eyes, shimmering with desperation.

"Give me the chance to make it right."

Vellok’s presence was suffocating—like a mountain pressing down on Rattan’s shoulders. The older being’s shadow loomed over him, thick with power and authority. Then, slowly, deliberately, Vellok placed a heavy hand upon Rattan’s bowed head. It was not a gesture of comfort—it was a reminder. A warning.

"I don’t need your loyalty, boy," Vellok said, his voice deep and steady, like the rumble of distant thunder. "What I need is for you to understand the reality of your position... as a goblin. And how dangerously close you are to dragging your people into ruin."

Each word struck like a hammer. Rattan dared not move.

"Kaelen believes he can achieve what even the Archmages failed to do. That’s why he didn’t bother to explain the dangers of the path he set you on—he thinks he’s above them. He thinks you are expendable."

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