As the grand dragon descended, the air shimmered with divine power. The massive creature's tail sent gusts rippling through the clouds, scattering petals and divine motes.
Beneath the storm of glory, two figures began to descend.
Vanitas's expression was perfectly composed, proud and commanding, her gaze sharp as diamonds.
Kafka, on the other hand, looked utterly mortified. His face was red, his posture tense, his voice dropping to an embarrassed whisper as he leaned toward her.
"Mom..." He muttered. "Was it really necessary for all that? The dragon, the music, the lights, look at them! They're staring at us like we just brought a circus into heaven. We've practically disrupted the entire event."
Vanitas's lips curled into an elegant smirk.
"Oh, please, Kafka." She said dismissively. "That was nothing. I was considering riding an entire planet down here instead, but you insisted we keep things 'modest.'" She gestured grandly to the dragon beneath them. "This is modest, by my standards."
Kafka groaned. "Mom, you can't just—"
She cut him off with a playful scoff.
"The others are only jealous they can't make such an entrance themselves. You, my dear, deserve nothing less than the heavens trembling at your arrival."
He sighed, muttering under his breath, "More like trembling in second-hand embarrassment..."
Vanitas ignored him entirely, tilting her chin upward.
"Now listen to me." She said firmly, her tone shifting from amused to commanding as they descended closer to the gathered gods. "When we land, keep your head high. Do not smile. Do not chat."
"Many of them will try to greet you, to flatter you, to test your composure. Simply nod, like me. You are my son. You must carry yourself like it."
Kafka's lips twisted in disbelief.
"You seriously want me to act like—"
"Like a god." She interrupted. "You are one."
He let out a resigned sigh just as they reached the garden.
The moment their feet touched the ground, the reaction was instantaneous.
Every god and demi-god present, every celestial creature, every spirit, even the ambient life-force of the realm itself, bowed.
Wings folded. Knees bent. Voices rang out in near unison:
"Greetings, Lady Vanitas!"
A faint smile curved Vanitas's lips. She surveyed the crowd, eyes half-lidded, her presence radiating calm authority.
Kafka could feel how much she was enjoying the reverence. Her pride shimmered like sunlight on glass.
A group of gods rushed forward, bowing deeply.
"It's truly an honor to have you here, Lady Vanitas." One said.
"We've prepared everything to your liking." Said another.
"You will find no inconvenience today." Added a third, their voice trembling slightly under her gaze.
Vanitas gave a single, graceful nod, acknowledging them without a word.
She didn't need to speak; her silence itself was majestic.
Then she turned her head slightly toward Kafka, her look saying, 'See? This is how it's done.'
Kafka exhaled quietly. Then came his turn.
From among the crowd, three familiar figures approached—Amora, Wisteria, and Ivanova. All of them were smiling warmly, their glow softer than before.
"Kafka!" Amora greeted first, her eyes sparkling. "It's been far too long. You've grown even more handsome since I last saw you."
"Indeed." Wisteria said, her tone lilting and fond. "And that outfit suits you perfectly. Simple yet elegant. It complements you well."
Ivanova nodded, adding playfully, "You've outdone even the angels, young man."
Vanitas's gaze flicked toward her son expectantly, certain he would simply nod coldly and walk on.
But Kafka...smiled and he stepped forward, bowing his head humbly.
"Lady Amora, Lady Wisteria, Lady Ivanova, it's a pleasure to see you again. You all look gorgeous, as always."
"And honestly..." He said with a light chuckle. "I'm glad I get to see all three of you here again. It's been far too long.'
"Lady Amora, your passion hasn't dimmed one bit, still the embodiment of love itself. And Lady Wisteria, that aura of yours could outshine the stars. I'd say the heavens look dull beside you. And Ivanova...." He added with a playful grin. "...you look so lively that I'm starting to wonder if the harvest season itself follows wherever you go."
The goddesses laughed, Amora covering her lips, Wisteria shaking her head with an amused sigh, and Ivanova's cheeks flushing faintly.
Kafka's casual tone, the warmth in his words, and the lack of stiffness in his gestures made him seem approachable in a way no god ever truly was.
When Amora leaned closer, teasing, "Still as silver-tongued as ever, I see." Kafka grinned and gently took her hand for a brief, respectful kiss on the knuckles. "Only when the audience deserves it."
That small gesture sent ripples through the nearby crowd.
Soon, other gods began to approach, drawn in by his presence.
What started as three goddesses around him turned into five, then ten, then dozens each one smiling, laughing, or bowing slightly as they greeted him.
Kafka also greeted everyone the same way, with humility and gentle sincerity.
He remembered small details too. To one goddess, he said, "I remember your harp music from the last trial, it was beautiful."
To another, "You were the one who kept giving me advice during my ascension to heaven, weren't you? I never got to thank you properly."
Each remark made them feel seen, remembered, and important. Soon, what had been a gathering marked by reverence for Lady Vanitas was slowly tilting toward admiration for her son instead.
The divine garden buzzed softly with laughter and conversation, gods leaning in, wings brushing lightly as they surrounded Kafka like a living constellation.
Meanwhile, from a distance, Vanitas stood frozen in disbelief.
Her eyes narrowed as she watched her son, her son, smiling, chatting, laughing freely with gods who should have been beneath him.
"He's talking to them." She muttered under her breath. "Openly. Cheerfully. He's—he's hugging them."
Indeed, when one goddess embraced him in greeting, Kafka didn't shy away. He hugged her back with a friendly smile, thanking her for coming.
The other goddesses watching squealed softly, their composure slipping as they giggled and whispered.
Vanitas's elegant fan trembled in her hand.
"He's gone rogue." She hissed quietly to herself. "He's abandoned all decorum! Betrayed me! I told him—no smiling, no warmth, no, no hugging! Look at him! They're flocking to him like moths!"
She could practically feel her pride unraveling strand by strand.
Meanwhile, Kafka, oblivious to his mother's growing mortification, continued being his charming, humble self.
When one of the gods nervously said, "You're far more approachable than I expected, Lord Kafka."
He just laughed softly and said, "Please, just Kafka is fine. Titles make things awkward."
That answer earned another round of delighted chuckles.
By this point, Vanitas had her hand pressed dramatically to her forehead, muttering in disbelief, "My son, the ruler of worlds...what an unspeakable tragedy for my dignity."
Yet even through her flustered outrage, a reluctant smile began to tug at her lips. Because as much as Kafka had completely gone against her instructions...
...he had effortlessly won over the heavens themselves.
Vanitas had just begun to relax, arms folded as she watched her son effortlessly charm the gathering—when a shrill, almost manic voice pierced through the serene hum of conversation.
"Kafka! You're finally here! My darling Kafka! You've come for me!"
The sound alone made half the gods flinch. Heads snapped toward the horizon as a streak of silver light tore through the sky like a comet.
Descending at impossible speed was a dazzling figure—a goddess wrapped in swirling constellations, her hair a flowing cascade of starlight.
She sparkled with divine luminescence, her presence both awe-inspiring and...deeply unhinged.
It was Noelle, the God of Stars.
"Oh no..." Kafka muttered, his face paling instantly.
He knew that voice. That energy. That look in her eyes.
Noelle was beautiful beyond compare, but her obsession was equally terrifying.
She had been the god who once tried to break the barrier alongside Vanitas in the mortal realm a while ago, and ever since that campaign, she'd become absolutely fixated on him.
Every time she managed to catch sight of Kafka in the heavens, she'd launch herself at him like a meteor, trying to drag him off to her private domain for...cosmic bonding as she called it.
And now, judging by the gleam in her eyes, history was about to repeat itself.
"Kafka! You're mine, my sweet starlit one! Mine!" Noelle shrieked joyfully, her wings flaring as she sped straight toward him, arms outstretched.
Kafka's heart jumped into his throat. "Oh no, oh no, not again—"
Before he could take a step back, the air turned cold.
From behind him came the silken whisper of his mother's voice.
"You dare to lay your filthy hands on my son?"
From above, the space itself split open.
A colossal, luminous hand, vast enough to blot out the clouds, manifested from thin air. It moved so fast that Noelle's eyes widened in horror before she could react.
SMACK!
The sound echoed like thunder.
The star goddess was sent hurtling across the sky, a streak of silver light flailing into the horizon. Her voice trailed faintly behind—"Kaaaafkaa!!"—until she vanished completely, leaving only a faint trail of stardust.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Every god present stared wide-eyed at Vanitas, who delicately lowered her hand as if nothing had happened. Her expression was one of mild irritation, as though she'd simply brushed away an annoying insect.
"Hmph. Insolent creature." She said coolly. "Just because you accompanied me once on a trip, you think you have the right to speak my son's name? Know your place."
The weight of her words rippled through the air.
Every other goddess in the vicinity immediately took a few careful steps back from Kafka, afraid to even look at him too long.
Amora and Wisteria also stood stiffly to the side, forcing polite smiles that didn't reach their eyes.
Ivanova cleared her throat weakly, whispering to them, "I...think it's best if we don't get too close to him right now."
And seeing everyone backing off, Kafka sighed heavily.
"Mom..." He murmured, glancing up at her with weary disbelief. "Was that really necessary? Now they're definitely not going to come anywhere near me."
Vanitas didn't even pretend to look guilty. In fact, she looked pleased.
"Good." She said, smiling sweetly as she looped her arm through his. "Now you can spend the rest of the evening with me. Isn't that wonderful?"
Kafka groaned under his breath, though a faint blush crept up his face. "You're such a helicopter mother..."
"Oh, hush." Vanitas teased. "You're my son. You should be proud that I'm protecting what's mine."
And with that, she pulled him toward the long table laden with divine delicacies.
The food shimmered faintly with ethereal light, fruit that gleamed like gems, pastries dusted with gold, and goblets filled with nectar so fragrant it made the air hum.
Kafka sighed, resigned, as he began sampling the dishes, trying to act natural while every eye in the vicinity carefully avoided him.
From time to time, a brave goddess, usually with her equally nervous daughter in tow, would approach to offer polite greetings.
But each time they came within arm's reach, Vanitas's presence alone was enough to make them hesitate, stammer a few words, and retreat just as quickly, bowing awkwardly.
It would've been comical if it weren't so painfully awkward.
Seeing this, Kafka couldn't help but chuckle to himself.
The gods of creation and destruction, beings older than time itself—, reduced to nervous wrecks because of one woman.
Still, as much as he wanted to complain, he couldn't entirely blame them.
Vanitas was terrifying when she wanted to be.
The event continued like that for a while, with the atmosphere gradually recovering from the earlier spectacle.
The music resumed, faint and cautious at first. The chatter returned in murmurs. The light around the great tree shimmered peacefully once more.
And then—
A clear, commanding voice rang out across the sky:
"The trial is about to begin! All participants, please gather near the base of the Divine Tree of Ascendence!"
Every god present straightened instantly, auras fluttering, energy shifting. The air crackled with anticipation.
Vanitas and Kafka also exchanged a glance before rising from their seats.
Together, they floated upward, following the others toward the colossal roots of the ancient tree.
The roots themselves were as large as mountains, glowing faintly with celestial energy as they curved outward like bridges suspended over the clouds.
Playtime was over.
Now, the true purpose of their gathering, the Test of Birthright was about to begin.