I walked toward the elevator beside the Grand Library, my footsteps echoing softly against the frozen marble floor. The library itself loomed behind me, its towering doors sealed with layers of ancient ice and runes older than most nations. Knowledge slept there, quiet and patient, waiting for a hand bold or foolishbenough to wake it.
A security guard stationed near the elevator noticed my approach at once. He straightened so abruptly it looked almost painful, then stepped forward and pulled the door open with both hands. He lowered his head deeply, his back bent in a perfect angle of submission.
"My Eternal Lord," he said, his voice thick with reverence, "please have a pleasant journey."
I nodded once and stepped inside.
The doors closed behind me with a soft, heavy sound.
I felt his presence even as the elevator began its descent. He remained bowed, unmoving, never daring to lift his head until the platform carried me beyond his sight. I wondered briefly if his knees would ache later. The thought passed without leaving a trace.
The elevator sank smoothly, layers of the palace sliding past like frozen strata of history. Deeper. Colder. Quieter.
The Information Bureau lay at the very bottom of the Frozenlight Palace. Twelve meters beneath the surface, it was not merely a room or a hall, but a subterranean world of its own. A massive complex carved directly into reinforced ice and divine stone, warded against intrusion, sabotage, and even divine spying.
Twelve primary sectors formed its backbone, each one branching endlessly into sub-sectors, archives, and sealed chambers.
Sector One oversaw all matters related to the Royal Palace itself staff movements, internal logistics, ceremonial records.
Sector Two tracked behavioral reports concerning the army, angelic divisions, and internal security forces.
Sector Three handled criminal investigations, disappearances, unlawful cult activity, and citizen-related offenses.
Sector Four focused on internal political instability, social unrest, and ideological fractures.
Sector Five preserved cultural heritage and ensured administrative efficiency across the nation.
Sectors Six through Eight were classified beyond clearance, their existence acknowledged only to a select few.
Sector Nine governed astronomical research and space observation.
Sector Ten monitored national health, disease vectors, and food safety.
Sector Eleven handled border disputes and territorial intelligence.
Sector Twelve managed international diplomacy and foreign affairs.
Beyond all of that existed something else.
A hidden sector.
A chamber buried so deep within the archives that even most saints believed it to be myth. It was protected by layered authority seals and guarded by individuals who had sworn oaths binding their very souls. Its purpose was singular: to safeguard ancient texts and prophecies too dangerous for the world to read.
Some writings did not merely predict the future.
They rewrote it.
It was said that even a single line from those texts could fracture nations, ignite wars, or drive gods into madness. Angels were denied access. Saints were denied access. Even some gods had been turned away.
Once, long ago, that forbidden archive had been overseen by my great-great-great-great-grandfather, Olwen Frozenlight. He ruled it until the curse of his own authority claimed him a heart frozen not metaphorically, but truly, locked forever in unmoving ice.
Today, however, my destination lay elsewhere.
Sector Three.
Sector Four.
Though I had ascended to godhood, I had not yet severed my mortal ties. And with the next full moon approaching the moment when one of my human emotions would be stripped away I wanted to cling to whatever fragments of humanity still lingered inside me.
My life had always been cold.
If not for my elder brother, Raka, I would have known only fear from others. Reverence. Distance. The smiles offered to me were either exaggerated performances or carefully constructed masks, warmth calculated for benefit rather than sincerity.
Only Raka smiled without reason.
The elevator slowed.
The doors parted.
Sector Three, Sub-Sector Eight.
The moment I stepped inside, the atmosphere changed.
Nicolas and Inna, heads of Sectors Three and Four respectively, were already waiting. Documents hovered in the air around them, data screens aligned perfectly. The instant they noticed my presence, they halted everything and bowed in unison.
"Everything is ready, My Eternal Lord," Nicolas said.
"Begin," I replied, and took my seat upon the Throne of Honour.
It was not ornate. It did not need to be. The authority embedded within it was enough.
—
INNA'S POV
The moment His Holiness entered, the air turned cruel.
Cold pressed against my skin like invisible needles, slipping beneath fabric and flesh alike. I fought the instinct to shiver. Training held me upright, but fear crept into my bones all the same.
I had met him before.
Before the throne.
Before the first part of ascension.
He had been kind then quiet, distant, unbearably lonely. Born with divine blood, he had been isolated since childhood, educated not as a person but as a future concept. He never played with normal kids . Never wandered. Never laughed freely much without permission.
As he grew, the cold around him grew too.
Now, it was overwhelming.
And yet…
When I dared to glance at his face, I saw something else. His features were elegant, almost unreal, his gaze sharp enough to pierce stone. But beneath that calm, there was warmth faint, restrained, like embers buried beneath ice.
A contradiction only a god could carry.
Humans are strange creatures. We can feel emotions so tangled and conflicting that no word exists for them.
I felt awe.
Fear.
And sorrow.
Nicolas's voice pulled me back.
"As Your Holiness knows, Slumber Pit Village lies at the edge of our kingdom, bordering the Sea of Unity," he began, his delivery steady, precise.
"Over the past week, villagers from Slumber Pit and nearby settlements have gone missing."
He changed screens.
"Multiple reports confirm the pattern. Children , Young women and pregnant women Always at night."
My stomach tightened.
"One survivor claims to have witnessed shadowy figures abducting them, moving toward the convergence point between the village and the sea."
Nicolas paused, then continued, his voice lower.
"We followed the trail. All we found were bloodstains. No bodies. No struggle marks. As if the victims ceased to exist."
He inhaled once.
"We requested assistance from Saint Samuel. He detected residual divine energy—demonic in origin."
A ripple passed through the room.
"He believes it does not exceed Saint Grade," Nicolas said, "but the masking technique was unusually refined. Even he struggled to trace it."
He hesitated.
"The Divine Mother has advised minimal interference. She believes this incident will serve as… experience."
My breath caught.
"However," Nicolas added carefully, "we are prepared to dispatch Grand General Night and general Alexander if—"
A single raised hand stopped him.
"Send word to the First Marshal," His Holiness said, his voice calm and cold. "Station him at Lily Valley and Alexander to the border of slumber pit village Await further orders."
His gaze sharpened.
"I will handle this personally With Lord Raka."
The room felt smaller.
"When was the incident reported?" he asked.
I stepped forward despite myself. "Yesterday. At 23:00 moon. Investigation unit deployed at 01:07 sun."
"Prepare the teleportation gateway," he said. "Ten minutes."
He rose.
The pressure vanished as he turned away, but the cold remained, clinging to us like frost after a storm.
We bowed deeply.
The doors closed.
Then—
Thump.
I turned.
Nicolas had collapsed.
I rushed to him, catching his shoulders as he gasped for breath, clutching his chest.
"Never," he wheezed with a weak, breathless laugh, "never gaze upon a deity without permission…"
Tears burned my eyes.
"Our Lord," he whispered, voice trembling, "seven days… only seven days until full divinity. I just wanted to see his eyes… one last time…"
His breathing grew shallow.
"Those calm… cold eyes…" he murmured with reverence. "They already hold enough divinity to freeze half the kingdom…"
Then, barely audible
"Hail the Lord… Praise the Lord of Ice…"
Without realizing it, I whispered back.
"May the Ice bless you."
And for the first time since entering this room, I prayed that our god would remain human just a little longer.