So yeah, it hit different now. The Origin Families weren't just some big-name powerhouses pulling strings behind the scenes or flexing wealth like old-money gods—they were protectors. Hardcore, blood-sworn, magic-wielding protectors. And not for glory or some divine reward, but because someone had to fucking do it.
They didn't just overlord the mundane world… they carried it.
That truth sat in the room like heat.
Atalanta, still quiet at the edge of the gathering, exhaled sharply—like she was forcing the weight off her chest. Her eyes were distant, but her mind was cutting sharp.
The Ether Community had done more for humanity than the gods ever did.
The ones she worshipped? Respected? Served?
They sat in their golden thrones, mouths full of wine, eyes full of boredom—watching. Always watching. Playing chess with mortals for entertainment. Summoning champions just to see how long they'd last. Never to protect. Never to actually fix anything. And now?
