As Patriarch of the clan, Azariah had learned to overlook many things.
He could reluctantly accept that his son had been blessed with far higher divinity than himself by the radiant Goddess of Light.
It stung, yes — but such things were beyond his control.
Yet now, as he stood inside the Rion of Bones and watched his son casually lift the goddess's sacred sword, something inside him cracked.
The moment Azel's fingers closed around the weapon, the air shifted.
Frost bloomed across the room in jagged veins, shimmering like glass.
For the briefest instant, Azariah glimpsed the sheer depth of divinity radiating from the boy.
And to call it much would be an insult.
It was overwhelming.
His son's divine aura did not merely eclipse his own — it dwarfed it.
It was like comparing a flickering torch to the blazing sun.
'My goddess… what the hell is this?'
He almost didn't realize the thought had slipped past his lips.
But then — he heard her giggle.
