After the bitter taste of an empty victory, King Elak's fury festered into obsession. The angels had vanished. The Nephilim, too. No blood had been spilled. No enemies had been captured. Only the ruins of an abandoned sanctuary and the echo of failure haunted his waking thoughts.
To reclaim the shattered pride of his throne, Elak assembled a new force: a clandestine search team composed of seers, spies, and spell-forged assassins. For five moons, they scoured every edge of the known world. They traversed frozen peaks, burning deserts, and ancient forests. They poured over lost scrolls, summoned spirits, and read the stars—but they found nothing. The angels had become phantoms, the Nephilim—ghosts.
For now, the divine bloodline was safe.
But within the hidden sanctuaries beneath the sea, discontent brewed like a stormcloud. The younger Nephilim, impatient and proud, were restless. They longed not for survival, but legacy. They wanted kingdoms, names that echoed in halls of power, not whispers in salt caves.
Sensing this unrest, the mothers came together once more. These were no ordinary women—they were the bearers of celestial offspring, vessels through whom heaven had mingled with earth. Their wisdom had calmed battles before, but now, they devised something far greater:
A conquest not of sword, but of seed.
A plan that would reshape the kingdoms from within.
The first target: King Elak himself.
Shamsiel had warned against confrontation. Samyaza, however, volunteered for the task. He would take Elak's obsession and twist it into downfall.
"I will become his reflection," Samyaza declared. "I will steal his face and lie with his queen. And when the child is born… his own blood will betray him."
The others fell silent.
To take the shape of a man was dangerous enough. But to impersonate the king of men, to seed his lineage with angelic blood—this was a stroke of celestial rebellion.
"What happens when the child shows signs?" asked Oyuki.
Samyaza's smile was grim. "Let him taste fear in his own palace."
But Elak was not the only king.
There were seven great kingdoms across the continent. Of these, four were vulnerable—led by kings whose hearts were soft toward wisdom, wealth, and legacy. These would become the Nephilim's gateway to power.
Igodo, Oduwa, Oyuki, and Idu were chosen for the task.
Each would be sent—disguised in human form—not with blades or spells, but with charm, wit, and purpose. Their mission was clear:
Win the favor of the king.
Marry the first princess of royal blood.
Sire the next rulers.
No magic. No celestial power. Only wisdom, charisma, and patience.
The plan depended on subtlety. If discovered, they would all be hunted as impostors. If successful, they would plant the Nephilim bloodline into the thrones of men, generation by generation.
But first, foundations must be laid.
Azazel and Penemue, still weakened from the war, agreed to the first phase. They would travel ahead, each taking a different kingdom, crafting identities and establishing hidden estates of great wealth and nobility.
In less than a moon, each of the chosen Nephilim would arrive with riches, noble titles, and backstories forged from myth. They would walk into the king's courts not as strangers, but as prodigies—young lords of exotic lineage, seeking alliances through marriage and trade.
Within weeks, they would be known. Within months, favored. Within a year—wed.
The sanctuary burst into song when the plan was unveiled.
The younger Nephilim, once disillusioned and raging, now bowed in awe at their mothers. Even the elder angels nodded in respect.
"This is not retreat," said Maari, Igodo's mother. "This is inheritance."
"You will not conquer kingdoms by fire," Anaa added. "You will become them."
And so, beneath the sea, preparations began. No longer were they exiles.
They were seeds of destiny, scattered among thrones.
And above them, on the surface, the kings of men remained unaware that their bloodlines were about to change… forever.