Originally, it was nothing special.
But paired with the serious, earnest expression the cub used to explain himself—it instantly brought the cuteness and humor to a new level.
Some people held back laughs; others, like Feeney, just laughed outright.
Feeling laughed at, the little cub still had the candy Amos had given him in his mouth. His little crown had just flown back to his head, attention pulled away by the big birds, finally letting go of Lien and Amos.
The psychic thread coiled on his crown loosened and dispersed. Little Chu Zao climbed up and toddled to Amos.
Amos met his little red-faced, still-woozy, obviously medicated cub’s gaze.
The little one puffed his cheeks, looking both ruffled and aggrieved, reaching out to hug Amos’s leg.
—He’d been laughed at, so he came back to the parent, upset.
Amos hesitated, the smile tugging at his lips pressed back down. He reached over, ruffling his cub’s fluffy hair, then looked at Feeney.
The look was clear—no laughing.
Feeney forcibly stifled the rest.
Only Ayala, pushed to the literal edge, had a rather subtle attitude.
Amos’s stance mystified Ayala.
Besides, as a Crown Clan—even a Crown Clan cub—at the very least you shouldn’t start bawling over one shot, right?
Ayala stood quietly in a corner, staring at the tiny figure curled up in Amos’s arms for quite a while.
He looked down at the discarded syringe—of course, the child was sick, and some things could be understood. Maybe, when the little one wasn’t burning with fever, he’d be much better?
Only just now, Ayala had thought of him as a troublesome cub—totally unaware of his changing attitude.
At the door, the Holy Cas soldier saluted and addressed Amos.
“Your Majesty, Holy Chalice Clan Chief Caverno requests to see you.”
*
The Holy Chalice people Feeney brought back were urgently transferred to the starship dispatched by the Holy Cas medical center.
Those from the Holy Chalice on this ship were all in fairly serious condition.
Basically, they were all quarantined.
A separate arrangement had been made for Derick to see Caverno.
Amos carried his ‘little fireball’ who was still unwell and whimpering, with Feeney, Anya, and Ayala behind, Lien trailing distantly, through the corridor, and into a room filled with beeping machines.
A fresh wet cloth had been placed on Little Chu Zao’s forehead. The injection had lowered his temperature a bit, but he was still running a fever, and kept turning his head and tugging his wings, shredding the silky feathers Amos had so carefully maintained. His curls were a mess, a subtle sense of ruffled chaos to the whole cub.
Then, he heard Derick’s hoarse crying, sometimes so loud it triggered fits of coughing.
Little Chu Zao was hugging Amos’s neck, noticed something, and looked over, big honey eyes blinking, fever leaving him a bit blank as he thought it over.
Was this the one who cried even louder than him?
Zao Zao had to compare—
“Zao Zao cries the loudest.”
Amos remarked very calmly, accurately predicting what was on his cub’s mind, and catching his thought before it could develop further.
Of course, as someone whose brain had previously been left ringing from the cub’s unilateral psychic communication, it was also just the truth.
The little cub stared—something about this seemed off.
But since Baba said so, it must be a compliment.
After thinking it through, the cub snuggled right back into Amos’s arms, becoming a sticky little rice cake—refusing to let go.
On the bed—the Holy Chalice clan chief Caverno looked up, eyes finding Amos at the door.
Death showed even more clearly on his face. He exhaled slowly, voice faint, the cup clasped to his chest growing murkier: “Amos… Your Majesty.”
“Your Majesty.”
The medics bowed.
“Brought in too late. Chief Caverno’s condition is advancing so rapidly that even psychic medicine can’t hold it.”
Amos nodded, expression unreadable.
He held Little Chu Zao, approaching the bed.
Eyes lowered, he looked calmly at Caverno.
Caverno was actually much older than Amos—he’d had a child late, and time barely touched immortals.
Unlike the Crown Clan, the Holy Chalice had been lucky, living in peace for centuries.
Caverno managed a feeble smile: “I thought I could judge the right future and stay at peace for a lifetime, but now, after centuries, they’ve found a way to destroy us. In the end, those types succeeded.”
“Running is just surrender for ‘hyenas’ who’ll follow any scent—useless, they’ll only press harder.”
Amos simply watched Caverno.
A shadow fell across Amos’s face.
Against contamination, beasts, fate—
Only to fight.
But with those not of his heart, the Crown Clan had little to say—more words availed nothing.
The little cub blinked and instinctively looked down.
Soft, sweet, he spoke, wings fluttering gently: “Zao Zao understands that, too.”
Caverno paused as he glanced at Little Chu Zao.
He was a cute, soft little Crown Clan, carefully cherished, but even the perceptive Holy Chalice could feel a rising pressure.
The Crown Clan… truly impressive.
“Yes… It’s a pity we only saw the Spirit Eye Race die out, too late to understand—”
Caverno struggled upright, part of his holy cup already drifting away in ashes, as if he himself was crumbling, covered in bloodstains.
“Papa! Papa!”
Derick, swollen-eyed from crying, trembled, wanting to make Caverno lie down.
But this time, the doting Caverno didn’t answer his child, only looked at Amos.
“Every immortal race has special, little-known powers, sometimes tied to the chief’s line, sometimes to their homeworld—”
Like the Crown Clan, born from their native land, powerful of spirit, top physical strength. In all the galaxy, no one could destroy them, their only weakness being their birthplace. Every Crown Clan comes from the seat, spirit power entwined with it.
Before contamination, none could even touch their homeworld. When it fell, so did the Crown Clan’s spirit force.
What other secrets lie in those lands, outsiders would never know; maybe most Crown Clan have no idea either.
“No one else was ever meant to know this power.”
Caverno coughed weakly.
“I’d meant to take this secret to the grave—but our clan’s destruction is at hand. If possible, I hope this might buy help for those of us who still might outlast the plague—the chief’s bloodline can, at the last, grant a successor unmakeable choices and paths for the future…”
The future depends on choices and judgment, outcomes aren’t fixed, every result is different.
Caverno looked for a flicker of temptation on Amos’s face.
After all, the cost was to dissolve his own spirit power, ruling out errors from many future actions. Even a vague vision with clear directions could guide the determined.
But there was none.
Amos’s face did not change, and those Crown Clan behind him were only a touch surprised, nothing more.
“These things are useless to us.”
Amos spoke calmly.
The Crown Clan rebel against fate, trusting no destiny, and will not accept guidance or a chosen future.
“So we won’t trade or accept favors from you. But—the Hymn Organization wants the death of the immortals; I’ll stop them.”
Caverno paused.
“That’s enough—it’s not a favor or anything else—I just hope, in the Holy Chalice Clan’s past mistakes, this can offer you a little—help.”
His spirit power surged in that instant, and as the cup faded away, it flowed toward Amos.
Amos did not dodge, merely set the cub by the bed.
Little Chu Zao blinked big eyes, pressed close to Amos’s leg.
The vision linked by psychic force was different from what the cub had revealed—not just snippets, but a branching chaos, major decisions, and critical moments.
Faces yet unseen were blurred—many scenes were absurd.
Like the Crown Clan giving up, leading to the galaxy’s ruin.
Truly a diversity of endings.
For a moment, Amos received so many forecasts he nearly lost track, sorting his thoughts.
These were images and thoughts—passing in mere seconds thanks to Amos’s strong spirit.
None of the possible endings was particularly good—with contamination this severe and higher beast commanders emerging on the other side, chaos would likely soon worsen.
Only by pressing onward into the contaminated zone, toward that other galaxy the beast commander mentioned, would things fare better than staying trapped.
The last of the Holy Chalice’s soul power was not entirely useless.
Amos thought—even if the future beyond wasn’t visible, at least they were told: that most distant star region could be reached.
That was enough.
Amos was thinking this when another image suddenly caught his focus.
—It wasn’t a prediction for their current timeline.
But from farther back.
Perhaps sensing his focus, the Holy Chalice and Crown Clan spirit forces resonated for a moment—presenting images even more brightly in Amos’s mind.
—It started from when Amos released his spirit power at the homeworld.
Was this a vision? Or what the immortal soul wished him to see?
Amos frowned—because in every next image, the tiny white bundle was missing.
In those visions, on and on—Meilun destroyed, Kaman self-destructed, Job and Joshua forever asleep—then Feiman losing control and rushing into contamination, Anya and Frey dying quietly, and at last Holy Cas collapsing, fighting to the bitter end.
Amos saw himself destroyed, wiping out everything wildly, the Crown Clan’s future darker, the Holy Cas banner torn. The plan failed, cries and hatred rang in his ears.
If Zao Zao had never appeared—
Amos thought.
Was this the only future the Holy Cas Empire would have?
In fact, Amos could never really explain why or how Little Chu Zao suddenly appeared in the homeworld for him to find.
And if Zao Zao had not come, if he’d grown up in the Angel Realm—
Amos’ hand tightened—he didn’t want to imagine what those damned angels would have taught his little cub.
Not worth watching these screens any longer.
Amos’s spirit was about to break away from the Holy Chalice’s construction.
He hesitated, looking again at images of the future without the cub.
—He saw a slightly familiar shadow.
A black-haired, honey-eyed young boy.
He wore white robes, the glowing crown shining above him, his eyes reflecting Holy Cas in a daze.
He looked battered, timid, wings hanging low.
Amos saw others addressing him as Crown Clan prince.
The youth, lost and flustered, tried to hide.
—Was that Zao Zao?
Amos felt a jolt.
Zao Zao, raised by angels?
So there really was some route from the Angel Realm here.
With these deductions, Amos was about to end it.
But as he stared at these images—a towering emperor stood at the future site of his own burial, in a world without Zao Zao, gazing silent at the unfamiliar child.
He saw the young boy shake his head, say he was an angel, not Crown Clan, saw them attacked by beasts, the youth desperately fleeing, then being shielded by the Holy Cas.
The protected youth was dazed, as if he had never been treated so.
Until another figure burst in from the sky, throwing the youth aside and wiping out the beasts.
“Crown Clan? In this world, I’m the last Crown Clan that remains.”
Amos saw the dust settle and Feeney emerge.
Feeney appeared at his breaking point, aura chaotic, on the brink, bow drawn on the youth, both indifferent and half-mad, mocking.
“A weakling like you—at this age still needing protection as Crown Clan, who knows whose bloodline you are—a stranger, only knowing how to run? What’s your bow for, is it just decoration? Hold it, grip it, draw it on me!”
Amos reflexively stood before the staggered, bloodied youth—of course, as a strand of psychic force viewing Holy Chalice’s vision, his attempt to block was only symbolic, a shadow inserting itself into a random future.
He looked at Feeney’s face.
His hand tightened.
This was not Zao Zao’s fault—
To have survived in that world and grown up at all was strength enough—
Amos thought.
“I’m an angel…”
Stumbling behind him, the youth looked lost, pushing up from rubble, honey eyes mirroring sky, banners—and Crown Clan graves.
“My bow, it’s powerless… Why do you say I’m Crown Clan? Are there others like me?”
He coughed, weakly, voice hoarse and low—no energy, pale and soft, utterly without aggression. Dazed, he clutched his bow, looked at all the wreckage; his hair and banners drifted together, and whether from fear or otherwise, his eyes brimmed with tears.
“Are there any of my family here? I… don’t have one, sorry… sorry… I can’t, can’t do anything—why am I crying…?”
But he was used to this, wasn’t he? Crying alone, raising himself at the world’s edge, but…
“Do you know my family? Since I was very little—I’ve always wished, that if I had family, that would be wonderful—I, Zao Zao… can’t find anywhere to go home.”
All was mirrored in the setting sun over that future Holy Cas—too late.
Zao Zao—
Through the haze, Amos seemed to see Little Chu Zao as a child, curled up, trembling wings, crying in the Angel Realm.
In the infirmary.
Amos’s otherwise steady psychic force suddenly erupted.
It tore through Caverno’s encompassing soul.
Amos’s eyes flew open.
For an instant, his gaze was terrifying—like a beast whose cub was snatched, utterly enraged.
Caverno froze, quickly drawing back his own psychic force.
His psychic holy cup shattered.
He paused, looked at Amos again.
“Looks like—Your Majesty Amos has found what you wanted?”
“Second brother?”
Feeney sensed Amos’s shift; as second in strength among the Crown Clan, he felt instinctively alert, craning in to check.
Amos glanced at him—
That look—
Feeney shivered, frantically searching his mind—was Amos still mad at him for that earlier scuffle?
Why did he look like he was about to rip his head off?
Feeney backed off in a hurry.
All of this had taken only a short while.
Amos, snapping out of the visions, closed his eyes, briefly collecting himself.
Little Chu Zao, who’d been distracted by Amos, now blinked and glanced aside.
Caverno could hold on no longer.
His hand slipped down with the cup—its final mission complete: burning its master’s life to offer another future’s possibilities.
Caverno now looked at his weeping child.
“Derick.”
His voice was low, saying goodbye to Derik.
“You are now the Holy Chalice Clan’s chief. You’re no longer a child. You have a duty—don’t cry, it’s alright, papa knows you can do it. Fathers always know their children. For the sake of the family, even if you have to choose as I did… all Holy Chalice must remember; this is your father’s final command as clan chief.”
“Papa… Papa…”
Caverno could speak no more; his hand faded from the cup, sliding off the bed.
Derick was on the verge of fainting from crying.
Little Chu Zao looked this way and that; still feverish, brain a little off.
He eyed the dissolving holy cup—did it come right to Zao Zao’s… mouth?
Dazed, he sniffed a blend of bitter and fragrant, stink and scent—the worst kind. He wrinkled his nose, opened wide—took a bite—
Bit it off, spat it out!
Zao Zao opened wide, Zao Zao took a bite, crunchy, Zao Zao spat it back out.
To be honest, it smelled awful—but the texture? Crunchy.
The little one, wanting only to stay by his dad’s side, acted on instinct.
So amid Derick’s wailing, everyone heard a series of crunchy sounds.
Amos’s eyes snapped open, looking down at his blank-faced cub—who was spitting something out—by the shape, the Holy Chalice’s… psychic cup?
Oh, the Holy Chalice’s psychic cup…
What the hell?????
Caverno, barely alive, forced himself upright in horror.
Amos: …?
Behind, Anya and Feeney reacted at once, rushing over—faces horrified.
“Zao Zao, don’t eat random things!!”
Why does this kid nibble everything just because he’s sick???
“Zao Zao didn’t eat anything wrong.”
The cub, caught red-handed, froze, his halo blinking anxiously, like a good child who knew he’d done wrong, snuggling up to Amos, wings pulled tight.
“Zao Zao, Zao Zao spat it out.”
He looked up, tugging Amos’s uniform.
That little, as-yet-immature face already held courage and the innocence and liveliness a child deserves.
“Baba, Zao Zao didn’t eat wrong—”
He said earnestly, only to find Amos’s expression seemed—strangely stuck?
The cub wasn’t sure how to describe it.
Especially being unwell, it felt like his head was fogged.
“Baba?”
He only looked soft and dependent at Amos, still sick, but a little worried for Amos, too.
Until Amos crouched down, pulling the little one into his arms.
Amos let out a long breath.
He buried his head in the cub’s neck.
The messy, fevered cub, dazedly flapping his wings, instinctively hugged Baba, patting him, the hot, dopey cub protested in milky tones.
“Zao Zao didn’t swallow—besides, it tasted bad, only crunchy.”