Housed within a luxurious chamber, one of marble, gold, silver, and gems of every hue. Malan stood over a shifting map of liquid metal that formed to the demands of his will. An act that kept the map of the realm, at least the parts he was able to see, moving as if it were alive.

It didn’t cost him anything, as long as he remained in his Afterlife, The Meadow of Inspirations. It held true for almost everything he did and manifested; so long as nothing was moved to the material realm.

Two others stood with him surveying the map, which currently was focused on the South.

“Poison alone isn’t going to be enough.” Foy informed, her current form that of a Dargown, motherly dressed and motherly shaped. “Not unless you want me to spread it without care of its reach and cost.” She tilted her head, adding. “And the fact it will be a blatant show that a god is behind the disaster.”

She didn’t need to add, that such an act of destruction would have countless gods joining forces to erase the new threat.

“No, not that much, but your craft will play a part.” He motioned to areas where Southern Heon had gathered in great numbers. Hordes of hundreds who, based off past actions, were deciding where to migrate to next.

The likely outcome was East, towards the pantheon of joined races and gods who’d toppled the twins. But there was a chance they would head West as well. The steep decline in game, had caused the Southerners to become cannibalistic. It was safe to say that the Southern Heon had become the most savage of that species; and in turn had birth equally savage gods.

Sacrificial cults, and covens, gods of death and blood, they had to go. Not only because of their destructive and hindering nature, but some of them were growing quite powerful. It was easy to spot those with unlocked Perks. The way their followers bred faster, were smarter, gained unnatural insights in areas of war and craft that made no logical sense.

“More Rageair?” Foy asked, her tone conveying her disinterest in the poison.

“Not this time.” He replied, while wondrously useful, its method of traveling through the air made it too easy to spread.

“The Gutrot is more aligned with what we need.”

“Of course, the other overused poison of mine.” Foy commented, but didn’t refuse his request.

“It’s hard to beat those two concoctions of yours.” Bronduff calmly voiced while surveying the shifting map. “Besides its perfect, these Southerners have no restraint, they will do anything to quell the hunger.”

Foy sighed. “I know, I did too well of a job making those two, still a bit of variety can’t hurt once in a while.”

“Haven’t you been experimenting with those championing Order?” Bronduff asked.

“Sometimes,” she replied. “But it’s not enough, nor can I have any fun with it, can’t risk some getting away, or the poison not being lethal enough. Nor am I really able to experiment either, since there’s too few of them to test strains.”

Over the last two years, a great many tribes of order had found themselves suddenly plagued with ill effects. Large and small, had been eradicated from the surrounding lands. All killed quickly enough that none had gotten a chance to spread news of the disaster, for a story to form. It was as if they had never existed, a boon for all, the realm saved from the chains of that ideology.

“I’m sorry,” Malan said, meaning it. “But there’s nothing we can do; your craft is too deadly to be openly known.” At least when it came to outsiders, within the Meadow, she was worshipped as one of the six Progenitors, her skills and nature well known.

She chuckled, forcing on a smile they all knew was feigned, and waved a hand at him. “It’s alright, eventually our enemies, or something, will appear that will allow me the fun of experimentation again. I should have enjoyed the session before more, all those millions, all those enemies I could have killed.”

“Hindsight makes everything distasteful.” Malan said, his awareness split across dozens of planes, he updated the map, showing the marching of hordes. “Like in hindsight we should have made the obelisks larger, rising towers that could have been spotted even through the tangling forests.”

All their work in filling the lands had been for not, none had been found, and wouldn’t for decades or centuries to come. The forests, still growing, had them hidden deep within their walls of roots and trunks. As for the library shrines hidden underground, they might not have ever seen the light of sentient minds till late within the session.

An outcome brought about since no race had started out underground. A surprise, since he’d originally thought the Verm would form there, or quickly dig deep into the bowels of the realm. Neither had happened, and the shrines meant to enlighten a new age, had instead remained buried and forgotten.

The underground had been there for the taking. So, Wonder had returned, its children once more filling halls, both new and old, with their numbers.

“We’ll do better next time.” Bronduff voiced, a mantra these days, and maybe a common saying for Wonder in general.

Malan nodded in agreement, returning to the matter at hand. The threat of the South had only grown more apparent with each new summer. The lands of bounty had the Heon endlessly multiplying, even when there wasn’t enough game to sustain them.

The savages couldn’t help themselves, and because of it, seasonal hordes, from a multitude of competing gods, always set off to other lands to raid.

Not much these days towards the North, given the efforts put into the great wall, and the might of their ghostly armies.

But hordes still came, they knew there were other races to feed on, a sense he was sure was coming from a god guiding them.

A decision had been made, and passed on to them, the Progenitors.

End the threat, no matter the miracle it would take. Effectively the Kolune gods had stated they would agree to any plan, including the Devotional support needed.

Malan began marking the map, signaling places he thought best for Foy to ply her craft. She leaned closer, studying his suggestions, and began making adjustments. The first step of their plan, a great cleansing, was to keep the Heon clustered in the South.

Given what was to take place, a disaster that would be remembered one way or another; it was best to gain from it as much as possible.

Updating the map again, and double checking their choices, Foy and Bronduff acted.

The Huntsmen had returned, those directly under Bronduff, followed by Shades, who’d been trained and aided by Foy. All wore the cloaks of Shadow.

The Guardians spread, guided by the gods, rushing towards the locations marked for poisoning.

The act took days, even with Guardians positioned about the South, waiting for their orders. But there was no side stepping such delays. Even though it would have been quicker, and executed perfectly if they would have acted personally. They could not, for gods would have noticed their interactions with the realm.

So, as with all the times before, the job was left to their dead.

Joined together by many miracles, Shades and Huntsmen went unnoticed, even while they walked upon grounds swarming with savages. Carefully they navigated camps of Heon, their destination, those places most prized. To the cooking fires they went, and the stores of meat guarded by those deeply loyal to tribal leaders.

They saw nothing as Guardians, in many places across the realm, walked passed them. Some into crude huts, the meat being readied for large feasts or portioned out. The Gods of sacrifice were learning, planning, and better managing their resources.

Vials in hands, and steps planned, the dead went about pouring small amounts of the poison on meat. Its potency was enough that it would survive being cooked, no matter how charred the flesh.

How events went, that turned out to be an unneeded resilience. Most times, from what he saw through Guardian eyes, the meat was barely touched by flame, only enough to give it a slight crust, or not marked at all.

Their role done; the dead retreated back to the outskirts of camps. There they remained watching and waiting, for most the wait wasn’t long, the Heon ate constantly.

Feasts were made ready, whole clans preparing to eat as one.

Cheerful, and celebrating their successes, the dead and gods watched as the poison spread.

Heon devoured everything brought to them. There were no manners, Heon grabbed whatever was in each, and ate messily, and that was before the Gutrot took effect.

In many places the food given out vanished into ever hungering maws, their stomachs grumbling for more, even when bloated.

Maybe a few years ago, when game was easier to get, the Heon would have rushed off to hunt. But that wasn’t so anymore, and the Heon had become so very comfortable with cannibalism.

Why rush off, hoping all the while to find even a small lizard to eat; when there was plenty of living meat all around them?

Rubbing their stomachs, and glancing about, gods far off watching through undead eyes, laughed as Heon turned on themselves.

Swiftly grabbing stone daggers, savages fell upon each other, first killing the weakest. In the most savage of clans, the newly made meat was eaten raw and bloody, with Heon fighting over favored organs.

In those places, the poison most potent, chaos erupted first. No matter how much they ate, it never satisfied the hunger, in fact, it only made the feeling worse.

Men, who looked pregnant from over stuffed bellies, tore into each other, whole clans consuming themselves. None were spared from the effects of the poison, even priests.

Throughout the tribes marked for death, gods of bones, flesh, and blood formed. In twisted irony, those gods of destruction tried to end the slaughter, even they, simple as they were, understood the death of their own wasn’t good for them.

The gods went ignored, those mostly made of bones that is. But those with flesh? Distorted Heon of large size? They were attacked by their very followers; the poison making them salivate at the sight of so much meat.

Gods, and mortals once aligned, a clan, a religion, ripped each other apart.

The gods always won, for even the weakest of them could shatter mortals. But the victory was also a defeat.

For some, the moment all their followers were gone, they died, their forms crumpling onto the blood-soaked ground. To those that remained, they eventually settled on the dirt, unsure of what to do. In those places Guardians didn’t act, they remained distant and watching.

Where all were dead though, Guardians began the next phase of the plan. Quickly they approached, as he bestowed them the Devotion required. They began piling bodies and woodland brush, then trails linking to large trees and lush foliage.

When all was done, they willed to Creation, Devotion spent, and summoned forth blazes of fire that took hold and greedily consumed the piles. After, they watched again, let nature do the rest of the work for them.

The fires raged, quickly growing, spreading, and turning the forest into the purest form of chaos.

With guidance, Guardians stoked the flames, and aimed them ever Southward.

It was a wall of death, of destruction, of calamity.

It was what Irame had promised to be, if that god had ever been given the chance. But he was gone, sundered by the might of Wonder and water.

This flame, while mighty, was mundane, not controlled by some divine will. The gods and tribes that fled would think it only that. Not an attack by a force in the North, a pantheon of gods to rally against.

They only saw natures destructive capability, and scurried away.

But the South was so lush, the forest so thick and deep, it kept growing, spreading.

Days became weeks, then months, the fire never slowing. The gods of sacrifice, for all the prowess they represented, were helpless. They were not the likes of Wonder, its tools endless, they had no means to counter such a threat. So they fled, the South retreated, the lands cleansed.

To the West and East they went, refugees desperate and hungry. The Heon slaughtered each other, sacrificial gods empowered and eager to fight foes familiar. The West became a barbaric slaughter, Heon ripping into each other with basic tools and simple ways. The East was cleaner, the Heon fighting races of enlightened gods, and mortals with arms of war. Heon were butchered quickly, their gods contested and bested by entities loosely aligned with Wonder.

Peace reigned in the North.

The fires never once turned in that direction, and even if they had, lands had been cleared and made full of trenches. It wouldn’t have spread far before withering away to nothing

In his chamber housing the realm map, he sighed, and sent to his fellows the signal to end their work. The South had been tended to, its annoyance, for a time, at an end.

The flame was left to itself, allowed to rage and die on its own. Nature would recover, already he saw signs, the ashen dirt fertile and ushering forth new life. In a year, the land would be covered under an infant forest. It would be the same for un-ascended beasts, free from Heon for a time, they would grow and emerge from the ground, be able to multiply without interruption.

The process would start anew, the Heon lured to those fertile lands, their population soring afterward.

It would have to be accepted, none of them were trying to end the cycle, merely slow it for a time. Allow Wonder a greater duration of peace so it could grow and one day, end the threat of the South permanently.

But for now, all was well, or as stable as it was going to get.

The map of the continent showed as much.

The West, while Heon ridden, wasn’t much trouble, the cooler lands and terrain prevented the savages from spreading as wildly as their Southern cousins. And now with the two groups at each other’s throats, little outside influence was needed. They, the Wonderbringers, could extend and reinforce the great wall to block those land routes without much interference.

A similar situation to the East, where construction had been going smoothly the whole time. The Heon were too drawn to the other pantheon of races, to be lured towards the walls of Wonder.

Heightened construction began, the gods of Wonder, informed of the news pertaining to the South. Doubled their efforts, since everyone wanted the borders of union stronger, and able to repel the savages of the continent.

‘We shall have it.’ He thought pleased, there were no great threats left, none close. Perhaps far beyond his sight, there might be, and surely those on other continents, but the distance made them irrelevant for the time being.

Now was a time to fortify what they had; to grow and prosper in secret.

An act easier to achieve than he’d originally expected.

With the Underground a forgotten realm, unknown to all but those of Wonder. They spread and built uncontested, were able to flourish without a speck of worry about being noticed or countered.

They weren’t being sloppy either, not rushing in their works. Everything was made to Wonder’s standards, be they the Roots, the great libraries and developing cities. All were awe inspiring constructs of art, with their perfect symmetry, intricate overlays of statues and motifs. The surfaces, or whole constructs made of precious metals that gleamed.

Each work a display to what Wonder had to offer, of why mortals should follow the ideology.

As such, Wonder had a firm hold on the populace. The denizens of Aronta, Promise, and the Verm labyrinth dubbed Sturrow, loved the pantheon they lived under.

The change in the ways of Devotion, how it now had a taste, made it simple to tell the loyal state of a follower.

All the Devotion that flowed to him, and the others, was warmly sweet. The masses were happy and content. As such they worked as hard and eagerly as the gods themselves to grow and build this Union.

With aid from gods and Guardians, the three cities of Wonder were linked together by large underground tunnels. The trade of goods had become normal, and followers often use the tunnels to journey and learn the works of Wonder. Pilgrimages were common, those inspired and desiring knowledge, headed towards library shrines that had been rediscovered and opened for the public.

The Verm, custodians of the Roots of Wonder, continually expanded them, bringing forth smaller settlements that served as rest stops. There, in those places, races of all three cities mingled the most.

While trade was common, none migrated to the other cities to make residence. The Kolune of Promise, while tolerant of foreigners, had made it clear they wouldn’t permit such. Especially Heon, who never journeyed close to that city.

True mingling was only in Aronta, and now the rest stops in the Roots. In time, decades, the walls of separation wouldn’t be as terse, but it would always remain. Races preferred their own, he understood the comfort. The blending in, and sharing something so complete, even with strangers.

He didn’t expect a blend of people, as long as they got along, and didn’t butcher each other for being different, he was content. As such he hadn’t pushed the Kolune gods to allow other races into Promise, instead respecting the wishes of mortals and allowing the peace of unity.

Unity

That was one of the more important factors during these precarious times. Threats were all around them, just waiting for some unifier, a force to rally against. It was why so much was taking place underground, away from prying eyes, even though it was more cumbersome to do so.

Real threats would arrive, even after their best efforts of eradicating them in their dormancy. The lands were large, with new gods being born within them every day. One of those, or multiple, would be controlled by old Sovereigns, the kind with many unlocked perks.

It was why he spread his vision so far, even when the distances didn’t allow him to act immediately. Sovereigns would remain a threat, until lands were tamed, and the masses consolidated around well established and recognized entities. There was always a chance that newcomers could appear and undo all of Wonder’s work.

‘This must have been what you felt Wargain.’ He thought, gazing upon the shifting map.

‘Trepidation, worry, waiting for a strike to come.’

He could see why Wargain, even though it was his nature, was so eager to be on the attack. Cleansing lands, uprooting, and destroying whole cultures even when they didn’t need to be.

‘You may not have understood the threat completely, but you had good instincts’

As long as he was the attacker, ending all not under his name, then the risk of some force emerging to thwart him, lowered. At least, when one was already more powerful than most.

Malan and his Wonderbringers, weren’t. Not yet, but with the mortal population blooming, Heon easily overtaking everyone else, and becoming the main race to guide the pantheon. In time, they would have the excess Devotion to be…impulsive.

To wage openly against the likes of chaos, but he would not. That strength would be redirected, used to build, to prosper, for them to rise above their enemies, rather than lowering themselves to the wastefulness of open battle.

‘I won’t end up like you Wargain.’ Spending his might on endless conflict, his empire stagnating under order and stillness. No progress, and growth in matters important.

Adaption is the key, transcendence the goal.

The union of Wonder needed to be ready to survive the planned trials of the future.

Already plans had been redone, obstacles overcome, but more would appear. The ground wasn’t as fertile for Wonder as he’d originally thought. The Heon, savage and simple, weren’t aligned with the realm he sought to manifest. As such his ideology wasn’t going to sweep across the continent as he’d originally envisioned.

The lands were primed for ages of chaos, of destruction, of wasteful expenditures on fleeting moments.

As such, contingences were made ready.

Battles waging before him, the sights from dozens of shards, he studied the habits of chaos, their means of battle, the ways gods manifested their might.

All of it taken into consideration, as those of Wonder were bred and cultivated in ways that would best increase its, and their chance of reigning supreme.

Kolune of Aronta were enlarged, emboldened, turned into growing giants of flesh. The Heon made docile, fertile, longer lived, and smarter. The Dargown, his people, whose time would never come in this session, were further made into beings of arcane mastery. And the Verm, they were being transformed back into the tireless workers of old, Persevered revived and breeding. The Underground their domain to nurture and expand, this time under Wonder’s caring gaze.

The Underground would be their refuge, their lasting place of peace, if all failed. But he, nor the Wonderbringers, were content with allowing such to take place.

The armies of Wonder were seen to, thousands of Stonemen made, and ready to house Souls. The Souls themselves were selected by a growing tide of volunteers.

Those chosen received special training, the most gifted spending their time in the Meadow, where their learning handicap no longer applied. They held within their minds, enough knowledge to be a force all their own, when bestowed the Devotion needed to act.

And that wasn’t including the stores of artifacts ready to be used. Axes of Malice, shields of Protection, armor made with the power of Nature intertwined. Cloaks that hid them from mortals, even godly eyes. Gloves, and bands of power that gave them the strength of gods, allowed them to shatter or warp stone to their own desires.

Wonder was not meek this time, something to be pushed aside and condemned. It was growing, they were growing, they would be a force none could ignore, could chain again.

And yet…

He gazed at the map, the madness of chaos, and the sprouts of order that continually needed to be crushed.

A younger entity wouldn’t have been so wary of the sight, given the arsenal at his disposal, the forces, and gods allied and ready to offer aid.

But he wasn’t young, and he had failed many times.

He’d been the force to unleash doom, an unseen foe to usher in the fall of those rising.

Thus, the shifting tapestry of the realm held his focus, even with the South burning, the savages in disarray and their gods of sacrifice butchering themselves. He wasn’t content, for the threats were not dealt with, only thwarted for a time. The strongest would recoup from their losses, test Wonder’s borders again, if other means to sate their hunger weren’t found.

He forced himself to sigh, to gaze up at the artful ceiling, to break his chain of thoughts.

He was being transfixed on a series of problems that couldn’t be resolved. Not without the risk of notice, without turning most of the gods already aligned against him, into a unified force.

Instead, his awareness shifted about the many shards of himself. He listened to the many prayers that droned in his mind.

‘Guide me.’ Many sent as they studied difficult concepts.

He lent aid, their attentions sharpening, their memories increased, the speed of their comprehension quickening.

‘Help me understand.’ Others prayed, those studying his trade, life, the working of the living, and the means to weave it. He saw hundreds of visions, of mortals studying corpses, trying to comprehend the intricacies of the work. How it all wove together, and perhaps find ways to improve upon it. To those he gave insights, moments of clarity and knowledge placed into their minds.

‘Help me see how it flows together.’ He heard, many of which came from those at the Library, Wonder’s heart within Aronta. They gazed upon the motifs carved into stones, the glyphs and runes of gods, the written words of Creation. They struggled, but he was there with them, insight bestowed, Wonder showed.

Each prayer warmed his heart, the nature of it so aligned with his own, with Wonder. Everyone wanted to learn, to understand, to ascend, to improve, to create.

Wonder’s hold was deep, the mortals infatuated with its offerings. It gave him peace, and lessened his worries caused by the map.

While his ideology may not be the chosen thinking of the age, it was growing, shifting the mortals away from the barbarity plaguing this time period.

It was embraced, cherished, loved.

‘Guide me to godhood.’ Whispered a prayer.

His focus shifted, following the string that linked with the mortal who’d sent the request.

He wasn’t surprised to find who it was, one of the original Dargown, those guided by he and Edith.

Colin, the boy, now a young man nearing three years, had taken the role of the Dargown to heart. He wanted to ascend, be a role model for others as Malan, Derrin and Axel already were.

As a direct follower of his, Colin focused primarily on life, but that didn’t mean his interests didn’t spread to other fields.

Now, like so many others, Colin gazed upon the work of the library, studying the runes, and comprehending them better than most, given his special bodily treatments. Yet even he ran into obstacles, concepts difficult for a mortal mind to contemplate, given their focus on viewing matters from one perspective.

Persistence, endless study, and tutelage, were means to rise above such obstacles.

Colin had all three.

Brushing his will against that of the mortal, Malan aided Colin, expanded, for just a moment, the capacity of memory, showed how it all flowed together.

The boy let out a small gasp, he saw, even partially understood, how Creation worked, and the best ways to manipulate it. But he couldn’t hold on to the sight, his mind began to fray.

Malan pulled back his aid.

Colin tried still, eyes wide and unblinking as he stared and focused with such intent, that Malan could feel it. The man tried desperately to hold on to the picture, to remember every detail.

There was too much, the runes and their shifting, were impossible for a mind of flesh to hold on to.

It was why he was so focused on ascending mortals, as they were, true understanding was beyond their capabilities.

On purpose.

To most, mortals were only a tool, the source that brought forth godly reflections, but he wanted them to be more, to rise, to be gods themselves.

For that, they couldn’t stay mortal.

Few understood this, and right now, watching the man fail to hold on to something so intricate; Colin arrived upon that unspoken truth, joined the ranks of those furthest in the quest of ascension.

‘You see far more than most.’ Malan whispered into the mind of the mortal. ‘Given your breed, but you are still bound by the limitations of your flesh. It must be further added to, slowly, with mastery, you will be able to form a vessel that will allow you to reach your goal.’

There was another way, one only Wonder could provide, the path of death. As long as a Soul remained in the Meadow, free from Creation’s new limiter. They could learn in a perfect state, a place free from all distractions. The only trouble would come during the time of affecting Creation. Without a vessel, one had to be made, which required Devotion, something most Souls would have a hard time gathering, unless they found a place of great death. Again, Wonder would provide easy means, be it from offering gods, or Souls learned in the ways of gathering unclaimed Devotion. Once manifested they would seek a following to finished their ascension.

Some were on this path, and while it would work, it wasn’t ideal. It relied too much on already established foundations.

The best path, and the one he was teaching through the Library, and those spread underground. Was to improve the mortal coil, increase its capacities to go along with their deeper understandings of the realm. In time, they would become godlings of flesh, would lure in a following that would finish the process. They would shift into beings seen as true gods, no matter how weak they would be compared to older ones.

After that, godhood reached, they would be free to learn at their leisure, to play this game of gods without fear of memory loss. Time would become meaningless, the trials of war, enemies, they would come and go, but the ascended would remain.

And with each transcendent follower, Wonder would gain another Sovereign, a being interested in manifesting that ideology, a realm of understanding, endless learning and refinement, of continued growth and heightened existence.

‘I’ve allowed myself to be distracted then.’ Colin thought in his mind, one shared and directed at Malan as well. ‘Your nature comes first, the flesh, my body needs further temperament.’

‘You follow the correct path,’ Malan sent back. ‘You test your abilities, learning their limits, and what must be improved. Continue it, and you will reach your goal, the true aim of our union.’

“Forever ascending.” Colin whispered as he gazed at the runes one last time, then turned.

Malan’s awareness stayed for a while, the halls of the Library were filled with many, and others offered their prayers to him, seeking aid just as Colin had done. Though none held as deep as a conviction, nor lofty goal. Most were appeased with the castings of the arcane, those small bendings of Creation.

Godhood wasn’t on their minds yet, the goal to far out of reach, but with each passing year, decade, century, more would gaze upon the goal, and see they could achieve it. They could rise to heights unending, acquire progress that couldn’t be undone.

The same for Wonder itself, it was growing in ways unseen, save for the Celestials above.

The truth chased away his concerns, made the turmoil of the continent, the savages and their chaotic gods, become passing noise.

Gods of Wonder were being developed, minds shown enlightenment.

No matter the destruction that was to come, the trials. They would always remain, and undo the destruction brought by those of limited minds.

---------------------------

Up above, passed the dome of the realm, multitudes watched. They gazed in delight of the stories being made, the triumphs and failures. They made bets, predictions, many even planned when best to take form, to wear the skin of a god.

Many awareness turned to one continent in particular, the sixth, on the upper left corner of the circle. They saw such a curiosity, such stable, highly developed lands, and people, a pantheon that made them tremble with interest.

The knowledge of it spread, more turning to look, bets proclaimed, questions made.

They went to the Curators, who already knew of the oddity, what it planned, what it sought, what it dreamed. It made many shiver with mirth and glee.

What a wonderful addition to the game of belief. The challenges and differences it would breed, those oldest and most knowing of the game gazed at the change with shimmering delight. The oddity represented a challenge of keen might, an adapting foe, their favorite to fight.

The Oldest wanted the oddity to spread, to take the realm and make it bend. To face the full strength of the entities aligned with it.

They weren’t alone, many lights shimmered, each interested in facing the foe, requesting a new goal, and an event to usher in a reward.

Merits they shimmered out, for the one to cast it down, maybe even a Perk.

The Curators thought over the request, while the Oldest of the game laughed.

They knew the oddity wouldn’t be defeated, at best stunted, but it would grow still, be a challenge to face at the end of the session, so they didn’t send complaint, instead they agreed with the other younger lights.

An event, a challenge to test this growing ideology.

The Curators considered, then agreed.

They worked upon Creation, making the event.

Those that took the form of gods around the oddity would be gifted a percentage increase in merit accumulation. If they won against the oddity, sundering it, and ending its growing reign, a large sum, half the cost of a perk, would be bestowed.

Lights bloomed, excited pulsing; entities focused on the continent, all sending their requests; fighting, bargaining, scheming with each other. They sought to gain access to gods in play, those dead, those still developing. Some, the most cunning and capable, made forms of their own. Manifested into the Glen without a follower to call their own. They, memories intact, would form a religion, and seek to end the oddity.

The Oldest shimmered gleefully, one in particular more than most.

It gazed fondly at the source of the change, the bringer of Wonder, a will that wouldn’t be conquered.

A will that would thrive, the same with those it was bringing under its care.

The old one filled with delight, envisioned the battles that would be in the far future, the contest of Wonder against the End.

The sights, sweet delights, birthed fresh life into a game it loved.

It turned to watching gods aligned with sundering something that would always grow anew, and waited with the others for its chance to join the fray.