A force had pressed upon his back, then an invisible hand which rested on his shoulder. With it came knowledge, bestowed to him, given his unwillingness to play the great game blind.

He, and all those aligned to Wonder, had been granted a percentage increase in the accumulation of Merits. Along with a reward, if they, Wonder succeeded.

The entity touching upon his awareness, did not hide the troubles awaiting him, or the fact those coming were being enticed with the same rewards.

Half the cost of a Perk was his to gain; it pressed on him, making sure he understood what that meant.

It could be any Perk.

Which meant the reward could be small, or infinitely large, given which was chosen. The other entities knew this too, meaning those coming for Wonder were never going to stop.

He’d sent a question to the entity, asking why it was letting him know all this.

It had answered with intention.

In the spirit of fairness, in the spirit of fun.

The pressure of the entity vanished afterward; its weight replaced by that of the knowledge bestowed him.

His, their plans to remain hidden, had been undone.

Sovereigns were coming, gods aimed specifically with ending Wonder.

There would be no hiding, no bargaining, there was only the old game again.

Surviving, outlasting opposition, and maybe, beating those claiming the reward.

How likely that latter part was, was an unknown to him. It all depended on Sovereigns; how many perks they had unlocked, and the type.

He was aware that some might have a collection of Perks that would make them hard, or impossible to defeat outright. Madness had warned him of such, that an upstart could appear abruptly and upend the norm building.

Still, they would adapt; Wonder would survive, and then thrive once knowledge of the opposition was gathered.

It calmed him, those permanent truths.

The Seeds of Wonder had already taken root, the most vulnerable stage of the Session was behind them.

Ahead were the trials, and while he was unsure of the depths of them, he knew that Wonder would make it through, it could not end, but it could be diminished for a time.

That was the real threat; Sovereigns aimed at ending them causing Wonder’s growth to slow, enough that when the Endbringers arrived; they wouldn’t have the strength to outlast them.

‘Then we will try again.’ He concluded to himself, at peace with the possible outcome.

How could others claim his ideology wrong, misplaced, if Creation and those above had decided to increase the difficulty.

Was it not a show of the opposite?

Had the Sovereigns not revealed to him that Wonder stood above the others?

They had.

So when his awareness spread out, contacting the Progenitors of Wonder; the weight of what was to come had lessened.

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

Counter to his worries, brought about from his enlightenment.

Foes hadn’t converged on them instantly.

Even the most powerful and dangerous needed time to prepare, and ready themselves for the costly acts of war.

A blessing, and a curse.

Two years blurred passed, an endless sprawl of work that had to be done, but it had been.

Cities were fortified, and the Roots underground dug deeper; till once more mortals walked upon the bedrock of the realm. In the depths, free from the sight of rival gods, Verm and Heon multiplied, as the former worked themselves to near death.

Forges of old, those Wargain had used to craft his flaming constructs of war, had been brought back and newly made. In them, metals pooling and refined; then blest, Verm made the frames of Wonder’s armies.

While Stonemen were useful, in the end, rock wasn’t the best material. Divine metal was, and so, to go with the name, Metalmen had come to be.

He, Axel and Derrin, plied their trade, wove upon the works of metal; runes that gave them life. All they needed were souls, and the constructs would serve as a formidable force to counter the enemies of ascension.

How many?

That was a constant question on his mind, all of theirs; that is, those able to comprehend.

While all gods were aware that a change had taken place. Only the Progenitors were aware of the extent, the why.

The other gods seemed incapable of understanding, even when outright told. They would hear nothing, or remember none of what was said; either way, the gods of the current Session had blocks on themselves. It prevented them from learning to much of how things worked, and the outside forces affecting the realm.

He came to the conclusion it was forced blinders, the same that came with Sovereigns who purposely suffered memory loss in order to gain more Merits.

As such, he, nor the other five, bothered providing specific details, only foretelling of a collective threat that was coming, and the need to prepare.

It was enough, and as a whole, the tools of Wonder worked.

Aronta, the Heart, and now in danger because of the change; saw most of his attention. Around the rim of the crater, rose a series of rock walls, artfully sculpted by his will. Rising higher than them, came spires and look out towers; they would allow mortals, or the dead, to gaze across the land scape for leagues.

Since he, and others, had cleared out most of the forest surrounding the crater.

Saving up Devotion, and adding more details to them, he and Derrin worked together. They spoke to Creation, made a demand, and turned the rock walls into solid steel. They blest the walls after, strengthening them further, and making it that they wouldn’t rust.

He made more walls further out, but those remained stone, and received no blessings. They were there to hinder invading forces, rather than stop them, and to thin the enemy’s strength before they came upon the real defenses.

Or better put, if, they reached the real defenses.

The Spires, a mixture of metals that helped the movement of the arcane, weren’t for show.

Beautiful as they were, the Spires were weapons.

Those the original Aronta had used during his father’s days, to great effect.

In the highest chamber of the tower, one made of thick moveable glass, set an equally large Sunstone. There, being bathed in Sun’s light continually, they built up a great deal of power. One, when activated and aimed, could send forth a searing beam of cleansing light.

These spires, were lined equally behind the steel walls, all ready to unleash their wrath on any force, mortal or ascended; that dared to attack the Heart of Wonder.

In the past he would have thought it enough.

However, no amount of mortal losses or setbacks, was going to dissuade Sovereigns.

The reward was too tempting a prize to be ignored. Thus, his focus on Aronta continued; while the Roots under it spread, and made more inhabitable for permanent residence. Throughout the crater, obelisks of copper, high enough that they cleared the trees, were made. The surfaces of them were thickly covered in runes, a miracle written into them; one that would maintain itself without any outside influence. It would go till it lacked the Devotion to do so, which would be stored within the structure, contained by purposely made crystals.

Currently the obelisks were dormant, their need yet to arrive. But when activated, together the rods would collectively form a protective dome above, and around the crater. A means to buy time, and prevent any attack from above, as Wargain had often favored.

Besides those, more interesting additions, the crater itself had received mundane changes.

The rim, while useful in keeping out savages, had been worked upon. Rock had been shifted and formed into ramps large enough for whole armies to march upon. While at the craters bottom, the forest being further tamed and trimmed, a series of defensive walls; similar to those found combing the lands of Promise. Had taken form, and separated the crater into sections.

Like the walls at the rim, they were made of steel and enchanted so they wouldn’t rust. Joining them were imposing gates that could be closed and locked when required.

Otherwise, they remained open, allowing all the denizens of Aronta to move about on marble roads.

Over the years, and the population soring thanks to easily and overly abundant food. The crater’s center had been turned into a cultured city of stones, metals, and lush gardens. There, where innovation was at its highest, blossoming trades came to be once more. Colleges of study, guilds of crafting, the arts of every kind, were being honed and improved.

Raw resources, from below and above, were fed there, the inhabitants of Aronta’s Heart ever hungry for supplies.

He, and the other Progenitors made sure said resources continued to arrive and be made anew.

While the Heart was continually growing, the outer sections of the crater still remained full of farm lands, but that was quickly changing.

Because of that, the more rural types had moved further out; terraforming the rim with divine help. With miracles, steep cliffs had been made broad, and staggered all the way to the top. Farms lined the crater, but that wasn’t enough. There were so many births, so many wanting their own land to live on. As a result, it wasn’t long before farms had developed outside the safe ring of the steel walls.

The Heon were the cause of this; from the outside, any invading force would think Aronta was a Heon only city. Since rarely did the other three races venture far from the Heart; there wasn’t a need, given the Heon were handling all the farming and a large bulk of the animal care. It left the Kolune and Dargown with a considerable amount of free time to pursue more enlighten trades.

The former, as he’d been shifting and breeding them to be, were the warrior class; large and imposing. Once endowed in blest armor and arms, they would make most mortal armies tremble. But they were a force only to be used as a last act of desperation. Like everyone else, they were of more use alive, and offering Devotion, rather than dying in battle.

Instead, they served as the bulk of volunteers taking up the ghostly role of Guardians. When this wasn’t taking place, most Kolune spent their days praying, training, and learning useful miracles to use in war. Such as warping rock to instantly form protective walls, or block enemy advancement. As well as the means to manifest elemental weapons when needed.

Their understanding of Creation wasn’t broad; their training focused on practical, simple and memorable weavings. The real arcane work was left to the Dargown, given that was what their breed was for.

While also serving as Custodians for Aronta, as it was in Promise with specifically bred Kolune. Dargown spent their lives maintaining an increasingly complicated stream of records, and requests; whose purpose was to keep tract and aid Aronta’s growth. They kept a close eye on developing areas, and people, making sure both had needed supplies; as well as serving as a peace force. They listened to complaints, quelled disagreements, and repaired damages that required an arcane touch.

But mostly, the Dargown spent their days learning and weaving Creation to their own ends. In the past, be it the Session before, or further out; the Dargown would have already reached a point where they would have been seen as living gods. But here in Aronta, they were considered ordinary citizens; performing acts mostly seen as mundane and something expected from that breed.

How quickly expectations had changed, then again, most living within the embrace of Wonder had never seen anything else; great works were a daily sight. The movement of Creation by mortals, almost considered a right.

With how events were flowing, all open to learn the ways of Creation; in a few more years that belief would be true.

He, Derrin and Axel would make it so, guiding those hungering for the means to improve themselves, and the realm as a whole. The latter two had made that their mission, when it came to the Dargown. The passing years, and the sight of the Heon’s booming population, had even them accept the fact that the Dargown weren’t going to be the main race for Wonder.

He still kept to his promise though, improving the Dargown more than any other race. With the abundance that Wonder’s cities were bringing, and the Roots becoming just as fertile, the increased resources the uplifted Dargown required were easy to fulfill. The breed was becoming more, without suffering imposed limitations as a countermeasure, to Creation’s growing annoyance.

It was tempting to start his project of old, make a perfect race, a breed of gods. Derrin and Axel pestered him about it from time to time, but he refused, even as he pushed the bounds of what Creation thought fair. He couldn’t risk his people becoming arrogant, or the other races seeing the blatant favoritism. Unity was needed, the whole of Wonder’s followers banded together with the belief all could rise, if they put the effort in.

It had to be that way, or his blunder would repeat again.

Abandoned, betrayed, and left to face the wrath of all those he’d wronged.

So, even as he wanted the Dargown to succeed, his blessings remained broad. All of Wonder’s children received his care, his attention.

He let the others be more selective.

As expected, Derrin and Axel focused mostly on the Dargown, the arcane class that would aid the warriors.

Unlike the Kolune, the arcane weavers knew the breath of Creation, didn’t follow memorized miracles. They wove it, and would be able to counter whatever surprises the many enemies of Wonder had in store.

The other Wonderbringers aided their favorites as well. Bronduff spent most of his time training his new Huntsmen, and the Kolune of Aronta in the ways of war.

Foy did the same with the Heon, teaching them her secrets, the art of poisons, and assassinry. They would become Shades, the hidden foe waiting to strike.

Rimean, the traveling Healer and teacher, was more open with his secrets. But most of his disciples were Heon, eager to have the knowledge to undo the burdens of life, and live beyond the time Creation had originally ordained. However, Rimean’s knowledge and teachings were wide spread. Every part of Wonder’s domain knew of him, and the boons he provided. Even the Kolune of Promise sent Devotion to him, since many farmers there actively cultivated herbs used to help heal mundane wounds.

As for Ryan, the highest god of the Verm, and ruler of the underground. He continued his work as he’d done in life.

He preached.

His sermons resounded through many specially made halls that helped amplify his voice. He filled his people with the vigor of old, the need to create, to build, and maintain. And unlike the Session before, Ryan was able to speak his words as much as he decreed, without the risk of turning mortals into Thralls. He’d done changes to himself outside of Creation, moving that skill to an active one, rather than passive. It now required effort on his part and a greater demand of Devotion to cause the effect. Nor was it as potent; it would take many listenings before mortals were taken by the words.

So once more, Ryan was able to speak without restraint; to fill his people with purpose and guide them to better aid Wonder’s rise. His followers were many, and wide spread; his reach was all of the underground, every Verm knew of him, and praised his name.

Often he’d watched and listened to Ryan’s sermons. His long speeches of the Verm’s place and importance within the working of Wonder.

While it was enjoyable to see so many joined and happy to be part of something so freeing, it was not why he was there. He’d gazed upon Ryan, at his miracle, at the way it made Creation move.

It wasn’t a mistake that he was considered the bringer of Wonder, its highest champion. With trained eyes, ears, a will yearning to know more, to reach, to expand his knowledge; he achieved what others could not.

He studied every aspect of what was taking place, the weaving of Creation, the way it moved, till finally he could do it himself.

He too could speak purpose into people, even enthrall them. The cost of both was higher for him to do, nor as well done; Creation was aiding Ryan, for his godhood was to preach and guide.

Malan’s, one of his oldest, was of a peddler; in away, a collector of miracles and Wonders he’d seen. These days, he was seeing so many; the realm echoed with miracles great and small. Slowly he was learning them all, adding to his collection of secrets; to be given, or traded to those worthy.

There would be many.

Down in the depths of the Roots, he’d begun changing Verm and Heon into a second arcane class. Not as gifted as the Dargown, but they would be above most. They would be a force to call upon to help safe guard the underground, if the forces above, the growing hordes unaligned with Wonder, ever took the lands.

He was doing everything he could to prevent that, using every tool available, including Ryan’s miracle.

Across the lands, deep in forests growing anew, ghosts of his own walked. Before they would have been Shadows, beings cloaked in the darkest of hue. Now, in this new Session, where Wonder was embraced. His personal dead, his GuidingLights; wore cloaks of white, the silk fabrics touched, and intertwined with runic symbols of gold and silver.

Threats growing, borders tested, he no longer hampered his gifts. With the means to remain an unknown stripped from them, he no longer held back; his foes received the open attention of Wonder.

GuidingLights marched, spreading across the lands, falling the trails of Shards as they found small tribes, with equally small gods.

He could feel them, their repulsion to his ideology; all the gods born of the past two years had been the same; Sovereigns aligned with the purpose of ending Wonder.

Wargain would have cleansed the lands, turned everything around his growing empire into ash and dust. And maybe that would have worked, for a time, but not in these early years.

The Session, the lands, they were still so very fertile. He’d seen on multiple occasions whole tribes be born at once; birthed from large foliage cocoons, that erupted from the dirt, and quickly withered. Mortals came out as young adults, ready to breed, and begin a new religion.

Worse, his use of fire, covering the lands in the South in rich ash; had only increased the event. New tribes were continually being birthed, the lands overflowing with fresh godlings.

They needed guidance, they needed purpose.

So came his Lights, and with it his voice.

In many places the dead manifested within the enclosures of savages. Some had already made gods, and they hated him, but they were fledglings, while he was empowered by thousands.

“Wonder is here.” He’d said, speaking through his Lights, and performing Ryan’s miracle. They’d turned to him, enraptured by his voice. “To save you, to offer you, something no other belief ever will.”

Gods had manifested in many places, a collection of simple beings; some of nature, then water, rock, even fire. They attacked, seeking to remove the Lights, his voice.

Devotion had flowed through them; combined with his knowledge and their own training, gods were struck down with lightning, fire, winds, stone. Death was brought, rotting flesh, light was summoned; searing all it touched.

Gods crumbled, gods died, their corpses simmering and waiting to be claimed. He’d half glanced at them, but had returned his attention back to his miracle. During the whole affair, none of the mortals, from any of the tribes, had moved or stopped staring at his Lights. He’d smiled, his Lights doing the same.

“Wonder offers you the knowledge, the right, to rise, to ascend, to shape the realm. To be part of an age of endless possibilities, a place where mortals are made into gods.”

Normally the mortals wouldn’t have understood, not completely, but Ryan’s miracle, woven with others, seeped the understandings into them. They knew what he was offering, the salvation, the chance few before them had ever been given.

Throughout the lands, mortals took the offering hands of Wonder, discarding their simple ways and simple gods.

They marched, following his Lights, heading for hidden places where tunnels to the underground awaited. All the while he recited his sermons, spoke assurances, told of all the spectacles they were going to see.

The Lights guided them, a small, but growing tide of mortals, heading to a special place.

While they were under the influence of Wonder, minds filled with awe; in the end, he was always a cautious entity, and had cultivated breeds to keep pure. Those touched by Ryan’s miracle would not mingle with the rest of Wonder’s flock.

Not at first.

A new city was forged from the collection of mortals meant to depose Wonder; to empower gods aimed at bringing it down. Now they would be another source of its growth, and a display that when given a choice; shown what could be offered them, they would embrace Wonder.

He’d been doing this for over a year, stealing followers from new born gods. As such, the city of Offers flourished underground, and like a seed taking root, it had rose from the ground.

The surface was worked upon, forests and lands cleared before miracles moved rock into soring structures; they were transformed after, turning them into glowing marble.

Defenses were raised afterward; lands tilled, animals claimed, and domesticated.

All of it a show of Wonder’s might; but to outsiders, while distracting; that wouldn’t have held their attention.

The true Wonder, was he hadn’t been discriminant with his takings. All tribes, of every race, had been offered a place within Wonder’s realm.

The city of Offer was a mixed place. Heon and Kolune worked hand in hand with Verm and Dargown. A marvel, for all were of ordinary stock, Creation’s chosen traits, unlike his own carefully picked, and improved mortals who lived in Aronta.

Those of Offer should have been at each other’s throats; the Heon trying to butcher all, while the Dargown should have attempted to enslave those they considered lesser.

And they would have, if not for the GuidingLights.

Throughout the area, both above and below ground, the figures cloaked in light sung his mimicked miracle. It hummed in the air, a chorus intertwined with a desire for them to get along; it seeped into the mortals, made them comply. In time, maybe years, he might not have to sing, the miracle woven deep into mind and flesh.

But they weren’t the real targets of the song. His real intent was aimed at the unborn infants, minds pure, and ready to be sculpted. It was a test, an experiment to see if he could instill in them a commitment, one that would make them immune to the callings of chaos and order. That they would love, cherish, the Wonder they were going to be born into.

A mind weaving, to go with the flesh.

He plied his favored trade, and went about adjusting a single trait. There was only one thing he wanted from those making up Offer.

Compliance.

The un-need for him to sing, and for that, he made it that the litters born from those mortals would be docile.

It would be another hampering aimed at those misaligned with Wonder. Chaos required upstarts; while order required those with the desire to chain others. But for such a thing to work, said individuals needed the will to enforce it.

Those born within Offer would have none of that, a temporary price for the protection he was offering to mortals he could have easily killed.

It would have been simple, but he was old, and had many tutors over the centuries. A collection of knowledge from all those who’d failed to survive Creation.

He would not fall prey to the same mistakes, destruction was not the answer. Production, persuasion, the taking, and showing mortals who they should really champion.

That was the path to victory.

The mortals enlightened to the truth, shown that Wonder was the only ideology that cared; that wanted them to forever rise.

They would see, were seeing.

Offer, a spreading city bustling with activity, gave voice to that. They worked, they built, they got along. They were learning too, simple and safe miracles that aided them in their daily affairs. The future generations would learn more, if they were a success.

Needs met, and the area safe; mortals had multiplied.

Pups, buns, and mice were brought into the realm; with guiding care, Lights and mortals carried some into the underground. Down in the depths of rock, safe and away from any prying eyes. He gazed upon them in a manifested form. Godly eyes peered into the very core of them, as Lights stopped their singing in the area they dwelled.

He watched, he waited, as infants played within the confines of an extremely padded room. The miracle gone, the mortals free, it would be then their base instincts would come out.

But they didn’t.

Infants giggled; infants played, for the song was still in them.

Heon cuddled with Kolune, Dargown gave affection to all, and Verm, they got along with everyone, never shedding a hint of fear. There was no violence, no intent to kill, to feast, to conquer.

There was peace, a state perfect for learning, for growth, for prayer.

Malan smiled at the work of reforged enemies, at Wonder’s constant means to adapt.

He nodded to the Lights, and the ghosts carried the infants back to their parents.

His form vanished from Creation, its need done; he gazed outward, awareness flooded from the sights of hundreds of Shards.

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

The realm, how quickly it had changed.

Chaos had originally reigned over the continent, but now order had taken hold.

The new gods, controlled by older Sovereigns, had brought with them civilized culture. Even gods already in play had changed in behavior and strength.

Through his many eyes, he saw that Sovereigns shared tactics. All used perks that increased litter amounts and intelligence. Some more than others, given certain tribes easily outperformed their rivals.

Again, even though the South had suffered the great ravagings of flame, the lands were refilled with Heon; but this time they weren’t nomads.

Small villages, to growing cities dotted areas. The Heon, while still savage barbarians, had instantly become aware of animal domestication and meat preservation. Tools of war were common as well, all the tribes, even those newly birthed from the ground; knew how to make axes, spears, and daggers.

This was true for all the lands.

South, West, East, even further North, all had become enlightened. Ordered butchery had come, the mortals, influenced by older Sovereigns, were already conducting field tactics. No more was it unruly mobs, fighting personal skirmishes with each other, battles were coordinated, armies stood in formations, and moved with trained precision.

They made better tools too, no longer content with rock and wood; they smelted ores found on the surface, and began sending mining expeditions underground. Enemies were digging into the depths, and while none had reached a Root, it was only a matter of time; war was ever hungry, its demands, infinite. They would dig deep, and Wonder’s sanctum would be struck upon.

It was why Myock had free reign to attack all enemies of Wonder. The moment they got too close to a Root, or found a large ore deposit, that was already planned to be mined by them. The god of stone collapsed the makeshift tunnels constructed by unaligned mortals.

Even the largest of tribes had become wary of digging too deep.

For all the threat these older Sovereigns imposed, they were not mirrors of Wonder. Their skills were limited, their influence on Creation finite. Most didn’t have the means to counter Myock, or any other Wonder god who could control the elements.

As such, mining remained near the surface, away from the Roots and Myock’s tirades.

It bought them time, was allowing the Verm underground to find and mine out all the large pockets of ore, whether they needed them or not. Those gathered were smelted and stored deep on the bedrock of the realm.

This would stunt order, keep it from building too large an arsenal to equip its armies. All the while, those of Wonder would have all their needs met. He could transmute as much rock into ore as he wanted, with all the Devotion flowing to him, his options were ever broad.

That was the problem.

Wonder was too great, and those above, the Celestials, had drastically increased the difficulty in turn.

If they weren’t careful, ruin could find them.

The gods of the land were all against them now, aimed at attacking the borders of their prospering union.

The wall of Wonder, the Line of Enlightenment, were continually harassed by raids; sometimes even armies of hundreds led by a war god.

The gods of Promise, Stron in particular, had made it their role to fight at those walls, to contest the foes of order.

For now, none had come close to breaking through, the walls of gleaming metal, and shimmering runes refused to break. And even if they did, the lands within had been worked and shifted. Layered walls combed the lands, making it impossible for any invading force to travel quickly, and if not guided, or empowered by a god. The mortals would find themselves unable to advance; or even survive. Wonder had loyal gods of nature now, the forests themselves a weapon waiting to be used.

Still, even with all these defenses, and more to come, the enemy would never stop. The gods would suffer any loss if it meant they would win the contest; they would break Wonder even if it led to their future demise at the Session’s end.

What did Sovereigns care if the Endbringers won? The loop would repeat, the realm would heal, and the mortals would come again.

He knew this too; still his Healer, his caring nature, compelled him to safeguard his followers.

It was so potent now, they loved him so much. The press upon him to keep them safe and prospering, was beyond his means to ignore.

He wanted to end all the threats, to cleanse the lands.

But the gods and mortals would come again, the lands birthing them anew.

The Sovereigns would not stop, not give up.

War was the mistake, the lurer to get him to spend Wonder’s growing strength on an act that wouldn’t net lasting results.

While he would spend what was needed on defense, even unleash works to thin herds of heretics. He wouldn’t launch crusades, great acts to stomp the realm into submission.

Creation was the path forward, to rise above the conflict, to make a foundation so strong that the enemies of Wonder could be ignored.

The mortals cocooned from the distractions, allowed to learn and ascend, to fill the lands under Wonder’s control, with intricate gods.

They would not be sent to war, that was for the dead, the many volunteers choosing to become Guardians, and allowing themselves to be housed within constructs.

When order’s ilk came to invade their realm, they would not fight against fellow flesh. Rock and metal would be their adversaries, constructs designed to fight even gods. And if the worst-case scenario was to come, the enemy reaching the followers of Wonder. They would not fight with steel in their hands.

Creation would bend to their desires, the realm howling as thousands of individual weavings filled the air and shattered whatever force came to end them.

Order would know the might of Wonder, and learn they didn’t need to send armies to inflict losses.

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

He, along with those most skilled with mass killing; showcased Wonder’s destructive side.

Foy, her Shades everywhere, had gotten her desire; the lands full of heretics waiting to be experimented on.

In large population centers, and the opposition too strong to waste Devotion on with singing; Foy plied her trade.

Sometimes Shades used poisons that caused mass blindness, and a numbness in the mind. It left cities with a large burden, that they themselves had to waste effort putting down. In other places, he saw brews that made mortals itch continually, enough that they began tearing off their own fur and flesh. Even then they found no relief, and died by their own clawing hands.

Others became unable to sleep, and erratic. At first it was a boon, all the energy they had; but it wore them down; eventually their hearts gave out.

There was one particular poison she used, that caught his attention. It caused the body to cease being able to heal itself. The brew blocked the blood from thickening, so a wound, of any kind, kept bleeding. After a few days, the mortal died of blood loss or internal bleeding.

Each display of poison plucked at his life-weaving self; he wanted to improve the mortal forms, make them immune, or have the means to adapt to Foy’s methods.

She would then do the same back; inventing a new concoction to undermine his efforts, and renew the competition between life and death.

He would win out, eventually, but only because the mortals would become so uplifted, that they would no longer be considered such.

But such gifts weren’t for the enemy to have, those deeply committed to Wonder’s demise. The urge, while always present, dampened as he recalled the fact; those he watched were heretics, followers of order.

The forever enemy, one that was sprouting up everywhere. Near them, and far off into distant lands; where he no longer had the time, nor Devotion, to spare in quelling them.

He still saw them, distant Shards keeping track. In the far north, where order had already once been put down, dozens more had propped up. Each more aligned with that ideology, and focused on building. A pantheon was born, with them all aligned with Order, and focused on Wonder’s end, the gods had no trouble joining forces.

A mere two or three years ago, Shades would have been sent to rend and destroy the population with Bronduff and Foy’s help. Now it festered; the population growing, thanks to the careful but firm care of the order gods.

It wasn’t just there either, it was the same in all directions, enemies were maturing, left unchecked as he was forced to deal with the local threats.

More destructive methods were, and had been used. It was the only reason a semblance of peace remained within the wildlands. While the walls of enlightenment often were disturbed by violence, it was far below what could have been.

Foy hadn’t been the only one to spin calamitous miracles. He did as well, as a Lifeweaver he was as knowledgeable about the ways of sabotaging a body as much, or more than her.

Around growing cities and towns, he fouled the water. With the help of GuidingLights, acting through them; he turned rock underneath streams and ponds, into lead. The heavy metal ate away at the mortal minds. It forced large population centers to move about, as very few had any methods to cleanse the water.

He messed with food supplies as well, introducing molds that destroyed crops, and poisoned meat. Around cities he also made a flower of many colors, that gave off a pleasant aroma. The flowers themselves were eatable, and sweet. All a lurer, which worked. Men and women alike collected them, ate them or in general kept them around for decoration. None aware, till months in, when some gods were able to track the problem to its source. That they found out the flowers caused infertility.

They were burned after, and the species wiped out in areas, as whole tribes went looking to remove them.

Not all had been so lucky, a number of tribes had never found out the reason for their lack of children. They eventually were destroyed by rivals, since they were unable to breed.

While continuing his efforts in distracting rival gods, and slowing their growth. He helped in the work of another disaster. Deeper into the South, where it was most effective, he along with Derrin and Axel, through Guardians, unleashed divine flame. It quickly spread, sweeping across the land, and burning away the infection taking hold.

But it was only a delay; Sovereigns and mortals would come back. It was fine, since it kept the likes of order and chaos from developing too much in that region.

He was content with that.

He had to be, else he would fall prey to the same mistakes of war gods, thinking they could crush the land and all its inhabitants.

He did only what was necessary to keep Wonder safe, and the realm under its care providing the means to continue development. To rise above the clamor trying to drag them all down back to mundanity, and worse, chains.

Order, he’d thought they were to be free of it; but it was back in force. Sovereigns with their Perks, were birthing heretics everywhere, taming the lands; bringing about stability that would later be used to strangle the upliftment of mortals.

He saw the pattern.

Mortals of the savage lands were falling for order’s ruse, tricked by the calmness it brought, the structured life and security.

It was a foul thing to know, that his, and the rest of the Wonderbringers works of destruction, were only aiding in this. But they no longer had the luxury of restraint. The enemy couldn’t be allowed to gather enough strength around them, not when forces further away were mounting in might.

He sighed within his atlas chamber, the realm map moving as if it were alive. He saw all that was transpiring around them, the work of hundreds of Shards and Guardians. The enemy wouldn’t surprise him, he would see their attacks coming.

For now, the manifestations of order and chaos weren’t much of a problem; the local resistances too small to worry their defenses. But that wouldn’t last, eventually those further out would come into play. They would send forth armies to conquer and expand their borders. They would head for them, he knew, the prize of victory was too tempting a light for most Sovereigns to ignore; given the rapid changes of the past two years.

“Such nuisances.” He growled; everything had been going so well, Wonder flourishing unnoticed. In a decade or two, if pushed, they might have been able to claim most of the continent, the lands entering into an age of upliftment.

Now, like before, there would be war instead. The lands becoming accustomed to calamity, as great works meant to build, would be turned instead to sundering the land and foes alike.

It was already in the works.

Safe within the serenity of his lands, behind the line of enlightenment, Malan allowed himself to manifest into the realm.

It was a beautiful day; Sun glowed above the lands warm and healthy, the sky ocean blue, and a gentle breeze stirred the air. Within the lands of Wonder, no mortal could truly comprehend the forces building, the entities bent on destroying all they had built together. It was too pleasant here, too serine for such thoughts to be considered for long.

To the minds aligned with Wonder, it would be madness of the highest order, to believe there was those committed with the destruction of their work.

He mourned the truth; the sickness of order and chaos.

They would try to end this beauty. With all his strength and knowledge, he would keep the forces of order and chaos back; allow the mortals time to ascend. And for that, another work of Wonder had to be done.

As he had achieved at Aronta, the walls of enlightenment would receive spires of cleansing.

He would have done it sooner, but even with thousands worshipping the gods of Wonder; the needed Devotion had taken time to gather. But now that it had, he would wait no longer. His nature compelled him to act, to protect all those so deeply aligned with him.

Shards of himself spread about the entire length of the encircling walls, those that encompassed hundreds of leagues.

Acting on his own, since he’d spun the miracle before. He pulled on his reserves, and those freely offered to him.

He willed, and spoke.

Rock rose high up into the sky, shifting to his demands. They towered over the walls.

All would see and know in time what they represented.

Smoothing them out, and detailing them with all the fineries such works deserved, Malan willed again, turning simple stone into a myriad of metals. The towers shined, their surfaces reflecting the light of Sun, the most was at the top, the glass dome. He formed the Sunstones within, and they began collecting the rays, storing them for later use. With a third miracle, the work was complete. Runes spun around the spires, then carefully imprinted themselves into the structures; a fading flash and the spires became enchanted with miracle resistances.

In a handful of breaths, a great Wonder had been brought into the realm. Through many eyes he gazed upon the spires fondly, the role they would play, the safety they would bring. He felt pride; it would have taken other civilizations decades to achieve, entire populations focused on their construction.

It was a statement, to those that followed Wonder, and those that dared aligned against it. They would gaze upon the work, and ponder, what else was being built? What other works awaited? What horrors could Wonder birth, if pushed and not left to prosper in peace.

If they continued to press, mortals and gods would learn the answers.

Wargain’s titles weren’t complete lies.

If pushed, he could, and would become the Ruiner again, a maker of monsters, of calamities.

As he had done, filling the hearts of those that followed Wonder with love; then those against it would know fear.

“How far will you push us?” He asked within the atlas chamber, to a place empty. But he knew there was those watching, listening. “What Wonder’s do you want unleashed upon the realm?”

Silence, but that was answer enough, the atlas served as their voice, a mural of their works.

Order was blooming, chaos was withering, and Wonder was surrounded.

“You will not chain the realm again.” He said, eyes blazing with miracle might. “It shall ascend beyond your blight. Mortals made into gods, your chains will be shattered, your lies burned away, your intentions shown to all.”

The age of Wonder would come, be it through peaceful growth, or raving machinations; for its depths are endless, its wisdom overflowing, its insight ever awe-inspiring.

“They shall be gods; they shall be Sovereigns.”