The days passed, the war was over, and yet its aftermath still lingered, in hearts, mortal in dreams and in the brittle stillness that came after too much blood had been spilt.
Ramona often spent her time walking among the clouds, calling rain to heal the broken earth. To try and cover the ground with a layer of grass. I remained behind in the small cabin nestled in the forest clearing, the mirror before me rippling faintly like liquid gold.
Each night, I listened.
Whispers flowed through the mirror's surface, hundreds, then thousands. The prayers of mortals, faint and trembling. At first, they were simple, desperate things:
"Lord of Protection, shield my son as he marches home."
"Merciful Father, guard my village from sickness."
"God of the Golden Cross, keep my dreams free of the dead I've slain."
Their faith reached me as wisps of golden dust, when I looked at the dust I could see and hear the believer who prayed and if I inhaled it I could hear and even feel their emotion.
I felt overwhelmed when I felt the prayers of some of my believers, they genuinely believed and only thought of me as their only hope.
Thus I handled their prayers with care, my light flowed like a lullaby.
One soldier, trembling in his cot, saw visions of his fallen brother smiling at him once more, telling him to rest.
A mother who'd lost her child dreamt of holding her again, of warmth, of forgiveness, of laughter.
A beastman boy, terrified to sleep in the same world as his conquerors, found peace in a dream of running under an endless blue sky, free and unchased.
In their dreams, I built them shelters. Small, unassuming things, an inn, a campfire, a home. They would wake rested, not knowing why their hearts felt lighter, only that the nightmares had fled.
By the third night, the prayers changed.
Word had spread, whispers through the streets and temples of both men and beastmen alike:
"The God of Protection gives good dreams."
"He heals the broken in their sleep."
Their voices rose to me like songs through mist:
"Lord of the Golden light, grant me your peace."
"He Who Guards the Heart, bring me kind dreams tonight."
"Father of Protection, please… let me forget the fire."
[The words in bold are from the beastmen]
I did not grant all. I could not. There were too many.
But where the threads shone brightest, where the plea was honest, and the soul still clung to hope, I reached out and wove serenity into their sleep.
By the fifth night, the dreams themselves began to ripple outward. Mortals spoke of the "Golden Fields," a place they all shared in sleep, a wide plain beneath a soft sky where a man in bronze armour sat with them and talked and genuinely listened to their problems.
I never told them it was me.
Ramona teased me for it once, leaning against the cabin's doorway, her silver hair haloed by rainlight. "They adore you, you know," she said, smiling faintly. "The god who guards the weary. It's endearing."
I'd only shrugged. "It's a small kindness. And small kindnesses last longer than fear."
She laughed softly. "You've grown sentimental."
"Perhaps," I said, watching the mirror ripple again, "but if it helps keep the world from breaking then why not?"
Seven days passed. Seven nights of dreams, of prayers, of faith threading through the air like gold dust.
Then, on the dawn of the eighth day, as I sat before the mirror, a strange stillness came over me. The forest fell quiet, no birds, no breeze, not even the distant hum of the river.
The mirror's surface began to shine brighter, turning from gold to blinding white.
Ramona turned toward me, sensing it too. "Adam?"
"I think…" I began, standing slowly as the light pulled upward, "I'm being taken back to the city"
The mirror folded inward like a great iris, pulling my reflection into itself. My body followed.
The world bent, and in the next instant, the cabin was gone. The forest was gone.
I stood instead within a vast, empty expanse, the space Endless, weightless, painted in soft blue and white fluffy clouds, and before me, rising from the nothing and suspended in the air, was the gleaming gate of the Golden City, the city of the gods.
A low hum filled the air, divine power moved all over the upper heavens. I could feel its heartbeat in the light.
I exhaled slowly, rolling my shoulders. "So," I murmured to the golden horizon, "I have returned."
I flew toward the gate, the air shimmering around me in rippling bands of gold and silver. The twin sentinels who guarded the entrance were vast as mountains, their skin covered in golden armour and their eyes burning like twin suns.
When they saw me approach, they bowed slightly, an act that made the ground itself rumble beneath their feet.
"We welcome you, Adam,"
"God of Protection and Swift Judgment."
Their voices boomed in perfect unison, echoing across the endless horizon. The title of swift judgment still made me wince a little.
The golden gates parted soundlessly, spilling radiant light into the void beyond. The sentinels stepped aside, and I flew through.
The city stretched endlessly beneath me, spires and sanctums, rivers of molten light flowing between the spires. At its heart rose the Golden Spire, piercing the heavens like a sunlit needle.
I landed before its towering doors, which opened the moment my feet touched the ground. Inside, the vast lobby gleamed with mirrored floors and celestial sigils. The faint hum of divine energy filled the air, broken only by the soft shuffle of a quill. The place was different from an hour ago.
Behind a crystal desk sat the receptionist, a tall, neat figure in gold reamed glasses.. When he looked up and saw me, his face split into a knowing smile.
"Ah, Lord Adam! That was a long hour, wasn't it?"
I couldn't help a quiet chuckle. "Long? I spent a year in the lower world, yeah definitely long"
He studied me for a moment, eyes flickering with faint surprise. "You've changed," he said. "Do you know your current level?"
I shook my head. "No. I've been… busy."
He nodded, tapping a crystalline drawer. "Then let's find out."
He withdrew a radiant orb from the desk and set it between us. The light inside it pulsed faintly, like a sleeping star.
"Place your hand upon this, please," he said smoothly. "It measures your level of existence."
I placed my hand on the orb.
A pulse of energy rippled through the room, gold and blue light swirling together, forming a sphere of stardust within the orb. The light grew brighter, vibrating, alive.
The receptionist blinked, then smiled broadly. "Well, congratulations," he said. "You are now classified as a low-class, high-tier god."
I raised a brow. "That's… good?"
He leaned back, still studying the orb. "More than good. Most gods who descend to the lower world come back barely clinging to mid-tier divinity. But you—" He gestured to the glowing orb.
"You're already on the cusp of ascending to mid-class. That's… rare. Very rare."
He began flipping through a translucent ledger. "Now then, there are some formalities. First, you'll need to report to a faction. Based on your dominion, Protection and Swift Judgment, you'd be eligible for either the Order Faction or the Neutral Faction. Second is form blueprints for your divine kingdom. Oh, and both factions will likely compete for you, so—"
"I already have a divine kingdom," I interrupted quietly.
He froze. The faint hum in the room stopped.
Then, slowly, he looked up. "I'm sorry… what?"
"I've already formed my divine kingdom," I said, keeping my tone even.
For a moment, the only sound was the faint crackle of the orb's energy. The receptionist leaned forward, eyes wide.
"You… what?" His voice dropped to a whisper. "Lord Adam, that's impossible. You're not even mid-class yet. You shouldn't be capable of stabilizing a divine subspace."
I crossed my arms. "And yet, I have."
He stared at me, then sat back in his chair, running a hand down his face. "Do you have any idea what that means?"
I frowned. "Should I?"
He let out a long breath. "It means, Lord Adam, that you've accomplished what most gods can't do in, ten millennia maybe in eons. Forming a divine kingdom before ascending to mid-class means your core divinity is overdeveloped, denser, stronger. That kind of growth shouldn't even be possible under normal laws."
He leaned closer, his tone dropping to a serious whisper. "Listen to me carefully. You must not tell anyone about this. Not your allies, not even your chosen faction, do you understand?"
I studied him, brow furrowed. "Why?"
"Because," he said grimly, "gods who break divine limits attract attention, and not the good kind. The godheads themselves might take interest, and the other factions will see you as a threat. You'd be drawn into their power struggles before you could even settle your own dominion."
He paused, then smiled weakly. "You don't want that kind of attention, trust me."
I let out a slow breath, nodding once. "Understood."
"Good." He leaned back again, visibly trying to compose himself.
"Still…" He glanced at me, envy flickering in his gaze. "I wish I was you."
I laughed softly. "No, you don't."
He chuckled. "You might be right, my lord. You might be right."
As I turned to leave, the orb still glowed on his desk, that single star pulsing like a heart, steady and radiant
And for the first time since my ascension, I realized the truth of what he said, I was an anomaly.