The Guardian gods-Chapter 460

The sheer force of the upheaval sent massive waves rolling outward, but Aqua was already prepared.

As Brix focused on shaping the land, Aqua stretched his arms toward the sky. The clouds above darkened, swirling into dense, churning masses. Cool air flowed downward, meeting the unnatural heat radiating from the rising island.

Aqua closed his eyes and breathed, channeling his essence into the air itself. A dense mist began to form, thick and unyielding, creeping over the waters and shrouding the newly risen land.

The mist was not ordinary—it carried a fragment of Aqua’s will, ensuring it never dissipated completely. It swirled like a living thing, adjusting its density as needed.

If a ship or creature approached, the mist would twist their perception, making them believe they were sailing in the wrong direction. Should they persist, currents hidden within the fog would subtly push them away.

From a distance, the island would seem like a normal stretch of ocean, blending seamlessly into the horizon. Only those who knew of its existence—and had the means to resist Aqua’s magic—would be able to find it.

Aqua opened his eyes, watching as his mist thickened, settling into its eternal vigil. He let out a satisfied sigh.

"Now," he murmured, "no one will approach this place unless they truly seek it."

With the land raised and the mist deployed, only one task remained—ensuring the island remained undisturbed.

Brix lifted a hand, opening a portal within the air itself. The gateway shimmered, revealing a section of the spirit world where ancient treants stood in silent watchfulness.

"These treants have long since faded from the mortal world," Brix explained. "But they will serve as eternal sentinels here, ensuring no intruders disturb the land."

From the portal, massive treants stepped forward. Their bark-covered bodies groaned with the weight of ages, their gnarled limbs thick with moss and ancient growth. They moved with slow but deliberate steps, their eyes glowing with an inner green light.

These treants would take root within the island, blending with the new landscape. They would not attack unless provoked, but their mere presence would deter even the boldest of explorers.

The treants’ existence was linked to the fog, allowing them to subtly manipulate its movements. If an intruder ever managed to reach the island, they would ensure they never left.

Unlike mortal creatures, these treants required no sustenance. They would remain as long as the island existed, unmoving yet always aware.

Brix exhaled, surveying their work. The island stood silent and ominous, a dark fortress of nature itself, encircling the corrupted sea like a cage. The mist swirled protectively around it, ensuring none would approach without intention. And deep within, the treants had already begun to settle, their roots intertwining with the earth, becoming part of the land itself.

Aqua nodded approvingly. "It’s done."

Brix cracked his neck. "Good. This should keep it locked away for as long as it needs to be."

The godling merfolk, having observed the entire process, bowed their heads in respect. "We will ensure our people do not approach this place," their leader promised.

With their task complete, Aqua and Brix exchanged a final glance before vanishing into the wind, their work here finished. The cursed sea had been sealed—not purified, not destroyed, but hidden away from the world. A forbidden place, lost in mist and hopefully to myth.

And so, the Isle of the Black Tide was born.

The two world spirits retreated and headed back to the spirit realm where they will stay until the world needed them again.

And so, time passed. A decade had gone by since the ascension of the gods. On the surface, all seemed calm—cities thrived, faith endured, and life carried on as it always had. Yet, a subtle shift had occurred, one that only those who paid close attention could perceive.

Among mortals, a curious phenomenon had taken root: the godlings, once a visible presence across the continents, had grown scarce. To the younger generations, they became little more than stories, relics of a past era. Only in sacred places, within the walls of temples or whispered prayers, did their influence remain tangible.

For the godlings themselves, the ascension of their gods had been an event of unparalleled significance, a cause for celebration that stretched on for an entire week. Lavish feasts, celestial dances, and endless festivities filled their domains, as they honored the ones who had risen beyond. Unlike past ages, there was no conflict over succession—no struggle for power—for the heir to each throne had already been determined. With their place secured, the godlings indulged in their revelry, reveling in the triumph of their divine predecessors.

But celebrations could not last forever. When the final echoes of laughter faded, the godlings turned their focus to their new responsibilities. First among these was the training of priests, a task that, at first, seemed routine. They had done it before, after all, under the guidance of the Origin Gods. They knew the process: temples were built, doctrine was established, and the divine order was reinforced. freёwebnoѵel.com

For the newly ascended gods, the process of understanding their own divinity was daunting. They lacked the vast, inherent comprehension that the Origin Gods possessed, and they quickly realized that missteps could have serious consequences. It was during this time that Björn became an invaluable figure. Though he had his problem, his insights into divinity and faith were profound, shaped by his unique perspective and accumulation of knowledge.

The new gods did not hesitate to send him gifts—tokens of gratitude, but also subtle gestures of alliance. They were well aware that without his guidance, they might have stumbled blindly into grave errors. Some of them shuddered at the thought of what might have happened had he not been there. Even their own divine parents, the gods who had once guided them, could offer no wisdom on these matters. After all, the Origin Gods had never needed to learn what the new gods were now struggling to grasp; their existence had always been absolute.

Björn’s teachings illuminated the complexities of their roles. They were not merely inheritors of power—they were responsible for shaping and refining their own divine essence. This realization was both exhilarating and terrifying.

One of the most striking revelations came from Ikem, the God of Verdant Communion. When the godlings first approached him, eager to present their interpretations of his divinity, they believed communion referred to shared rituals, gatherings, and spiritual unity. But Ikem swiftly corrected them. To him, communion was something far more fundamental—it was symbiosis.

This understanding redefined his entire divine path. For Ikem, the microscopic world held the true key to existence. The relationships between fungi and roots, bacteria and hosts, decomposers and nutrients—these invisible forces shaped life in ways far greater than what was seen with the naked eye.

His concept of "verdant" was equally profound. To him, wood was not merely a material, but a living force, an endless conduit of exchange and transformation.

Ikem’s philosophy forced a shift in perception. He did not see the world as a collection of independent beings, but rather as a web of interdependence, where every organism, no matter how small, played a vital role.

To him, decay was not an end, but a transformation. The death of one form gave rise to another; the breakdown of matter enriched the soil, fueling the growth of future life.

He viewed wood as more than structure—it was circulation, energy, and communication, a network akin to a divine circulatory system, pulsing with the flow of life itself.

For Ursula, divinity was not about dominion or power over nature, but rather about connection—a force that binds individuals together, whether through blood, shared purpose, or deep emotional ties. Upon her ascension, she inherited the divine domains of Ascendant Hearth and Everflame Bonds, two interwoven aspects that shaped her very existence.

The hearth was more than just a source of warmth; it was the heart of a home, the foundation of community, and the place where bonds were forged and nurtured. It represented the sanctity of family, the strength found in togetherness, and the comfort of belonging.

The Everflame was not simply a flame that burned indefinitely—it was a living force, an unyielding presence that ensured bonds endured. Unlike an ordinary fire, which could flicker and fade, the Everflame was self-sustaining, needing only the will and effort of those connected by it.

In a world where gods shaped the fundamental forces of existence, Ursula stood as the pillar of connection, ensuring that relationships—whether between mortals or deities—were nurtured and protected. Yet, she was also a reminder that bonds could not be taken for granted. Without care, even the strongest ties could unravel.

For the new priest, Maul’s divinity seemed paradoxical—a god embodying both merciless retribution and unshakable defense. To some, he was a ruthless enforcer of justice, a deity who delivered punishment with unfeeling precision. To others, he was a fortress of protection, an unbreakable shield against the world’s cruelty.