The skies above soon stirred with movent and awe. The Apelings, rode upon never seen before creatures, a majestic mounts of Hippogriffs, creatures of feather and fang, half-eagle and half-stallion. They filled the sky in grand formation, wings beating in rhythmic harmony as sunlight danced off their silvery feathers. The air echoed with their cries as they soared southward, carrying their riders toward the southern continent.
Zephyr and the others leaders, upon witnessing such a magnificent sight, breathed a collective sigh of relief. For the first ti in months, it seed that one of their greatest worries had been laid to rest.
Perhaps things would stay that way, they thought. Their people had sothing else in mind.
Months after the expedition’s kicked off, a series of troubling reports arrived, accounts that shattered their brief sense of relief. The docunts revealed how deeply they had underestimated the pride and arrogance of their people. It beca painfully clear that, though the godlings had played along with their diplomatic display, they had rely waited until no eyes watched them before reverting to their true nature.
The alarming reports ca from Erik’s lands, territories once known for their fertile
valleys and thriving settlents. What the reports relayed and found there, however, were nothing but ruins. Entire regions had been reduced to rubble and ash, the devastation officially classified and publicly reported as the result of natural disasters.
But Zephyr and the others knew better.
The destruction bore no trace of mortal cause, only the eerie precision of godling’s wrath concealed beneath nature’s mask. The godlings had been careful, ticulous even in covering their tracks. No witnesses claid to have seen them, and no mana signatures were detected.
The reports grew more disturbing as they continued. Each account described the sa phenonon: the disasters struck only at night.
When dusk fell over Erik’s lands, the skies darkened unnaturally fast, blanketed by thunderclouds that stretched for miles. Winds howled through the valleys, uprooting old trees and hurling them like twigs. Entire roofs were torn from their foundations, the very earth trembling under unseen fury.
Then ca the tornadoes, great spiralling columns of chaos that left scars across the land, paths of annihilation that threatened to end the life of those on it’s path.
To the humans of the Western Continent, the following months beca a recurring nightmare. For several nights each month, Erik’s kingdom was ravaged by what were deed "natural disasters," though everyone knew there was nothing natural about them.
Each cycle of devastation turned Erik’s sowhat thriving realm into a place of dread. Neighboring kingdoms, those who had plans for him seeing all this, learned to keep their distance for now. Even the boldest among them dared not approach the borders of Erik’s land during those cursed nights, fearful of being caught in the godlings’ wrath.
Witnesses described scenes that defied imagination. Bodies, n, won, and livestock alike were sotis seen flung high into the air, carried by violent winds before crashing down miles away. Entire districts vanished overnight, torn apart by unseen forces. Fields once lush with crops were left scorched and lifeless, rivers overflowed their banks, and forests were reduced to splinters.
And through it all, no divine figure ever appeared. No godling was seen, no radiant form or thunderous voice declared vengeance. The destruction ca in silence, impersonal and unrelenting, as if nature itself had turned into a weapon of divine spite.
The people whispered among themselves, voices trembling as they spoke of what everyone already suspected. They knew who was responsible, at least in their hearts. The timing, the unnatural scale of the storms, the precision with which the disasters struck only Erik’s lands, it all pointed to the godlings.
Yet no evidence remained. Not a single trace of their interference could be found.
And so, while the records labeled the events as natural catastrophes, the people of the Western Continent and beyond knew the truth. Zephyr and his fellow leader knew the truth.
Thankfully, the godlings’ wrath lasted only a few nights before the skies cleared and the storms subsided. Yet, even as calm returned, the scars of their fury remained, a cruel reminder etched into the land and into the hearts of those who survived. The ruins, the shattered hos, and the broken spirits all stood as silent proof of what it ant to incur their displeasure.
The people were reminded, once again, of the strength and cruelty that the godlings wielded so effortlessly, how little it took for them to destroy.
But none bore the weight of this humiliation more heavily than Erik himself.
Though the godlings had hidden themselves from mortal sight, their presence was as clear as daylight to him. Their consciousnesses burned like blazing stars in his mind’s eye, countless divine minds pressing down upon him, suffocating him under an unseen weight.
He could sense them all, circling, watching, locking onto him. Their intent was unmistakable: to suppress, to humiliate, to remind him of his place. The oppressive aura that emanated from them was so overwhelming that it rooted him in place, paralyzing him with dread. Erik knew that if he dared to retaliate, it would an certain death, not just for him, but for everything that remained of his kingdom.
And so he endured.
Through those long, tornting nights, Erik stood helplessly as the "natural disasters" tore through his lands. His fists clenched so tightly that his nails pierced his palms, drawing blood. He could only watch, powerless, as his people suffered beneath the godlings’ mockery. Every gust of wind that toppled a ho, every bolt of lightning that split the earth, it was all orchestrated before his eyes.
Sothing had to be done. He couldn’t go on like this, vulnerable, humiliated, and powerless before beings who toyed with him as they pleased. Sothing needed to change, and soon.
Erik knew what he had to do. The path was clear in his mind, yet his ans to walk it had been stripped away. He no longer had the one thing that once set him apart, the gift of Ikem, the divine blessing that had once allowed him to perceive and command the smallest threads of life itself.
In the days when he still bore Ikem’s mark, Erik’s understanding of biology had transcended mortal comprehension. He could feel the pulse of life in every cell, hear the silent rhythm of existence flowing through veins, roots, and air. He had conversed with the microcosm, the unseen architects of flesh and vitality, bending them to his will to heal, reshape, and build. His laboratories had thrived with life in its purest form, life that listened, obeyed, and evolved under his guidance.
But now, that connection was gone. The symphony of microscopic voices that once whispered truths to him had fallen silent. He was deaf to the song of life, blind to the intricate dance of creation. And for the first ti in years, Erik truly felt... human.
Powerless.
He raked his hands through his hair, frustration simring beneath exhaustion. The godlings had made their point, he was no longer untouchable. Without Ikem’s gift, even his knowledge seed hollow, like a scholar stripped of language. He had nowhere to turn, no divine patron to restore what was lost.
Then, from the edges of silence, ca the whispers again.
"We could help you..."
The voice slithered into his mind, soft yet impossibly clear like a thought his mind birthed yet at the ti wasn’t his own. For a mont, Erik’s vision blurred, the world spinning as if reality itself had tilted. His heart raced, breath shallow.
The first thing he did after he ca back was to see if the seals held and if soone had approached during his absence, yet nothing was wrong with the seal, still he noticed the voices had grown louder and clearer each ti he entertained them.
For a few seconds, he lost himself in their promise. The words were intoxicating, soothing, familiar. He could feel the pull, the faint temptation to answer.
Then, with a sharp inhale, he forced himself back. His body trembled as a cold shiver ran down his spine.
"The whispers are becoming stronger," he muttered under his breath, staring out toward the horizon where the first light of dawn crept across the land. The rising sun painted the ruins in pale gold, illuminating a kingdom scarred by divine fury and a ruler teetering on the edge of sothing far darker.
As the warmth touched his face, Erik clenched his jaw. He knew what the whispers wanted and he feared that, before long, he might start wanting it too.
Many were left scarred by the events of those few nights. Among them was Gram, a simple man, a farr by trade, and a devoted father.
In the days following the disasters, Gram found himself unable to accept the changes that had overtaken his life. He rembered so vividly how peaceful things had once been. Each morning he would rise with the sun to tend to his livestock, his young son and daughter by his side. When dusk ca, they would return ho, greeted by the warm laughter of his pregnant wife, who always had a hearty al waiting on the table.
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