Chapter 461
But Maul himself made it clear: his divinity was not so grand.
Unlike gods who extended their protection over entire civilizations, Maul’s unyielding protection was deeply personal and fiercely selective. He was not a benevolent guardian of the weak, nor a patron of those who simply sought safety. Instead, his protection was reserved for a chosen few—those who had earned his loyalty, proven their worth, or belonged to his self-defined "inner circle."
Maul’s vengeance was as precise as his protection. He did not seek justice for all, nor did he avenge wrongdoing indiscriminately. Instead, his retribution was personal, calculated, and unforgiving—a punishment inflicted only upon those who dared to harm what he claimed as his.
Tide’s divinity was not bound to vaults of gold or static riches. Wealth, in his domain, was not something hoarded—it was something that moved, flowed, and returned. His treasury was everflowing, an endless current of prosperity that mirrored the tides of the ocean—sometimes receding, but always destined to rise again.
Tide understood that true wealth was not in mere possession but in motion, exchange, and renewal. More than any other god, Tide understood the weight of time. Wealth and ruin were both fleeting, and the greatest fortunes came to those who could read the shifting currents of fate.
Tide made it known he was not just a god of riches—he was a god of movement, foresight, and the eternal cycle of gain and loss.
To rulers and merchants, he was a guide to prosperity.
To scholars and visionaries, he was a god of foresight and wisdom.
To fools and hoarders, he was a cruel tide that washed away all they clung to.
For wealth would always flow—but only those who understood its tides would prosper with it.
Merchants, bankers, economists, and those that deal with trade, and wealth.