Chapter 462
Flowua suffered a different kind of misunderstanding. Humans, viewing her through the lens of her predecessor, saw her as a force of divine progress, of endless change without consequence. They sought her favor not to challenge stagnation or push the boundaries of knowledge, but to justify reckless ambition and unrestrained upheaval. Revolutions, once meant to be a means of positive transformation, became chaotic destruction in her name.
This realization struck deep. Björn had warned them that their previous methods were never foolproof—that each era, each civilization, would interpret divinity in their own way. The godlings had believed that by ascending and taking control of their faith, they could guide it into purity, yet humanity had found a way to alter its meaning all the same.
The ascended gods faced a dilemma. To ignore human worship entirely could allow their divinity to be reshaped in unintended ways, yet to actively intervene could lead to even greater entanglement with human affairs. Some of them, like Xerosis and Ursula, were indifferent, seeing human worship as an inevitable consequence of their divine existence. Others, like Ikem and Maul, found themselves deeply frustrated, unsure whether to reject or embrace the interpretations mortals had assigned to them.
For the human kingdoms, this misinterpretation of divinity gave them a sense of security, a belief that they could once again claim a connection to the gods, even if the godlings had left them behind. Yet, they did not know how these new gods would react—whether their attempts to honor them would be seen as devotion or insult.
While the newly ascended gods grappled with the unintended consequences of human worship, they were not the only ones disturbed by mortal devotion. The dragons, long content in their solitude, found themselves unwillingly dragged back into the affairs of humanity.
For centuries, the dragons had been forgotten by humans, their existence reduced to myths and old legends. The godlings and their deities had become the dominant divine figures, and the dragons—by design—had faded from mortal memory. They preferred it this way. Their kind had always done their best to remain neutral, avoiding entanglements with both the Origin Gods and their counterparts.
But that changed on the fateful night the humans later named "The Night of Sundered Whispers."
No human truly understood what transpired that night. It was an event shrouded in secrecy, the details known only to the godlings and the dragons themselves. What the mortals did know was that something immense had happened—an event so significant that even the most powerful beings had acted in unison to resolve it.
On that night, the presence of dragons had once again made itself known. Some were seen soaring in the skies, their colossal forms silhouetted against the moon. Others had reportedly clashed with unseen forces, their roars shaking the heavens. The godlings, too, were involved, though neither they nor the dragons ever spoke of what truly occurred.
For the humans, it was a moment of revelation. The dragons were real.
The reemergence of these legendary beings ignited something within humanity—a forgotten reverence, a rekindling of old faiths buried beneath centuries of neglect. As news spread, temples dedicated to dragons began to rise once more, their altars filled with prayers and offerings.