-----Chapter 4: The Reckoning in the Heavenly Garden-----

The Heavenly Garden was a place of wonder, where sparkling light and gentle colors mixed with the beauty of nature. Long ago, this garden had been a perfect home for the gods—a place where every tree, flower, and stream shone with divine grace. But now, the garden showed signs of pain. The horizon, which once had a smooth, bright line, was broken and jagged. It seemed to tell the story of a deep wound that even the gods could not ignore.

In the heart of the garden stood a grand pavilion made of white marble and soft, glowing vines. Here, the gods had gathered to discuss the troubling changes that had come with the lower realm's loss of faith. They all knew that their own power depended on the belief and trust of mortal beings. If the mortals stopped believing, the gods would slowly lose the divine spark that made them immortal.

Aurelius, the oldest and wisest among them, began the meeting. His deep, calm voice filled the space.

"Friends," he said, "our power comes from the faith of those in the lower realms. Without their belief, we are slowly fading. Look at the horizon—it is broken, much like our connection to them."

Celestine, known for her gentle wisdom, nodded. "It is true," she replied. "Our strength was built on the devotion of mortals. But now, with chaos spreading below, their faith is weakening, and with it, our light dims."

Their words were simple but heavy with meaning. Outside the pavilion, the Heavenly Garden did not look as it once did. The vibrant flowers drooped, and the once clear and shining streams now moved slowly as if burdened by sadness. The air, once filled with a soft, cheerful hum, carried a hint of worry.

High above, the shattered horizon seemed to pulse with a mix of light and darkness. It was a clear sign that something was deeply wrong. Lorian, a young god whose bright aura was now flickering uncertainly, stepped forward. "I feel my strength fading," he confessed quietly. "Our power is tied to mortal faith, and if that faith is lost, some of us might stop being gods altogether."

Aurelius looked at Lorian with kind but serious eyes. "You speak the truth. We have long depended on the belief of mortals. Now, their doubts and fears have weakened that bond, and we feel it in every part of our being."

A brief pause followed before Marcellus, known for his bold and fiery spirit, spoke up. "We cannot just sit here and let this happen," he said firmly. "If the mortals lose hope, then chaos will rule both the lower realms and our own. We must remind them that we are here to guide and protect them."

Celestine replied, her tone soft yet firm, "Marcellus, we must act wisely. We cannot simply force our help upon them; we need to inspire their trust so that their own hearts will rise again."

Their conversation was short and to the point—each god saying only what was needed. The simple exchange was a sign that, even among divine beings, time was short and every word counted.

Outside the marble walls, the garden told its own story. Towering trees with silver leaves and glowing branches reached upward, but even they seemed troubled. The gentle streams, once clear as crystal, now showed hints of turbulence. It was as if nature itself mourned the loss of balance and order.

In a quiet corner of the pavilion, Seraphine, a soft-spoken god with a healing touch, added her voice to the discussion. "The disorder we see is not only our fault. The lower realm is filled with confusion and pain. Their struggles affect us, too. We must find a way to heal both realms."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Aurelius agreed. "We must send emissaries to the mortals. They need to see that we are still their protectors, still capable of guiding them even in these dark times. This is the only way to rebuild the faith that keeps our divinity alive."

A short dialogue followed among the gods chosen for the task. Lorian, finding courage in the responsibility, said, "I will go with the emissaries. I have felt our strength diminish, and I believe that by reaching out to the mortals, we can begin to mend our broken bond."

Celestine smiled gently and added, "Let our presence be a warm light for them, a reminder of better times when our guidance made all the difference."

In another small circle, Marcellus, his eyes burning with determination, spoke once more. "We cannot let our divine legacy slip away. We must act now. Even if our power is fading, our duty remains. The lower realm must not be left to drown in chaos."

Aurelius then made a final, clear promise to everyone. "We will not allow our bond with the mortals to break completely. Our actions will be careful, yet strong. We will remind them of our promise to protect and guide. Through their renewed faith, we too shall be reborn."

As the gods finished their brief yet heartfelt exchanges, the focus of their discussion shifted to the state of the Heavenly Garden itself. Every part of this sacred space showed a mix of its former glory and the new signs of decay. Great arches of light that once spanned the sky now had visible cracks. Pools of energy that used to shimmer with pure brilliance were disturbed by ripples of uncertainty.

The broken horizon, visible from every angle, was the most painful symbol of all. It reminded everyone that nothing was safe, not even the heavens. Gods with lower divinity could be seen in the corners, their glow dimmer, as if they were on the edge of losing their godhood. Their faces, usually full of calm and certainty, now carried worry and fear.

One of these gods, Arion, who had always been a steady force of calm, murmured quietly, "I feel my strength slipping away. It is as if the very faith that once made me divine is now turning to dust."

His friend, Nerina, tried to comfort him, saying, "We are not alone in this, Arion. We must stand together, even as our powers weaken. Perhaps this challenge will teach us a new way to be strong."

The simple, honest words of Arion and Nerina spread through the gathering, showing that even among gods, fear was natural when faced with uncertain times.

With the meeting drawing to a close, the gods prepared to act. Their plan was clear: send emissaries to the lower realm and work to restore the faith that had begun to falter. They knew that every small act of kindness and guidance could help mend the broken bond between the heavens and the earth.

As dusk came over the Heavenly Garden, the gentle light faded slowly, merging with the soft shadows that began to dance among the ancient trees. The gods left the pavilion with heavy hearts but determined spirits. They had to face the lower realm and show its people that hope was not lost, that the divine presence still cared.

The garden, with its mixed beauty and subtle decay, stood as a reminder of what was at risk. It was a place where magic and wonder had once flourished, and it could be restored if the gods and mortals worked together. The broken horizon, a visible scar in the sky, would be healed only if the bond between belief and divinity was rebuilt.

In the quiet moments after the meeting, the gods could almost hear the soft whisper of hope carried by the wind—a gentle call to renew the faith that had once united all realms. The path ahead was uncertain, and every step carried risk, but the promise of a future where both gods and mortals could thrive together was strong enough to light the way.

And so, with simple words and clear hearts, the gods stepped forward into the fading light, determined to restore what had been broken and to show that even in times of great challenge, hope could still be found.

Just as the gods reached their decision, a sudden, eerie tremor shook the very fabric of the cosmos. In an instant, the universe itself seemed to rebel—scattering stars, worlds, and the essence of life into disarray. The familiar order that held the realms together wavered, replaced by a wild chaos that swept through every corner of existence, leaving gods and mortals alike to confront a new, overwhelming uncertainty.