Roland floated somewhere soft and endless. It wasn't sky, not exactly — more like a horizon of stars folded into light. The air smelled faintly of honeyed grain and rain-washed stone. He blinked, half-aware he was dreaming, half-sure he wasn't.
A voice reached him first — warm, rich, and teasing.
"About time you came to visit, little sprout."
He turned. There stood Hearth, the farming goddess, looking as radiant as ever. Her hair shimmered like golden wheat, eyes full of mischief and pride. She wore a simple linen dress streaked with soil at the hem.
"You've made quite the home," she said, placing her hands on her hips. "And you've already got the animals helping too. I'm impressed."
Roland smiled sheepishly. "I just did what I could."
"That's what all great farmers say," came a gentle rumble behind her. A tall man stepped forward — muscles like carved oak, with bark running down his arms like tattoos. His eyes gleamed with warm amber light.
"I am Terran, god of craft and building," he said, voice like the earth after rain. "Your hands remember old joinery — that pleases me. Keep shaping with care; wood listens to the patient."
"Terran!" Hearth scolded lightly. "Don't scare him with that tone."
The craftsman god smiled, scratching his chin. "I'm only trying to sound impressive."
Soft laughter rippled through the air as others arrived. A graceful woman in flowing robes stepped out of mist — the scent of simmering broth and baked bread trailing behind her.
"I'm Culina, goddess of cooking and nourishment," she said warmly. "You've been eating your vegetables, haven't you?"
Roland nodded quickly. "Yes, ma'am."
"Good boy," she chuckled, then turned to Hearth. "He's got that healthy glow now. The carrots must be working."
Next came two figures hand-in-hand: a tall man with skin like shimmering silver, and a shorter, rounder man jingling with coins.
"We are Mercatos, god of trade," said the round one with a grin.
"And Aurin, god of fairness and craftsmanship," added the other, his voice calm and melodic.
Mercatos winked. "If you ever start selling your produce, I'll expect the first trade rights."
Roland laughed. "I'll… keep that in mind."
From the quiet behind them stepped a presence that silenced even laughter. A soft shadow, cool and comforting — not frightening, but peaceful. The air dimmed gently as Umbravil, god of night and rest, appeared. His eyes were like twin moons, calm and ancient.
"You rest well," Umbravil said softly, his voice a lullaby woven through stars. "Your dreams are safe, child. When the world grows too loud, my silence will hold you."
The others bowed their heads slightly, not out of fear — but respect.
Roland found himself smiling. "It's… strange. You all feel like family."
"That's because we are," Hearth said, reaching out to ruffle his hair gently. "And you — you're our new seedling. You've taken root in a good place."
Culina nodded. "Grow well, and feed others."
Terran grinned. "Build not just walls, but a home."
Mercatos laughed. "And remember — trade kindness first, profit second."
Aurin smiled faintly. "Balance in all things."
Umbravil's voice was a whisper of dusk. "Rest when you must. Even the strongest trees sleep under moonlight."
Roland's chest warmed with something deep — gratitude, peace, belonging.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "All of you."
As he spoke, Hearth's eyes softened. "We'll always be watching. You're not alone, Roland. The land itself listens when you call."
The stars around him pulsed gently — one by one, like hearts beating in unison.
Then, softly, as dreams do, the world faded leaving only the sound of wheat rustling in divine laughter.