In the land of Orthonis, a mighty kingdom by the sea, the people sought to surpass all others in their devotion. Their cities were built of marble, their streets lined with statues of heroes long past, and at the heart of their capital stood a temple grander than any before it. Unlike the temple of the Goddess, which was built through devotion alone, the temple of Orthonis was a monument to power, ambition, and superiority. The people of Orthonis did not wish merely to worship—they wished to command the favor of the divine itself.
Inside the towering temple, the air was thick with the scent of burning incense. Thousands gathered, clothed in white robes, their voices raised in a single chant. Their king, Aegisthus, stood at the highest step of the altar, adorned in golden laurels and a flowing crimson cloak. He raised his hands toward the heavens, his voice echoing through the stone halls.
"O' great beings, show yourselves and let us worship you! Grant us strength, guide us in wisdom, and lead us to victory! We offer you our faith, our devotion—be born among us and rule as the true lords of the world!"
The people cried out in agreement, their belief unwavering, their desire absolute. For years they had worshiped nameless figures, for they had no gods of their own—only the stories of powerful beings that might one day exist. But now, their faith had reached its peak, and they demanded the divine to rise from their devotion.
The heavens did not tremble. The stars did not fall. But something within the temple shifted—a presence, unseen yet overwhelming, took shape. The people could not see it, nor could they touch it, but they could feel it, as though something ancient and powerful had awakened. The air grew heavy with a force unknown to them, and within the great flame of the altar, three figures emerged, their forms flickering like shadows cast by divine light.
At first, they did not speak, nor did they understand the world. They knew not their names, nor their purpose, nor the voices that called to them. But the faith of the people flooded into them, shaping their being, giving them identity, knowledge, and purpose.
One stood tall, his body wreathed in golden light, his presence commanding as the storm itself. His eyes shone like lightning, and in his grasp, a spear of raw power crackled with divine fury. The people looked upon him and, without hesitation, called his name into existence.
"ZEUS!"
The second figure, darker and more solemn, held in his gaze the weight of the unseen. Shadows clung to his form, and his presence carried the finality of death itself. Yet within his grasp was not destruction, but dominion over what lay beyond mortal sight. His name, too, was spoken into being.
"HADES!"
The last stood strong as the tides themselves, his body marked by the depths of the sea. His eyes reflected the endless abyss, and the roar of the ocean filled the temple as his power took shape. He was the master of waters, the ruler of the deep, and the people called to him in reverence.
"POSEIDON!"
Thus, the first gods of Orthonis were born—not by the hand of the Architect, nor by the breath of the First Star, but by faith itself. Their purpose was clear, for their worshipers had already decided it. Zeus, the ruler of the skies and the bringer of law. Poseidon, the god of the sea and storms. Hades, the lord of the underworld and the keeper of souls.
The three brothers stood upon the altar, gazing down at the people who had created them. They did not yet understand their own existence, nor did they comprehend the world beyond this temple. But their worshipers had filled them with knowledge—of their roles, of their power, of their place in the cosmos.
The king of Orthonis fell to his knees, his voice trembling with awe.
"O' mighty gods, you who have answered our call, accept our offerings and rule over us! Let Orthonis be the first of many nations to bow before your divinity!"
The gods did not answer. They could not yet speak, for language was still foreign to them. But Zeus, his golden eyes filled with newfound purpose, raised his thunderous spear to the sky. Lightning cracked above the temple, illuminating the night. The people roared in triumph, their faith unshaken. The gods had come. The age of the divine had begun.
And as the first pantheon stood upon the altar, far above in the heavens, the Architect watched in silence.
As the days turned to years and the years to centuries, the people of Orthonis wove great stories about their gods, shaping their past as they had shaped their existence. They did not ask the gods of their origins, nor did they seek truth from them—for they believed they already knew.
From the grand temple at the heart of Orthonis, priests and scholars gathered, inscribing myths onto scrolls and carving legends into stone. They proclaimed that their gods were not mere spirits born of mortal faith, but the rulers of all existence, greater than any other. They spoke of a time before time, when the heavens and the earth were divided, and the gods themselves were born of an ancient order.
In their stories, the world was first ruled by primordial beings—mighty titans who shaped the land, the sky, and the sea. From the chaos, the great titan Kronos seized power, devouring his own children to maintain his rule. But fate could not be denied. His youngest son, Zeus, hidden from his father's wrath, grew strong in secret. When the time came, he rose against the old order, casting the titans into eternal imprisonment and claiming dominion over all things.
Thus, Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades were said to have divided the cosmos among themselves: Zeus ruled the skies, Poseidon the seas, and Hades the underworld. From their thrones, they commanded the heavens and earth, their power beyond mortal comprehension.
As the faith of Orthonis grew, so too did their pantheon. The people spoke of mighty gods who walked among them, each born from the will of the divine. They believed in Hera, the queen of the gods, the goddess of marriage and family. In Athena, the goddess of wisdom and war. In Apollo, the radiant god of the sun and prophecy. In Ares, the unyielding god of war and bloodshed. And many more, each with their own stories, each with their own dominion.
With each tale told, the gods grew stronger, their presence solidified in the fabric of the world. The more they were worshiped, the more real they became, for their existence was bound to the belief of their followers.
But the people of Orthonis did not merely honor their gods—they claimed them as the greatest among all deities. They looked to the distant lands where the faith of the Goddess of the First Star remained strong, and they whispered among themselves:
"Our gods are stronger. Our gods are many. Why should we serve only one?"
Thus, the leaders of Orthonis declared their gods to be the true rulers of the world. They sent their priests to the far corners of the land, preaching the might of Zeus, the wisdom of Athena, the power of Poseidon. Some listened. Some converted. But others, those who still held faith in the First Star, rejected them.
The division grew, and soon, it was no longer only words that clashed—but swords.
From the highest mountain, the Architect watched as faith turned to war. He had spoken once before, warning the Goddess of what was to come. Now, his words had come true.
The world had changed. The Goddess was no longer alone. The gods of Orthonis had risen, and with them, the first great conflict of belief had begun.
But the Architect did not interfere.
For this, too, was part of the world's shaping.