Ikenga revealed the moon was his artifact, powered by the nature he helped birth. Ember, realizing the true nature of divine artifacts, became fascinated with the Mage Tower. Due to the time constraints of Ikenga's domain, Ember's stay was brief, but Ikenga allowed him to study the tower, recognizing the burgeoning divinity within him. As they studied the tower, they discovered the materials used were alien, forcing them to find local substitutes or create them. The Origin Gods worked together to forge new materials, pushing their limits and learning from the Mage Civilization. They encountered a roadblock with the tower's core, which originated from the volatile Elemental Plane, a realm the mages had violently accessed. Ikenga realized mana was a byproduct of elemental interaction, a process their own attempts to create materials failed to replicate.
It appeared that true mana could only emerge when these primordial forces interacted naturally, completely uninfluenced by any external willpower. By forcing a collision with their own intent, the Origin Gods were inadvertently suppressing the very reaction necessary for mana to form.
As Ikenga delved deeper into the tower’s construction, the mages’ dark ingenuity became apparent. They had devised a method to breach the Elemental Plane, forcibly extract the living elemental inhabitants from their home, and permanently confine them within the core of the spires. Trapped together in a restricted space, these spirits were compelled to coexist and interact ceaselessly, enabling the spontaneous generation of pure mana without any artificial direction.
The mages’ brilliance extended further, employing highly sophisticated means that Ikenga was still striving to fully comprehend. They managed to refine and calibrate the resultant raw mana. This allowed them to manipulate the output, ensuring the generated mana perfectly aligned with the specific elemental affinity of the mage controlling the tower.
A prime illustration was positioned directly before him; the very heart of this tower pulsed with light-elemental mana, meticulously crafted to enhance a master of the light arts.
It was truly astonishing how much insight could be gained from a solitary mortal construct. Yet, as fascinating as it was, this newfound comprehension offered no enhancement to Ikenga’s personal power, nor did it alter his original blueprint for these towers. The intricate puzzle of cultivating the tower’s core was not his responsibility—that task was designated for the Paragons, the very individuals destined to require and wield these conduits of power.
Shifting his gaze back to Ember, Ikenga stated, "Your path forward should now be perfectly clear." His eyes fixed on his grandson. "Venture into the world. Collect these components. The moment you achieve the mastery to erect a Mage Tower by your own design will be the precise instant you achieve true ascension."
Before the young apeling could even utter a response, Ikenga casually gestured. Instantly, the fabric of space contorted around the boy, and Ember was whisked away, safely returned to the ethereal expanse of the spirit realm to commence his trial.
With another wave of his hand, an exact duplicate of the marked map materialized in the air before him. Ikenga briefly studied the illuminated coordinates before initiating his journey. In the subsequent moment, the moon vanished, and he found himself standing directly before a colossal, luminous boundary wall.
This was the protective barrier enclosing the realm of Tide, the God of the Everflowing Treasury. Ikenga calmly placed a hand against the wall's surface, deliberately releasing a sliver of his energy into the structure to signify his presence. The realm acknowledged his unique signature immediately, and the barrier yielded, granting him effortless passage across the threshold.
However, the scene that greeted Ikenga upon entry was far from what one would anticipate from a deity of wealth. There were no dazzling heaps of gold, no radiant emanations of divine opulence. Everything appeared profoundly desaturated. The vivid sheen and metaphysical brilliance that characterized true treasure were entirely absent from the domain.
Instead, a suffocating weight and a deep greyness permeated the atmosphere. Ikenga frowned, his eyes narrowing as he advanced into the dimness. He had genuinely believed that, by this time, Tide would have managed to surmount his crippling sorrow over Siren. It seemed he had drastically underestimated the depth of his nephew's desolation.
But now, observing the surrounding decay, it was evident the youth had utterly surrendered. Proceeding deep into the palace's core, Ikenga discovered the grand throne completely deserted. The air, instead, was heavy and oppressive, dominated by the potent, acrid aroma of divine spirits.
Tide was slumped in a nearby alcove. His appearance was utterly disheveled, his robes in disarray and his hair matted, though it was clear he had hastily attempted to recompose himself the instant he detected his visitor's arrival.
Shame flickered across Tide’s face. With his shoulders slumped and an expression of embarrassment etched onto his features, he compelled himself to speak. "Uncle... why the unexpected visit?"
Ikenga offered no immediate reply. He merely advanced with slow, deliberate steps toward his nephew. Upon reaching him, he began to silently circle the younger god, assessing him. The measured, heavy cadence of Ikenga’s footfalls caused Tide to visibly squirm, his apprehension escalating in the hushed chamber.
"I had intentions for you," Ikenga declared, his voice piercing the humid air. "I surmised your distinctive aptitudes could be of immense assistance to me. But observing you now... I strongly doubt that."
The revelation that he was actually required jolted Tide out of his daze. He jerked his head up, genuinely astonished. For someone of his uncle's stature to explicitly request his help, the mission must indeed be of great significance. However, the fleeting spark of hope was immediately extinguished. As Tide lifted his gaze, he was met by Ikenga’s frigid stare. The profound coldness of that look made him flinch, and he swiftly lowered his head, unable to withstand his uncle's scrutiny.
The pitiable display caused Ikenga to smack his lips in contempt. He finally grasped why Jaus had been avoiding his own son recently. For a man as proud as Jaus, to witness his own offspring reduced to such a spineless state would surely have provoked a blinding fury. Jaus might have inflicted permanent harm and committed acts he would later deeply regret.
"Have you truly lost so much of your courage that you cannot even meet my eyes?" Ikenga demanded, his voice laced with palpable anger and sharp irritation. "Where is the loud, boisterous boy I once knew?"
The sheer menace in Ikenga’s tone made Tide recoil further into himself. "I am sorry..." he whispered miserably.
His apology was abruptly silenced by a fist.
The blow landed with devastating power. In an instant, Tide's entire world fractured, his senses overwhelmed by a searing explosion of pain as his feet were violently swept from beneath him. He was flung backward through the air, a helpless projectile, until his trajectory was brutally and abruptly halted.
He crashed directly into an ornate fountain, obliterating the structure as it began to spill forth heavy, shimmering streams of liquid gold.
"What did you say?"
His uncle's voice drifted down to him, chillingly clear, as the ringing in Tide's ears began to subside. Regaining consciousness amidst the wreckage of the shattered fountain, Tide tasted the metallic flavor of blood filling his mouth. He instinctively parted his lips to reiterate his apology, but a sudden, terrifying premonition warned him what another feeble "sorry" would unleash. He wisely kept his mouth shut.
Ikenga hovered just above him, his shadow casting a complete pall over the fallen god. "Stand up," he commanded.
Tide faltered for a brief moment, his body protesting with aches, but he compelled himself to his feet.
As Tide swayed unsteadily, Ikenga looked down at him with evident disappointment. "While you languish here, wallowing in your own misery, Siren and her new consort are actively increasing their power."
Those words struck deeper than the physical assault. Ikenga moved closer, his voice lowering to a sharp, taunting whisper. "The very mortal who encroached upon your domain and claimed what was yours is on the precipice of ascension. Soon, he will possess the same standing as you. He will be able to look you directly in the eye as an equal… though, in reality, you wouldn't even be capable of looking back, considering how utterly pathetic you have allowed yourself to become."
Ikenga gestured expansively at the desolate, unadorned palace surrounding them. "Look at yourself. You are the God of Riches, yet here you sit, brooding atop a hoard of gold that has lost all its luster because its master has lost his spirit. As the deity of the treasury, you above all should comprehend the fundamental principle of exchange; a loss must sometimes be endured to secure a greater gain thereafter. Yet, a single poor decision, a single setback has utterly broken you."
Tide remained motionless, the mention of Siren's new mortal lover ascending to godhood felt like a physical dagger twisting in his heart. His fingers twitched, digging into his palms from the force of his clenching hands.
"He… he is ascending?" Tide managed to rasp out, his voice hoarse, a fragile blend of disbelief and long-suppressed resentment finally breaking through his indifference.
"He is outpacing you by leagues," Ikenga retorted, landing lightly on the fragments of the golden fountain. "While you were drowning yourself in bitter sorrow, he forged his own path. The world does not cease its turning simply because a god’s feelings have been wounded, Tide."
