The same mortals who had once felt abandoned by the gods now saw themselves acknowledged, if only briefly. The silent heavens had spoken again, and even the faintest whisper of divine attention was enough to ignite a continent-wide frenzy.

Among the gods entangled in this upheaval, one was far from pleased.

Ikem, felt his anger flare and fade as quickly as a spark. When the rumors of Erik's supposed transgression reached him, his wrath was immediate but not enduring. After Erik survived, he simply withdrew his blessing.

To Ikem, that was punishment enough.

He knew Erik well his discipline, his intellect, and his relentless pursuit of perfection. Without divine guidance, Erik's great work would falter, his ambitions crumble beneath their own weight. Deprived of the god's favor, Erik's path toward his grand goal would become all but impossible.

With that done, Ikem turned his attention away from mortals. He had more personal matters to attend to.

For the first time in his long existence, he found himself waiting nervously for a child born out of love rather than duty. Ursula, radiant even in her divine calm, carried his child one unlike any he had sired before. Ikem had fathered many offspring across centuries, most born of duty or expectations, but this... this was different.

This time, he truly cared.

He devoted himself to her, his divine realm silent and his presence withdrawn from the mortal world. To ensure order was maintained in his absence, he left Bara, a divine fragment of his own essence, to oversee the workings of his realm.

At least, that was the plan.

Only a few weeks after the mortal incident, a strange disturbance rippled through Ikem's divine domain. Bara called for his attention, unable to contain the sudden flood of faith energy pouring in from the mortal realm.

At first, Ikem was intrigued. Faith had always been the lifeblood of gods, but this surge was different tainted, wild, unrefined. It carried desperation, fear, and obsession rather than reverence.

The sheer volume of it threatened to overwhelm even his ordered realm. And though he felt his power swelling, Ikem's satisfaction quickly turned to disgust.

This was not the clean, purposeful devotion he valued. It defied the careful balance he had spent ages preserving.

Worse still, it made him wonder. Why now?

Why were mortals, who had so long ignored his doctrine, suddenly turning their worship toward him in such fervor?

And so, Ikem turned his gaze toward the mortal realm, seeking to understand the source of the disturbance. What he saw ignited something in him that had long lain dormant.

In all his centuries of existence, the number of times Ikem had felt true anger could be counted on one hand. Yet now, watching the mortals upheaval and seeing Tide's careless interference warp the balance he so carefully maintained and so he erupted in rage.

His expression darkened, his composure shattered. With eyes burning like molten emeralds, he roared, his voice echoing through the very fabric of his divine realm and outside it.

"TIDE!"

Ikem's form burst into motion, his body transfiguring into a greenish-red stream of divine light as he shot out from his throne among the stars. In an instant, he left behind the serenity of his ordered domain, blazing a path through the void between realms.

Since the thrones of the gods floated among the stars, Ikem faced no mortal constraints. Only the void and the paths carved by divine will.

His divine gaze pierced the expanse, and soon he saw it Tide's realm, luminous and vast, its essence churning like a living ocean suspended in the sky.

He did not slow.

As he neared its boundaries, Ikem's form began to change. His flesh hardened, transmuting into living wood, a manifestation of his dominion over growth and creation. His arms lengthened, joints reinforced with divine latticework of bark and sinew, capable of channeling impossible strength.

He drew back his arm, his divine energy coiling like a serpent ready to strike.

And then he struck.

His fist collided with the boundary of Tide's realm. The impact shattered the silence of the cosmos. Space itself splintered, forming great fissures of light and shadow. From those cracks, red roots erupted, latching onto the wounded fabric of reality.

They spread like veins, pulsing with divine fury. Wherever they reached, they induced decay, breaking down the oceanic essence that formed Tide's barrier. The tranquil azure glow of the sea-god's domain began to rot into crimson foam, corrupted by Ikem's divinity.

Ikem flew through the widening crack between realms, though he could barely comprehend what he was seeing. Beyond the veil of torn space lay Tide's domain, the Everflowing Treasury, and true to its name, it shimmered with impossible wealth.

Oceans of liquid gold cascaded down terraces of crystal coral. Islands of pearl floated in the endless tide. The very air hummed with divine abundance, a realm that embodied the ceaseless flow of fortune.

Moments later, Ikem emerged from the rift, the echo of his earlier strike still reverberating across the cosmos. Suspended in the open sky of Tide's world, he took in the gleaming expanse before him, his expression dark and unreadable. Then, locking onto Tide's life signature, he streaked forward, an emerald-red comet tearing across the gilded horizon.

Ikem no longer cared for ceremony, decorum, or divine dignity.

He crashed through the castle walls, splintering marble and coral as if they were paper. His steps heavy with restrained fury.

And there upon his throne of flowing silver sat Tide. But the sight before Ikem gave him pause.

The god of wealth once radiant, proud, and unshakably smug now sat slouched, his chin resting on his hand. His eyes were weary, his face dimmed by exhaustion and sorrow.

It was a sight Ikem had never thought possible.

The god who had once measured all things in worth now looked as though he found no value in existence itself.

Tide's gaze lifted to meet his. For a heartbeat, neither spoke. Then a faint, almost bitter smile crossed Tide's face.

"Took you long enough to notice," he said softly.

Ikem's jaw tightened, his fists trembling. He knew exactly what Tide meant.

"Why?" he demanded. "Why did you do it? Why go that far? It should have been forgotten by now!"

His voice thundered through the chamber, echoing against the waves of divine energy that rippled from his body.

Tide frowned, his gaze distant. "This is wrong…" he muttered under his breath.

"I can't hear you," Ikem snapped.

Tide's head rose sharply, and when he spoke again, his tone cut through the room like the crash of a wave.

"I said this is wrong!"

He stood, the sea itself stirring around him as the Everflowing Treasury reacted to his rising emotion. Pointing a trembling hand at Ikem, Tide's voice cracked not with anger, but with shame.

"You should have rushed me the moment you saw me! You should have pinned me to the ground and struck me for the disgrace I brought upon you!"

He paused, his tone dropping to something almost fragile.

"So why, Ikem, why are you asking me questions instead?"

Hearing his words took Ikem by surprise. His anger, which had been burning like wildfire, began to ebb away as he truly looked at the cousin standing before him. With a quiet exhale, he gave a mental command, and the roots that had been gnawing at the boundary of Tide's realm halted their advance, withdrawing like serpents retreating into the soil.

He had been so blinded by fury that he hadn't realized, Tide had never once moved to strike back. The realization struck him harder than any blow. Unclenching his fist, Ikem drew in a slow, measured breath before speaking, his voice low and heavy.

"So that's what you wanted?"

At those words, Tide's composure faltered. His gaze dropped, shame flickering across his face like a passing shadow. He knew Ikem had every right to his anger. He had been in the wrong. Erik's reckless actions had cost him not just his dignity and pride, but also the woman he loved.

Tide could have, like Ikem, turned his gaze away from the mortal world and left their affairs behind. Yet his heart had festered with resentment, and that bitterness had corroded what remained of his joy. His realm, once radiant with laughter, music, and waves of vanity had grown dim, the waters still and heavy. The god of vanity had found himself drowning in emotions he could not purge.

In his grief and frustration, Tide had acted. It was he who let the mortal tongues wag, who allowed whispers of the desecration of Ursula's image to spread like wildfire through the human realm. He had known what it would do, how it would shame both Ikem and Ursula, how it would wound the one person who had once trusted him most.

And still, he had done it.

Because beneath all the divine pride and oceanic calm, Tide had been angry, angry that the world had not turned in his favor, that the wound festering in his heart had found no balm.