The Guardian gods-Chapter 435

As his proclamation echoed and he dropped the rune pillar, the sky above him cracked open. A great, spiraling vortex of silver and deep blue unfurled, an ethereal bridge stretching into the divine realm. The moment his foot touched the path of silver light, the air around him shifted. His mortal shell could no longer contain the power surging within him—his body shimmered, his form unraveling into pure divinity.

The mortal world faded behind him. Ahead, a vast emptiness stretched, waiting to be shaped by his will.

Maul closed his eyes and let his essence expand, his very being merging with the forming world. He did not seek warmth or paradise. His domain would reflect his soul—a frozen abyss, vast and unforgiving, yet unbreakable in its silent embrace.

The land took shape, sculpted from ancient ice, deeper and denser than any in the mortal world. Towering mountains of frost loomed in the distance, their peaks cutting into the starless void above. Below, endless fields of snow stretched beyond sight, a land untouched by time or warmth.

At the heart of his realm stood a great frozen fortress—Helwinter Keep—a citadel of black ice and shimmering silver, radiating an aura of both sanctuary and judgment. It was a place where the weary could seek shelter, yet where the condemned would know no escape. The howling winds that once tormented him now served as sentinels, carrying the cries of those who had perished by his hand.

Deep within the core of his realm, beneath layers of unyielding ice, lay the Frozen Abyss, where the souls of his enemies remained bound—chained by their own hatred and fear, their suffering an eternal echo in the halls of his vengeance.

As his realm solidified, his divinity pulsed through its very foundation. The sky above was dark yet clear, illuminated by an eternal aurora—a silent, watchful guardian over his dominion.

Finally, he stood atop his throne, carved from the purest ice, his presence casting long shadows across the frozen expanse. He had ascended.

As the ascension of the demigods on the surface reached its conclusion, the focus shifted to the two who remained beneath the waves.

Tide had arrived at the place indicated by the rune tower he carried—a realm teeming with vibrant marine life, where iridescent sea creatures wove intricate patterns through the water. Schools of luminescent fish darted around him, their scales shimmering like scattered stars, while tendrils of bioluminescent jellyfish pulsed with an ethereal glow. The creatures regarded him with curiosity, sensing the presence of something—or someone—new in their domain. As he moved forward, they swirled around him in a mesmerizing dance, their motions carrying an almost ritualistic grace.

For Tide, this moment was yet another reminder of why he revered his father, the god of the sea and storms. Even after centuries spent beneath the waves, the ocean continued to unveil new mysteries, proving that no matter how much he thought he understood, there was always more to discover. The vastness of the sea humbled him, reinforcing both his admiration and his ambition.

As he followed the path laid out for him, the familiar sensation of divinity brushed against his consciousness, pulling him into a trance-like state. A question echoed in the depths of his mind:

"What kind of god do you imagine yourself to be?"

For as long as he could remember, his dream had been to rule the sea as his father did. It had seemed inevitable—a destiny written in the tides. But at the fifth stage of ascension, just before he could advance, he had been confronted with an undeniable truth: the entire sea could never belong to him. The realization struck deep, unsettling something within him. To claim dominion over the ocean in its entirety was beyond his grasp, beyond anyone’s. The sea was not something to be owned—it was a force of its own, ever-shifting, ever-expanding.

It was the water elementals who had guided him through this revelation, showing him a path he had never considered before. While his fellow demigods wielded power over their elements, none understood them as intimately as he did. Unlike the others, he did not merely command the water—he listened to it, let it shape him as much as he shaped it. He could feel the currents whisper to him, the tides pulse with a rhythm older than time itself.

Now, standing on the precipice of divinity, he could say with pride that among all the demigods, he alone had forged a true bond with the sea. His unwavering admiration and boundless ambition had culminated in the birth of his domain—a realm of fluid strength, of movement unshackled, of sovereignty through unity.

Since he could never lay claim to the sea, his domain manisfested as a kingdom, a microcosm of the world above, where his will was absolute. With a whispered word and a gesture, he commanded the elements, the water swirling and rising to form his "Sentinels." Six hulking figures, each a testament to his power, stood before him. From his meticulously curated treasury, he bestowed upon them six legendary weapons, each humming with ancient magic, transforming them into extensions of his own might.

This act, the creation of his Sentinels, was the culmination of Tide’s life, the realization of his deep-seated desire to rule. Unlike other demigods, burdened by the complexities of human interaction, Tide had forged a harmonious relationship with his people. His leadership had been wise and just, his kingdom flourishing. The Murlocs, often relegated to the fringes of society, now enjoyed a prosperity they had never known. Even the tension with his sister, ruler of a neighboring undersea kingdom, had been resolved, their combined strength now a force to be reckoned with. Tide’s path to ascension was clear.

His thoughts drifted to his divine cousins, now among the gods who watched over the mortal realm. He yearned to join them, to share in their celestial duties, and to finally observe the world above without the limitations of his demigod form. He envisioned long conversations, shared laughter, and the quiet satisfaction of protecting the world alongside his family.

The question of his divine portfolio had long been settled in his mind. He was a master of the Everflowing Treasury. The sea, though he couldn’t claim it as his domain, had been generous. His treasury overflowed with riches, not just gold and jewels, but artifacts of immense power, each a story waiting to be told. He understood that his control extended beyond the mere accumulation of wealth. It encompassed the flow of resources, the opportunities that arose and vanished like the tides, and even the subtle currents of fate itself. Perhaps, he mused, it even touched upon luck, the unpredictable element that could make or break empires.

A shadow crossed his brow. The humans, those land-dwelling creatures, were becoming bolder. Their ships, once mere specks on the horizon, now ventured further and further into the sea, their curiosity piqued by the mysteries that lay beneath the waves. This expansion was inevitable, he knew, and it would bring change. He would need to be ready. As the God of the Everflowing Treasury, he would not only command wealth, but also the foresight and wisdom to navigate the shifting tides of the future, ensuring the prosperity of his people and the preservation of the delicate balance between the mortal and divine realms.

With his path clear came the apperance of Nana, She smiled, her gaze sweeping over him as though she already knew his decision.

"It seems you have found your answer."

A deep breath filled his lungs. "I have."

The world trembled in response. The air became thick with energy, the sea itself stilling in reverence.

Then, he spoke.

"I am Tide, son of the god of sea and storms now the Master of the Everflowing Treasury. I am the tide that brings fortune and the wave that drowns the reckless. I am the hand that weighs wealth and fate alike. To those who honor the balance, prosperity shall follow. To those who seek to hoard or plunder unjustly, know that even the greatest riches slip through grasping fingers like sand in the tide."

As his proclamation resounded across the ocean, Nana raised a hand. From the depths of the ocean and the heights of the sky, a great force coalesced. The waters churned, parting as a throne of shifting gold and deep sapphire rose from the abyss. The Throne of Tides.

It was a seat of wealth, and of power—its form constantly shifting, as if made from liquid wealth itself, shimmering with ever-changing light. Nana lifted it higher, and higher still, until it reached the sky itself, where gods sat among the heavens.

Ascension had begun.

As he took his place upon the throne, his mortal shell cracked away, dissolving into pure divinity. The sea roared, rejoicing in the rise of its new patron. The winds carried his name across distant shores. In that moment, he ceased to be a man. He was a god.

The world opened before him, a vast emptiness waiting to be shaped by his will. He extended his hand, and the large space responded.