A/N - Thank you, Shadowblood98, & QpJenkinz, for becoming God of Velmoryn's Patrons!
<<<>>>
[Congratulations, Verde!]
Minimum requirements have been met - both parents hold complete faith & Rank is not lower than Nascent God. The first soul has been granted a mark. It shall become the guiding light for all that follow.
Title Granted: First Child.
Soul had been granted a mark? First Child?
The words lingered in my mind, as I tried to grasp what they meant.
It was already clear that the new connection I sensed wasn't Roy. It was his child. The system's wording left no doubt. And yet, the rest was more difficult to unravel.
I immediately opened my status window to confirm whether the title '[First Child]' had been granted to me directly. I doubted it. But still, I needed to be sure.
As the familiar window unfolded before me, my eyes scanned the entries. There was no new title under my name. But then I noticed something else, something entirely new.
Just beside the '[Believers]' stat that tracked my precious faithful, another line had appeared:
'[Children]' - 1/1
One child. A single marked soul permitted to exist under this category. And my current limit seemed to be already reached. The system was restricting me with a hard cap, not allowing me to proceed until another couple became completely faithful and my Rank rose, or at the very least, that was what I assumed.
But the restriction itself spoke volumes. If the system limited me to only one marked soul at my current strength, then this wasn't simply a glorified title for believers. This must have been something rare. And rare usually meant valuable and precious.
Without hesitation, I activated Guidance.
[Marked Soul]
Born from the faithful, carrying the mark of their god. Their faith remains unshaken, and no other deity may claim their soul through ordinary means. Marked Souls inherit strong vessels and may receive multiple blessings without severe cost. Classes align with divine paths, maintaining a permanent connection to their god. Upon death, they return to their origin and may be reborn if willed.
The effects of the marked soul were far greater than I had anticipated. These believers would be bound to me with unwavering loyalty, their bodies growing stronger, their potential far surpassing ordinary mortals. In essence, they would become my most powerful weapons, living extensions of my will. The possibilities of divine path classes were also interesting - Paladins came to mind immediately, perhaps Inquisitors as well, but beyond that, I could not come up with anything.
Yet even with all those overwhelming boons, it wasn't the combat potential that weighed heaviest on my thoughts. The most critical revelations were something else entierly.
The first, and frankly the most unsettling, was the fact that these marked souls could be blessed repeatedly without suffering any heavy penalties. That, by implication, meant all others, the ordinary believers without such a mark, should only be blessed once. Whether the penalties for further blessings were guaranteed or just highly probable, I couldn't say for certain. But I doubted they would be anything mild or trivial. This was divine power - the price for excess was not going to be small. It wouldn't be something as simple as a stutter or a patch of hair loss.
This piece of information forced me to reevaluate how I approached blessings entirely. I couldn't afford to toss them around freely, handing them out just to appease or reward short-term growth. Blessings needed to be calculated, reserved for those who had pushed themselves to their absolute limit through natural means. Let them climb as high as their own talent allowed, to the very edge of their potential, and only then bless them. Wasting a blessing too early could trap a promising individual in mediocrity for life, because I would simply elevate them where they'd have reached themselves had I given them enough time.
And I had already made that very mistake - Lucas. I was even planning to bless him again after the trial I had initiated. Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do; I could not retrieve the blessing I had already given…
Another piece of information that stood out even more was that these marked souls could be reborn. And while that sounded incredibly valuable, it also raised a dozen new questions I had no answers for. Would I need to craft bodies for them myself? Would they return on their own, born naturally into my people as infants, or would I need to directly intervene?
What was clear, however, was that marked souls were extraordinarily valuable - sacred assets in the truest sense. And it made perfect sense that other gods would see them as threats. Not just individuals to be eliminated, but living investments, divine seeds carrying god's power that could not be allowed to return to them. I had already confirmed that killing an Inquisitor earned 100 Divinity Points, who knew how much marked souls would cost.
This small detail only reinforced the suspicion I'd carried for a while now. This world wasn't some balanced, peaceful utopia. No, it was built to encourage conflict between gods. To pit divine beings against one another, whether directly or through their mortal pawns. Whether that design came from some higher existence that even gods couldn't fathom, or it was simply the natural order of things, born from competing wills and finite resources, was irrelevant.
The result was the same either way. I would need power to even have a chance of survival in this world of gods.
"Vivien, are you well?" Tekla's voice softened, a note of genuine worry bleeding into her words. A moment ago she had scolded Vivien harshly, but now the priestess feared she may have pushed too far. The young Velmoryn sat slumped before her, shoulders trembling.
"High Father spoke to me," Vivien whispered, her voice fragile but loud enough to rise above her sobs. She lifted her head slowly, revealing silver eyes gleaming with tears. "He told me… I would reunite w-with my Roy… in His kingdom." Her breath hitched, the words breaking into a small cry as she pressed her face into Tekla's lap, fingers clutching weakly at the priestess' robes.
But it didn't last. After a moment of quiet sobbing, she straightened herself, wiping her cheeks as though embarrassed by the outburst. A faint smile returned to her lips, small, but genuine, as if clinging to the promise she had been given.
"I will go to the temple and pray for forgiveness," she said softly, rising to her feet. The slight swell of her belly made her movement awkward, forcing her to pause and adjust, but she managed to steady herself. "Thank you, Priestess."
Tekla watched her go, her heart lifting as pride quietly bloomed within her chest. She thought that her words had restored Vivien's faith, her guidance had pulled her back to the right path. She had even forgotten, in that brief moment of relief, the request she had whispered to me earlier - that Vivien might be blessed.
But I hadn't forgotten.
I'll bless her after childbirth. If I do it now, they might assume I wish for her to join the hunt, and I have no intention of letting her do that.
Vivien was now not only one of the rarest talents, but she carried something even more precious - my first marked soul. The one I hoped would one day rise to become my most devoted servant, perhaps even my strongest believer. For now, her life carried weight far beyond any other in the tribe. I'd have to personally guarantee her safety, at least until the childbirth.
I almost forgot… the title, First Child.
I caught myself. I intended to activate Guidance immediately and inspect the title, but before I could, the surge of memories pushed to the front of my mind. The dungeon. The dragon. Elisabeth's death. Gundir's unexpected presence. And lastly, how Avenor had allowed Gundir to use the memory stone after the Drukyr insisted the inscription beneath stated it was meant for him.
And based on his reaction after seeing the memory, Gundir had not lied, I was sure of that. Besides, beyond any message contained within that stone, Gundir himself was far more valuable - a living relic, carrying fragments of the forgotten history I was trying to unravel. And most importantly, someone who possessed forging knowledge advanced enough to call my divine creation junk.
I quickly shifted Window, focusing on Avenor. He had finally exited from the dungeon and was standing outside, speaking with Aria, Teryo, Vaelari, and Ninali near the entrance.
"We should head back," Teryo said, his voice quieter than usual as he glanced toward Gundir, who stood beside Avenor, eyes still swollen and red from tears shed earlier. The memory stone had contained Freya's message to him, and the Drukyr got emotional after seeing it.
"We don't have enough time to make it to the Silver Tribe before the snow comes," Teryo added calmly, crossing his hands.
His tone had completely shifted these past few days. The tension that once filled every word he spoke to Avenor had also loosened. He no longer challenged him or sought to assert control. Learning the truth about Velmoryn's past had helped him see things from a different perspective.
"Will your friend be coming with us?" Vaelari asked, studying Gundir's appearance as politely as he could, unable to resist the curiosity.
"Yes," Avenor answered absentmindedly, gaze distant as something clearly bothered him. "He will stay with us."
Gundir remained silent for a few breaths before finally speaking. "Why the hurry?"
"We cannot risk being out here when winter comes," Teryo replied, his words trailing off as he instinctively lifted his gaze to the sky. But what he saw froze the rest of his sentence in his throat. His eyes widened, a hollow dread creeping across his face. "No… it's still too early…" he whispered, almost trying to convince himself.
I followed his gaze through the Window, narrowing my focus on the pale, swollen sky above. For a brief moment, the air was perfectly still. And then it appeared - a lone snowflake, spinning gently as it fell through the quiet air, unhurried, as though announcing itself with subtle ceremony. It drifted downward, untouched by wind, before finally settling on the cold earth. A tiny mark of white, already melting into the ground.
The first snow of the season.
The winter has come.
I wasn't particularly alarmed by the snow or the early winter. They were safe. I knew what they didn't - Orrvyn would protect them the moment they crossed into its range. The Crimson Guardian's roots stretched far and wide now, and no creature of winter would dare breach its reach without my will.
I watched the Velmoryns gather hurriedly, scrambling to leave the dungeon grounds before the snowfall worsened. Their movements were tense but organized, years of survival instincts pushing them into motion. A faint amusement crept in as I observed them.
But then something tugged at my focus.
Avenor.
His expression was off. Behind his calm facade, a troubled shadow lingered in his eyes. And that, more than the falling snow, drew my attention.
I narrowed my focus, intending to brush lightly against our connection, to read him, as I always had. But the familiar link that had always existed between us, one that was instinctive and fluid, was gone.
My amusement faded instantly, replaced by creeping unease. I pressed harder, actively reaching into the bond that tethered us together seamlessly. Only then did I catch fragments of his thoughts seeping through.
They were scattered. Chaotic. Drenched in fear.
I can't hear myself… I can't feel it…
Can you hear me? Please answer…
---------------------
Don't forget to Follow the novel so that you don't miss the updates.
If you'd like to support me and also read ahead of the public release https://www.patreon.com/GodWithWings
You can read up to 18 chapters