Gods:

For an eternity, they watched, waiting, content in their silence. But silence is only peace when there is no reason to speak.   The gods of Gaiatia have never been united. They are not siblings, nor allies, nor parts of a singular pantheon guiding the world with wisdom or order. They are forces, raw, unfiltered aspects of existence itself, bound not by camaraderie but by the reality of their nature. Where one god’s dominion flourishes, another’s must wane. Where one prospers, another is diminished. In the days before the Fall, this truth was understood but unspoken, a silent, begrudging acceptance of the balance that tethered them all. The Weaver of Roads did not seek to sunder the Lord of Shackles, for free will and fate were intertwined, two sides of the same coin. The Lord of Want did not make war upon the Keeper of Mercy, for greed and generosity required one another to exist. Even the Endless Maw, a god of consumption and hunger, had no true quarrel with the gods of harvest and sustenance, for the cycle of life had its place. Yet, for all their differences, the gods were still bound by a fragile, unspoken order: they did not act. They whispered to mortals, they guided the faithful through omens and dreams, they let the world shape itself according to its own laws, allowing worship to come freely, naturally. Their power, after all, was secure. The mortal world did not need their intervention, it had survived without them for ages, and they would endure so long as their aspects remained intact. And so, for countless millennia, they watched. They waited. And then, they faltered. Xaethra shattered that silent order, not through divine might, but through a single truth: the gods had underestimated mortals. For all their strength, for all their cosmic presence, it took only one being, one singular, ambitious soul, to bring them to the precipice of annihilation. The Fall was not a war waged between gods, nor a battle between titanic celestial forces. It was a mortal's war, one fueled by faith, greed, and the promise of something greater than the limitations of the flesh. Vile, a man granted strength by the will of something far more insidious, proved what many gods had feared but never voiced: they were not untouchable. They were not untouchable at all. If one god, even one as aberrant as Xaethra, could nearly twist a single mortal into a force of devastation that threatened the divine balance itself, what was stopping another from doing the same? What was stopping one god from tipping the scales, from shifting the balance so that their dominion no longer had to share power, but could reign in full? And if faith was now the only true measure of power, was it not foolishwas it not dangerous, to allow another god’s faithful to rise unchecked?   Thus, the silence was broken.   Where once the gods maintained a grudging neutrality, they now act, not as warring titans in the heavens, but through their faithful, their chosen, their blessed weapons on the mortal plane. Holy wars are no longer reserved for those of unshakable zeal, nor are they always fought upon open fields with banners flying in righteous' fury. Divine conflict takes many forms, assassinations carried out in the name of one god to weaken the influence of another, entire faiths toppled through slander and subterfuge, alliances shattered with whispered lies. Where once a priest’s miracles were granted to spread their faith, now they are weapons wielded in a battle older than written history. And the gods, bound to their nature, can do nothing but play this game, moving their followers like pieces on a board of endless war. It is not a war of justice or righteousness. It is not fought for mortals, nor for the good of the world. It is fought because, for the first time in existence, the gods are afraid. They know now that no faith is eternal. No domain is unshakable. And for all their might, they are still subject to the very forces that birthed them. Some gods still refuse to take part, standing by their ancient beliefs that the balance will endure, that to play this game is to invite ruin. But even they must reckon with the truth, that the ones who do not fight are merely waiting to be devoured by those who do. Some whisper of the Pale Arbiter, a god whose domain is law and finality, who watches this growing turmoil with quiet, seething contempt. Some say he will be the one to break this cycle, to reforge the order that was lost. Others claim he will simply let the gods tear themselves apart, for such is the nature of all things that seek power beyond their means.   And perhaps, in the end, it does not matter.   For gods or men, predator or prey, war marches ever onward.