Prologue:
The gods do not bleed. They do not age. But they can fall.
In the heavens, power is earned—not through worship, but through legacy. And legacy is born through mortals.
Each god must choose warriors. Mortal souls to shape, guide, and throw into the fire of fate. When that hero becomes legend, their god rises with them.
I am not a great god. Not yet.
No temples bear my name. No songs sing my deeds. I am a whisper in the divine halls—a footnote.
But I have been given a chance.
I'll turn them from rags to champions. If I can raise them to glory, I climb. If they fall… I vanish.
The other gods choose kings and conquerors.
I will choose a spark—and turn them into a storm.
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