The process of forging a connection was more complicated than Onyx had implied. Sev strained at it for a moment, trying to feel out the connection he already had with Aurum — his divine sense helped, allowing him to feel out that tiny thread in reality that signified his connection to a god.

One for Aurum, and another one for Onyx. The one for Onyx was stronger by far, and he tried to model the new connection he was forging based on that. A hint of divinity, guided by a whisper of prayer...

[You have regained a skill — [Divinity Manipulation]]

[Divinity Manipulation] [Active] [Grade: 1]

Manipulate divinity.

Regained?

Sev didn't remember ever having a skill like this. He didn't know it was possible to lose skills in the first place.

Did you mean what you said? Aurum's voice was small and timid in his head; much smaller than the Aurum he had spoken to in the tunnels. He didn't know how he'd ever been fooled. About helping me... grow up. I want to grow up.

I meant what I said, Sev answered gently. But give me time.

First, a prayer.

The God of Time went by the name of Tempus. Sev knelt carefully on the prayer mat, paying attention to the soft crackle of the threaded bamboo beneath his knees, to the rough texture of the woven grass.

Any other priest might have taken the time to meditate on that feeling — on the thought of the passage of time, the cycle that carried it from seed to grass to harvest.

Sev took his time to meditate on it just long enough to feel the first threads of a divine connection open up with the god. He seized upon it then, opening the connection just a little bit more, and sending a rather impossible-to-ignore prayer that consisted of just a few words.

Hey! Nice to meet you.

...No one said it had to be a good prayer. He had technically been a lot more wordy in his first message to Onyx, but different times called for different measures.

There was a long pause — not because Tempus hadn't heard him, and not because he had chosen not to respond to the indignity of the message; Sev would have felt either reaction through the divine connection they now shared. The feeling he got was one of surprise, curiosity, and cautious interest.

...You are a new priest of Time? Curiosity dominated, in the god of Time's response. Tempus' divine voice was slow and ponderous, like he took his time with every word and thought.

Not exactly. Sev let his embarrassment show through the connection. I am a priest of Onyx. God of, uh, sculptures.

I have not heard of him. There was a small pause before Tempus responded, but Sev got the impression that far more time had passed for the god of time than it had for him.

He is... forgotten. A hint of moroseness bled through the connection before Sev could stop it. He didn't consider what he'd done a failure, exactly, but it said a lot that no one remembered Onyx, despite his attempts. The god was alive... and that was all he could say, really.

Time allows many things to be forgotten, Tempus allowed.

I didn't mean it quite like that, Sev said, but he allowed the topic to flow past him. Tempus didn't seem all that interested in discussing Onyx, and he couldn't blame the guy. I have a request. Uh, I don't want it to seem like I'm contacting you just to get something out of you, though. Even though that's technically what I'm doing?

Is that not the reason most mortals pray to a god? Tempus sounded amused, now, and in spite of himself, Sev chuckled.

I suppose, he answered. I don't want to be like them, but it seems inevitable, to a certain degree.

Time heals all wounds, Tempus assured him — at least, that was what Sev thought he was trying to do.

I need to forge more connections with the gods, Sev said. He let out a small sigh. In the pursuit of power, I suppose, which kinda means my motives are in question?

It seems to me that you have little choice, Tempus observed. If nothing else, he seemed to enjoy Sev's philosophical meandering — Sev could feel it through their connection. Tempus was engaged. This was the type of conversation he enjoyed, and a type of conversation he hadn't had for a long, long time. If you are in need of power, and must contact others to gain that power, then you must do so — but the manner in which you choose to do so matters, does it not?

Compromised motives, but if I do my best to act in good faith... Sev mused. And maybe it's okay to ask for help, even from people I don't know.

I would posit that is the foundational purpose of society.

Well, I don't know about that, Sev responded with a laugh. I wish it were, though. Maybe we'll get it there, step by step.

Sev paused, and felt a familiar ache take over — a soul-deep exhaustion that seemed out of line with what he had experienced. He paused for a moment, his connection with Tempus allowing him to take a step back and examine that emotion.

It was his own, and yet it felt so strangely foreign.

We have greater troubles? Tempus asked, surprising him. He'd no doubt felt the sensation through their connection.

Yeah. Sev waited a long moment after responding, hoping the god would have something else to say; when Tempus simply waited in turn, he continued, a little hesitant. But before that... could I ask for a favor? A personal one.

Asking a favor of a god before doing him one in turn? Tempus chuckled. You are a bold one.

Do you happen to know the god of Gold? Aurum?

He is like a little brother to me, Tempus answered, sounding surprised — perhaps even a touch defensive.

He wishes to grow older, Sev said.

The connection went dead. Sev feared for a moment that Tempus had cut it off entirely, but that wasn't the case — the god had simply clamped down hard, preventing any of his emotions from leaking through the makeshift bond.

Sev waited.

He had time.

And this was the god of Time, after all.

He didn't judge. He could think of a half-dozen reasons for Tempus to react like this, from suspicion to guilt to fear; it didn't mean that any of those reasons were right.

After a long moment, the connection began to lift.

And you think I can help him, Tempus said. Why?

You're the god of Time, Sev answered. I figured you would know why gods cannot age, at least.

...You do not suspect me.

No? What reason would you have to prevent other gods from aging? Sev couldn't keep the perplexed tone out of his mental voice.

No reason I could think of, and yet, Tempus answered, just a hint of dryness in his voice.

I only thought you might be able to help, Sev said. But I'm guessing this is a bigger problem than I realized.

By leagues, Tempus said, and for the first time, the god's voice came across as exhausted. Sev instinctively reached out, as if he could catch the poor guy as he slumped over — though of course, they were nowhere near one another. Tempus sent a feeling of amused appreciation through their connection, nonetheless. The gods often come to me for a solution, and I do not have one. I do not have one for Aurum, either. I am sorry.

Do you know why, at least? Sev asked.

I have my theories, Tempus said. The simplest among them being that gods age on a timescale far greater than that of mortals; that I am too weak, and cannot shift gods forward in time enough that they would age.

Or perhaps gods, creatures of divinity that we are, must represent an aspect: perhaps that aspect remains unchanging always, unable to grow or shift.

Or perhaps our aspect is represented in civilization, and that civilization must grow in order for us to grow in turn.

I cannot act to change any of these things. Tempus ended his little spiel with what felt like a godly sigh. Sev could practically feel the shrug in his words, a touch morose and stretched in time.

But you made it sound like this is a problem, Sev said. That Aurum is not the only god trapped like this.

He is not, Tempus confirmed. Of the one-hundred-fifteen gods I know of, thirty-four of them are children. It is not a majority... but it is too many. Often, their worshippers are few and far between, and their priests are rarely strong enough to connect with the divine realm to see them for who — for what — they are.

Their angels try to protect them, but their ability to do so is limited, and their understanding of mortals even moreso. Tempus hesitated. I saw what happened with Aurum. I am sorry I could not do more to prevent it. To reach out and interfere with another god... it costs us. And I did not — do not — have that power.

You saw what happened? Sev asked. There was an urgency in his voice that Tempus caught nearly immediately, though the only reaction from him was confusion. Did you see the whole thing?

...The angel was reprimanded and sent home, were they not? Tempus frowned. There is more to the story. But I did not see it, if that is the case.

Infolock. Sev practically hissed out the word, even projecting it through their connection. A distinct frustration claimed him. I don't know how they work with gods.

We know what our subjects know, for the most part, Tempus said. There are exceptions. It costs us divinity.

A lot of things cost you divinity, Sev said. What is divinity?

Ah, Tempus said, and now there was something of a smile in his voice. That is the question, isn't it?

Sev waited. ...Are you going to answer it?

I do not know the answer. Tempus shrugged, and Sev almost groaned in frustration. It is a source of power. A currency. It replenishes naturally to us, whether we are ascended or everpresent. It was a lot more powerful, once, but... it costs divinity to reject your system. A small frown. A strange circumstance.

Strange indeed, Sev echoed, but his mind was racing.

The gods didn't know about what was happening.

He'd known that on some level. Aurum hadn't known, and the temple priests had been eager to find out about the dungeon when he had first returned from its formation; it made sense, too, that they were trying to convert him to their cause. If gods knew what their followers did...

That felt a little invasive, actually. He understood the math, but didn't necessarily like it.

What could he tell Tempus, though?

Only one way to find out.

Tempus, Sev began, and he felt something in the divine connection begin to tense — like the god knew that something was coming. Far away, he felt something clamping down on the connection like a guillotine, and he could only guess that it was the grip of the system.

But he was here. In Vex's bonus room, a world intentionally made as far away from the system as possible. On top of that, he was in the Roads, and the Roads seemed even more isolated; the power it had here was weaker than it had ever been.

So Sev told Tempus everything.

The benefit of a divine connection was that there could be no room for doubt; he opened the connection fully, allowing the god to read directly from his soul. The universe is ended, he said, in so many thoughts and impressions, the images of his journey flashing along the connection they shared. The gods are being sacrificed to preserve what remains. Aurum and Onyx are fighting to find another way. We cannot do it without help.

There was a long pause that wasn't long at all. Sev had the impression that Tempus had spent a touch of divinity to manipulate time — to process, to verify, to do his needed research.

When the god returned, he went right down to business.

You are not as strong as you could be, Tempus said. Let me show you what you can become.