"O Supreme Godking, your humble devotee prays to you—when shall you return?"
This line of text seemed to transcend the bounds of endless Time itself. It bore the rust and erosion of ancient ages. If it weren't for Owen's sensory capabilities being far superior to those of most deities, he might never have noticed it at all.
But this throne—it was something he had personally created. He hadn't carved any words upon it.
Yet the inscription looked as if it had been etched countless ages ago. Even more shockingly, surrounding the inscription were intricate patterns and symbols, their ancient textures and motifs speaking of eons of history and reverence. It was as though this throne had existed since antiquity, forged by countless devoted followers, and offered up to the one they deemed the supreme and almighty Godking.
