It started with a whisper.
A murmur in the wind. A ripple across Aerthos.
People felt it—a tug in their gut, a shift in the very air—and before long, they were moving. Drawn by instinct, by dreams, by rumors of a power stirring in a hidden valley.
Drawn to Ravi.
Lyra was the first to arrive. A warrior with a predator's grace, clad in battered leather, knives glinting at every angle. Each blade had a name, a purpose, a story soaked in blood and survival. She'd been hunting goblins when the call came, a dark threat growing too bold near her village. The whispers led her to Ravi's sanctuary, and what she found wasn't some detached god issuing decrees from a marble throne.
It was a strategist. A leader who handed her a battle plan so precise, it was like he'd lived the war already.
Lyra respected strength—and Ravi, somehow, radiated it without lifting a sword.
Theron showed up next. A rogue with quick fingers and a quicker tongue. At first, he only saw opportunity—a "cult" to rob blind. Power to steal. Easy.
But Ravi didn't flinch under his scrutiny. He saw Theron's sharp mind under the sarcasm and made him an offer: not gold, not promises—but purpose. Real, dangerous, irresistible purpose. Theron grinned, called him crazy—and stayed.
Elara arrived wrapped in robes and ancient knowledge. Her spectacles flashed with every turn of her head, hungry for lost lore, for answers buried in the dust of dead civilizations. She didn't bow or beg. She questioned.
Ravi played the game well. He dangled just enough ancient truth to keep her intrigued, enough mystery to feed her obsession. She became the mind of the Genesis Veil, deciphering forgotten prophecies—some of which Ravi had half-accidentally, half-accurately "prophesied" himself.
Anya was last.
The healer.
Quiet. Gentle. She moved like a blessing in human form, her hands weaving miracles from threads of pain. She followed a dream—golden light and whispered hope—straight into Ravi's half-built sanctuary. She brought something the others didn't.
Kindness.
And Ravi, jaded gamer turned reluctant god, realized he needed it more than he'd ever admit.
The Genesis Veil wasn't just whispers anymore. It was people. Fighters. Thieves. Scholars. Healers.
A team.
Each of them brought something Ravi never knew he needed. Each of them made the myth real.
Lyra trained relentlessly, blades flashing under the sky. Theron mapped the wilderness, set traps, spun networks of information. Elara dug into history, weaving his accidental "divine" lore into reality. Anya healed not just wounds—but the fatigue, the doubt, the fear.
Ravi watched it happen. Managed it. Nudged it. Let it grow.
He'd wanted a smokescreen. He'd built a movement.
The line between Ravi the player and Ravi the god blurred with every day. Their faith, their trust—it wasn't just a tool anymore. It mattered. And somehow, terrifyingly, it made him matter, too.
Aerthos was watching. The world was stirring.
And Ravi?
He wasn't just playing at being a god anymore.
He was becoming one.
The game had leveled up. And the Accidental God was just getting started.