There are many gods for darkness, many for balance, but the ones of light sometimes can seem fewer, far between. Living gods even less. Poor Wraithvine has the equivalent of an "infant god" on hir hands. Now ze has to protect against those that covet this power, will kill for it, until the new temple is built strong enough for the new god to be settled in, and truly get to work.
A hatching god. Soon to be a hatchling god. Deification happened in weird ways, sometimes. The Magefont and Lillian's accident was a new one that few wished to repeat. Not that they could repeat it. There was only one Magefont, a relic of Elven hubris in attempting to meddle, merge, and somewhat terraform other planes.
Mundis Magica was not Nanogh and it never would be. Those once terrified of living with lesser magic had adapted. The faeflitters had evolved from insects near the font, and supplied the world with magic.
They were working on other things, now. Other, permanent things. Things that should have been done eons ago, instead of the patchwork system of temporary measures that took up too much time and too much energy.
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