God Of Velmoryn [ LitRPG, Progression, High Fantasy ]

A/N - Thank you, Jonas, for becoming God of Velmoryn's Patron!

The temple was filled with Velmoryns, standing shoulder to shoulder beneath the towering ceiling, their eyes locked on Tekla as she stood before the altar. Her voice carried through the chamber, each word shaping the image she sought to etch into their minds. She spoke not of what they were, but what they could become. The message was simple - the Velmoryn God stood not only as their savior, but as the path toward a future where their kind would no longer scrape through the edge of survival; they would rise, thrive, and claim a life worthy of living.

"Priestess," Dirion called reluctantly, slowly raising his hand as Tekla finished talking. "Is it true that our kind was created by merging Elves and… demons?"

The words fell like a stone into still water. The tension beneath the surface, already thick since Avenor and the others revealed the truth about Velmoryn's origin, now fully revealed itself. All this time, they had worked tirelessly to improve their lives, following Tekla's guidance to the word, but nothing could entirely suppress the unease. Velmoryns who had long believed themselves an ancient race, descendants of proud blood, oppressed by Elves, had been forced to face a far harsher truth. They were made. Designed. A tool crafted for war.

After returning from the dungeon, Ninali and Aria had argued against revealing the truth, wanting to protect the tribe's beliefs. Teryo and Vaelari voted for honesty. In the end, it was Avenor's vote, decided by me, that settled the matter. The truth was spoken. But accepting it was another matter entirely.

Now, with Dirion voicing the question everyone carried but no one dared to ask, silence settled so thick that even the sound of breathing and steady heartbeats felt invasive. All eyes fixed on Tekla, waiting. She offered a warm, gentle smile toward Dirion, like she was trying to show that she wasn't angered by the question. Actually, she had been patiently waiting for someone to finally find the courage and ask the priestess what bothered them the most.

"I am grateful you showed what troubles you, Dirion," Her voice traveled through the temple like a cool breeze sweeping through suffocating heat, soothing the tense and heavy hearts. "High Father does not concern Himself with how we were made. You all know the Ninth Commandment. The past holds no power over those who walk His path and strive to better what lies ahead."

She paused briefly, turning toward the carved basilisk beside her. Her hand came to rest upon its scaled head, fingers slowly tracing it.

"The truth of our origin may sting. But has it changed who we are? Are we any less than what we were days ago?" She let the question hang, watching the small movements ripple across the crowd - shaking heads, murmurs, whispers in response. "No! We remain who we are. No, we are even stronger. Now that we know our past, we can shed that old skin, like a sylnorath does, and cast away what no longer serves us. The shame of what came before has no place here. We raise our heads. We step forward as High Father's proud children!"

The Velmoryns whispered among themselves. Some nodded. Others smiled faintly. The fire Tekla's words had started, began as a spark, but now spread like wildfire. The uncertainty that had weighed on them fractured piece by piece, reshaped into something collective and tribal.

If the bonds they once shared had been rooted in a common past, that foundation was shifting. Now it was the future they were trying to build together that bound them. And as their identities loosened from what they once clung to, they anchored themselves fully to me. I had become the symbol of what they desperately needed - the promise of a brighter and greater future, as magnificent as Tekla painted it in their minds.

In that moment, as the entire tribe connected to me on a deeper level, my divine realm answered. My very consciousness responded. The clouds that drifted across my divine plane shifted, scattering as if clearing space for something new.

And soon I understood why.

One by one, crimson stars began to appear around me. They were fainter than Tekla's or even Mel's, but still bright and beautiful. I watched, letting the scene sink in, a rising excitement blooming within me. I didn't need to count them. I already felt each and every one of them.

Two hundred and thirteen.

Stars shone with their own pulse, each one connected to me with the same bond I held with Mel. They hovered there, suspended in my realm, fully within my reach. And for the first time since becoming a god, I felt a strange fondness - a primal, instinctive care for these stars. I cared for them, though I couldn't fully explain why and how much.

But I didn't have the chance to study it further.

From each star, bright crimson strands shot outward, racing toward a single point at the center. They met, intertwining into a vibrant, almost chaotic weave - a scarlet and violet dance spinning tighter with every second. And then Tekla's star responded. Her thread joined them, thicker, brighter, more forceful, seizing the point where all the others converged, pulling them together toward the Crimson Guardian's projection.

The threads continued their pull until they reached the Divine Tree. Then one branch extended gently, receiving the gathered threads. And the instant they connected, the surge hit me.

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A violent wave of energy crashed through my being. Excitement spiraled into something stronger, nearly overwhelming me. I felt euphoria, but it didn't stop there. New, foreign emotions followed - happiness, hope, affection, sadness, regret, each flashing through me with a force I wasn't prepared for. And then, just as suddenly, they vanished.

What remained was pain.

Pain. I can feel pain.

I quickly turned my attention on myself, searching, hoping to finally see form or at least part of it. But there was nothing. I remained formless, plain consciousness drifting in my realm. The stars glowed around me. The divine tree stood anchored at the center, each star linked to its branches with thin threads. And above it all hovered the translucent sphere - colorless and empty.

And then, without warning, the golden notification window appeared before my eyes.

I quickly opened my status window, and as expected, a new Authority had appeared. But beyond the brief notice, Guidance offered nothing. No explanation, no context. I had no idea what Authority truly meant, what fully unlocking it would lead to, or whether it granted me anything at all in its current state.

But even without those answers, there was more than enough to analyze.

The appearance of stars within my divine realm, following the deepening of the Velmoryns' faith, confirmed what I had suspected. Once a believer's devotion crossed the 50/100 mark, their soul became bound to me. I still lacked absolute proof, but I was almost certain. And either that bond wasn't permanent, or it must have become breakable in case of God's death. This way, it would be explained why my believers, many of whom must have been devoted to the Goddess in the past, were able to become mine. Whatever ties they may have had before must have been severed the moment She fell.

Believers exert far greater influence on their god than I imagined.

For the first time, I began to question whether the Goddess's sacrifice had truly been voluntary. The fondness I now felt for these stars representing my believers' souls, or perhaps they were their actual souls… how I instinctively cared for each one, it wasn't something I had developed by myself.

This feeling wasn't something I gained over time. It came from nowhere, as if the system, or some other force, planted it within me, without my permission, without even asking if I wanted it.

If this attachment grew stronger as the number of believers increased, if it evolved from mere fondness into something deeper, something closer to genuine love, the way a parent cares for a child, then how long would I be able to remain indifferent? How long before even one believer's suffering would become unbearable to watch?

The more I thought about it, the more I doubted what I had believed. Perhaps the Goddess had never intended to sacrifice herself. Perhaps she had no choice. If just over two hundred souls were enough to affect me this much, then what of the Goddess, who had commanded thousands of Elves in battle? What kind of overwhelming pressure had she lived under?

And if this was how the bond between god and believer worked, then why weren't all gods affected the same way? I thought back to the Goddess' memory fragment. That god, cloaked in fire, had slaughtered his own followers without hesitation or regret.

Whether this strange fondness would evolve into something stronger remained to be seen, but one thing was already clear - my believers were not just walking batteries meant to generate Divinity Points. I didn't yet understand the full extent of their influence over me, but it was no longer theoretical. It was real.

And I needed to be more careful from now on.

I needed to control how I allowed them to see me. Because if their thoughts, expectations, and beliefs could affect me in more ways than just feeling fondness, then the last thing I wanted was conflicting visions from different groups of believers tearing me apart at the seams. If their ideas clashed, I might end up disfigured, a god without an essence.

For now, I needed to be extremely careful, at least until I understood how this system worked. I also had to limit my believers to Velmoryns, even if some other race presented itself later.

At the moment, I didn't mind the image the Velmoryns had of me. A High Father who doesn't make mistakes. A divine force. A symbol tied to the sacred tree. That was manageable. I could work with that.

But what if their perception of me would become the version that ultimately took form.

The pain I had felt earlier was proof of that. It was a genuine pain through and through, which shouldn't have been possible without a body. So maybe it was the first cell forming, the starting point of the physical shape I would one day possess.

Wait… am I going to become a tree? Or a basilisk? Or rather, sylnorath, as the Velmoryns seem to call it…?

I didn't like the idea of turning into a tree or a giant serpent, no matter how magnificent or sacred they imagined it.

Next time I show someone a vision, I need to start planting suggestions about how I look.

I had made up my mind. Tree or snake - they were completely impractical. I had no doubt that sooner or later I would be forced to face other gods, just like how the Goddess had faced the three gods. And when that moment came, I needed more than bark and scales.

As my thoughts wandered, drifting toward what the future might hold, I suddenly felt a voice pass through my mind. It wasn't like the ones I usually heard. Not like a prayer from the devoted. This was different. As if someone was speaking to themselves and I was eavesdropping without being invited.

"....Verde"

The word came faint and muffled.

My name? But who would even know… Avenor…

I focused on the voice, trying to listen to it and find its source.

And this time, I heard him clearly.

"Verde, please stop these fanatic idiots and I swear I'll dedicate my entire life to you. Just stop them. I beg you."