The trick wasn't having power. It was looking like you had it all figured out.
Ravi knew that better than anyone. Being the "god-king" wasn't about flashy moves or world-ending magic. It was about the illusion — the myth. And myths needed more than explosions. They needed story.
So he built one.
The Genesis Veil. The name rolled off the tongue with just the right amount of mystery. It sounded ancient, sacred, untouchable. Perfect for the cult he'd accidentally founded after a few out-of-control magic displays. Now, he needed structure. Narrative weight.
Days blurred into nights as Ravi sketched symbols, scribbled half-mad notes, ripped them up, and started over. This was harder than any boss fight in Aethelgard. But also—way more fun.
He pictured a dying world, swallowed by darkness, teetering on the brink. And when all seemed lost, a "divine being" — a.k.a. some awkward teenager with suspiciously good hand-eye coordination — answered the call.
His "divine pronouncements" were cryptic nonsense, wrapped in riddles, passed through carefully chosen messengers. Ravi figured out fast: the less sense he made, the more deeply they believed.
Symbols. Rituals. Ancient-looking glyphs he doodled during lunch breaks. He stitched pieces of real-world mythology with pure imagination and, somehow, it worked. His followers weren't just buying it—they were eating it up.
The inner circle of Genesis Veil was a riot.
Lyra, the warrior, all blades and brooding loyalty. Theron, the rogue, always two steps ahead, always suspicious. Elara, the scholar, who knew more dead languages than Ravi knew live ones. And Anya, the healer, so gentle it was easy to forget she could fix a crushed ribcage in minutes.
They were brilliant. Loyal. Dangerous.
And they truly believed in him.
Ravi wasn't just faking it anymore. He was leading them—and not just into random quests, either. Aerthos, their broken world, needed saving. And somehow, against all odds, Ravi had become the one holding it together.
The Sanctuary was their home base: hidden deep in a mountain valley, shielded by spells, guarded by forests that moved when they wanted to. Here, Ravi trained. He practiced until he could summon miniature suns with a flick of his wrist, bend reality with a grin—or scoop perfect balls of ice cream, because, you know, priorities.
But it wasn't all about power. Ravi dug into Aerthos' lost histories, unraveling secrets even the ancients had forgotten. And the deeper he went, the more unsettling things became.
Because the "myths" he made up? Weren't made up at all.
Somehow, his lies matched forgotten prophecies. His invented "Origin of All Things" story? It echoed truths buried under millennia of ash and blood. The Genesis Veil wasn't just a happy accident anymore.
It was destiny.
And now, enemies he'd never heard of were hunting him. Forces darker than night. Allies he hadn't asked for were appearing, claiming loyalty to the "Awakened One."
The world was bending, reshaping itself around the myth Ravi had spun.
He was no longer just faking godhood. He was living it. Every decision pulled him deeper into a war he barely understood.
And honestly?
He couldn't wait to see what happened next.
The game had changed. The stakes were real. And Ravi was ready to break the rules.
After all—he wasn't just a player anymore.
He was the Accidental God.