In one of the oldest palaces in the Celestial World, a group of young gods sat around a vast white stone table. Several were listening; others were distracted. One was dozing with his head resting on his arm, while beside him another spun a tiny sphere of fire between his fingers.
The old man standing at the front rapped the butt of his staff against the table.
"Stop playing around."
The sphere of fire went out instantly. The young man who had been nodding off cracked one eye open.
"And you, wake up."
"I'm listening..."
"You've been asleep for forty minutes."
"I can listen while I sleep."
The old man let out a resigned sigh. He had taught countless generations of deities, and they all ended up asking the same questions and displaying the same indifference.
"Fine. Let's start again. What is Divine Mana?"
Silence filled the room. The old man closed his eyes.
"No one?"
A young woman timidly raised her hand.
"Is it the power we use to grant blessings?"
"No."
"The energy that sustains our physical forms?"
"Not that either."
"Then...?"
The teacher pointed toward the high ceiling of the chamber.
"It is both answers and, at the same time, something far more complex."
With a gesture of his staff, a magical projection came to life across the surface of the stone table. It depicted a world above which millions of tiny points of light flickered.
"Since the dawn of creation, the Fundamental Laws shaped the universe, and with them came the gods."
"But the first deities discovered something no one had expected: even we could die."
The projection showed enormous figures of light going dark one after another.
"The Laws gave us existence, but not eternity. As the ages passed, the first gods began to disappear."
A new stream of light appeared within the image.
"So they created a solution. They discovered that the faith of mortals could be transformed into divine sustenance."
The old man clenched his fist.
"And thus, Divine Mana was born."
No one spoke.
"It was not a gift from the Laws. It was the first gods' response to their own mortality."
The illusion changed. The glowing points of light began rising in spirals.
"However, we are not eternal. We are neither omnipotent nor omniscient; our power has limits that cannot be overcome."
The old man closed his fist, and the sparks went dark. The young gods lost their indifference.
"And our existence depends on a single resource." A concentrated glow emerged between his knuckles. "Divine Mana."
"We already know that," one of the students muttered boredly.
The staff cracked directly against his head.
"Then perhaps you should understand why."
The image changed again, showing a mortal kneeling in prayer. A luminous halo emanated from his chest and rose toward the heavens.
"The faith of mortals generates Condensed Faith. But Condensed Faith is not yet Divine Mana."
The young gods watched as the energy crossed into the celestial plane and entered a colossal network of rune-covered gears.
"This is where the transmutation begins. Only in the Celestial World can it be refined, stabilized, and converted."
The old man paused dramatically as the light emerged from the core with overwhelming density.
"The result is Divine Mana, the only sustenance that keeps the gods alive."
One of the young women raised her hand.
"Only the gods?"
The old man smiled approvingly.
"Good observation."
The projection split into three streams. One portion of the mana flowed toward an ornate throne; another was distributed among hundreds of interconnected silhouettes; the last vanished into the void.
"Every god leads a clan," the old man explained. "Followers, bloodlines, servants, chosen ones, and entities bound to their domain. All of them require resources... and those resources are not infinite."
The teacher made a gesture.
A thousand figures appeared above the table.
Then only five hundred were illuminated.
The rest were swallowed by the shadows.
"Imagine a clan of one thousand members," the old man said, sweeping his gaze across the classroom. "And suppose we only have enough Divine Mana to sustain five hundred."
A young woman raised her hand.
"What happens to the others?"
The old man's smile disappeared.
"They begin to wither."
The five hundred figures remained radiant.
The others began to fade.
"First, they lose their power."
One of them went dark.
"Then, their ability to manifest."
Another disappeared.
"Then their essence begins to disintegrate..."
A third figure slowly dissolved into particles of light.
The old man paused.
"And finally... they die."
The classroom fell completely silent.
The old man placed both hands on his staff and looked at the young gods.
"That is why Divine Mana is not merely a source of power. It is what keeps our clans alive."
"That is why a shortage of mana is not an inconvenience; it is a death sentence." He looked at each of the young gods in turn. "No one was distracted anymore."
"What if a god gains more followers?" a boy asked.
"He gains more faith."
"And becomes stronger?"
"Yes."
"And can sustain a larger clan?"
"Exactly."
The young man smiled.
"Then we just need to recruit more followers."
The old man stared at him.
"Now you understand the game."
The image changed to several mortal kingdoms, each under a different deity.
"Faith is our food. That is why every temple, every priest, every hero, and every miracle matters." The maps began overlapping; one kingdom disappeared while another expanded. "And that is why our goals rarely collide peacefully. We are not a family. We are clans. And we compete for the same source."
The image faded. After several seconds of silence, one of the young gods asked:
"And do humans know this?"
The old man gave a dry laugh.
"Of course not. If they knew how much we need them, they would stop praying out of devotion... and start demanding terms."
Several laughs echoed through the room, but the teacher remained serious.
"That is why we choose champions." A new image showed a human receiving divine grace. "A hero can win a war, save a kingdom, and inspire millions. And every one of those believers becomes new faith for us."
The projection faded. The old man waited for the silence to settle before asking:
"So, if a hero dies..."
"We choose another," the young gods answered in unison.
"Exactly."
The staff struck the stone.
Heroes are replaced.
A new illusion appeared above the table: a mortal kingdom surrounded by temples, farmland, and thousands of glowing motes ascending toward the heavens.
"And what happens if mortals stop believing?"
The lights began to fade. The students watched the temples lose their glow and the streams of energy toward the heavens weaken.
"We lose our food," one student answered.
"Exactly."
The teacher moved his staff, and the kingdom filled with monsters, storms, and demons crossing through portals. Mortals rushed to the temples, begging for help, and the lights immediately flared back to life.
"Do you understand now? Mortals don't have to love us; they only have to need us."
A young man frowned.
"Do we cause those disasters?"
"Some of them." The old man's answer was shamelessly calm. "Plagues, demons, catastrophes, wars... Not everything originates from us, but we never waste an opportunity the universe gives us."
"And they never realize it?" a young woman asked.
The old man chuckled.
"Does a bee know why the beekeeper places flowers near it? As long as it produces honey, we feed it and let it thrive. But if it stops producing, we replace it. And if it tries to sting..." He paused. "We crush it."
The image vanished.
"Do not confuse this with cruelty. That would imply that we see them as equals. They are merely vessels for Condensed Faith. That is why we create heroes. A hero saves a city, and a hundred thousand people pray. A hero kills a demon, and thousands renew their faith. And if the hero dies?"
"We choose another," the students said.
"Heroes are replaced. Mortals are replaced. And when a lesser god dies, another can take its place within the clan."
The old man walked toward the great window, gazing at the nineteen Greater Thrones.
"But the Thrones cannot."
The old man pointed toward the nineteen seats.
"Those cannot be replaced."
The young gods fell silent.
"The Thrones were not created by the gods. They existed before us. They are manifestations of the Fundamental Laws."
He paused.
"The Original Gods did not choose their Thrones."
"Then..."
"The Law recognized them."
The old man allowed his words to settle before continuing.
"The Thrones were not created by the gods. The gods were accepted by them."
"Then... can a lesser god approach the Thrones?"
"And can they enter any palace?"
The old man looked at him as though he had just asked an absurd question.
"Can a peasant enter a king's palace?"
The young man lowered his gaze.
"No."
"Then you already know the answer."
A new projection appeared above the table. The nineteen Laws took shape, and from each one, a figure emerged.
"The Original Gods arose when the Fundamental Laws shaped the universe. But being born from a Law does not mean possessing its domain."
He pointed toward the Thrones.
"They were the ones who recognized their first bearers."
The image changed. New figures appeared beneath the first ones.
"We were born later. Children of other gods, born from their blood or their will. We can accumulate power. We can even inherit part of our parents' divinity."
The old man slowly shook his head.
"But there is one thing we cannot inherit."
He pointed toward the Thrones again.
"The recognition of the Law."
"What happens if a god dies?" a boy asked.
"His clan inherits his domains, his followers, and whatever he left behind. But his divinity... does not belong to the clan. The Law decides who may receive it."
The teacher rested his staff against the table and hardened his voice.
"Now we come to the most important rule: never descend to the Mortal World."
The young gods exchanged glances.
The old man pointed toward the nineteen Thrones rising beyond the windows.
"Each Throne represents a Fundamental Law. And every Greater God is bound to it."
One of the young gods frowned.
"What about the other gods?"
"Lesser gods are not born from the Laws. They are born from us."
The old man gestured.
A figure appeared beside a Throne. Then dozens more emerged around it, connected by thin threads of light.
"They receive our protection."
The thread connecting the Greater God to one of the figures began to glow.
"That is the bond."
Another young god raised his hand.
"And what happens if a lesser god loses that bond?"
The figure began to darken.
"They become vulnerable."
The glow of its body diminished.
"Without the protection of a god born from the Law, a lesser god cannot endure indefinitely. Their essence begins to deteriorate, leaving them exposed to any threat capable of destroying them."
The old man pointed toward the Throne again.
"That is why a clan does not depend solely on its strength. It depends on its Greater God continuing to exist."
The central figure remained radiant while the others stayed connected to it.
"As long as the bond remains, the Law protects the clan through its representative."
"And what if the Greater God descends to the Mortal World?" a young woman asked.
The old man stopped smiling.
"Then they put their bond and their clan at risk."
"Do they lose it?"
"If the Law ceases to recognize them..."
The old man looked at the nineteen Thrones.
"Yes."
The answer fell over the classroom like a stone.
"And if the representative of a Law loses their divinity, everyone who depends on them is left exposed."
No one asked anything else.
The old man placed both hands on his staff.
"That is why we do not descend."
He looked at the young gods.
"Not because we fear death."
A pause.
"But because we have no right to endanger an entire clan of our own accord."
The classroom grew cold. The old man gazed at the light rising from the lower plane and smiled bitterly.
"Now you understand why we need them. They believe we exist to save them, but the truth is much simpler: we keep them alive so that they will continue believing."
"Master..."
The old man looked at him.
"Yes?"
"If Divine Mana can run out... has that ever happened?"
The old man remained silent.
For the first time since the lesson had begun, he did not seem inclined to joke.
"Yes."
The projection of the nineteen Thrones appeared once more.
"A long time ago."
One of the young gods swallowed nervously.
"And what did they do?"
The old man gazed at the Thrones.
"Some tried to preserve themselves."
He paused.
"Others chose to disappear."