It started with a throwaway line.
Ravi, trying to explain the explosive growth of a rare herb in the Genesis Veil, casually said, "The earth itself sings a song of renewal, heralding an age of unprecedented prosperity."
He hadn't meant it as a prophecy. Just a gamer talking mechanics. Fertilizer tricks. Environment hacks.
But Elara's ears caught fire.
She dove into her scrolls, heart hammering. Deep in a half-decayed manuscript, she found it—a prophecy: a "Chosen One" whose words would shape Aerthos. A "song of renewal." An age of abundance.
The herb? Loaded with Aetherium—the mythical catalyst from the prophecy.
Elara's excitement was nuclear. Spectacles flashing, she ran to the others.
Theron just muttered, sharpening a knife, "Age of prosperity? Sounds like someone setting up a long con."
Even so, he couldn't ignore what was happening.
Lyra noticed it too. The Veil's barren soil now pulsed with life. Flowers, vines, crops—as if the world itself answered Ravi's words.
And Anya—Anya felt it. The energy beneath her feet, the heartbeat of Aerthos shifting. Not just the land, but the people too. Whispers grew louder. Followers gathered.
Meanwhile, Ravi remained hilariously unaware.
At first, he laughed.
Then—he started thinking.
Time to lean in.
His next "divine utterance" was no accident: "The bounty of the earth shall overflow, feeding the hungry and enriching the souls of all."
Boom. Instant wildfire.
Harvests exploded. Crops swelled. Word spread.
Behind the curtain, Ravi tweaked the environment like a maestro. A divine miracle built on clever manipulation.
Lyra, empowered by "prophecy," led devastating strikes against goblin clans. Theron set up trade routes, turning abundance into power. Elara fueled Ravi's future proclamations with historical "evidence." Anya stitched hope into every wound she healed, binding the community tighter.
Ravi wasn't faking it anymore.
He was building it.
The whispers roared. A random comment had become Aerthos' new destiny.
And Ravi, the Accidental God, carried it all—spinning myths, planting miracles, steering an entire civilization on a foundation made of chance and sheer nerve.
Aerthos watched. Aerthos waited.
And Ravi?
He was just getting started.
The prophecy—
—had only just begun.