Steven
Finding his way to a new place, he ventured inside one of the many gardens of Gaia. He didn't really know what this name meant, but every time he thought of it, he felt a profound love and respect, the same way he did with Yggdrasil.   

The place was so beautiful that once he touched the grass with his bare feet, something clicked in his mind, and he was whole again, with this form recognizable upon looking through the mist. 
His eyes shined when he saw how good it was to look at the stars there, and how beautiful the trees and flowers were. He couldn't see a single leave that wasn't bright shades of green; olive trees were everywhere; there were very large apples growing; and there were also umbu trees that looked so green it didn't even feel real.



Pondering, he went to sit on a wood bench, happy to prove honey dipping in a fountain.
The stars were so pretty, he couldn't take his eyes off them.

Maybe he would find some company there, but for now, the rest was enough...
George
Guerre arrived back up the World Tree, unsure of what to do next, deciding to just wander around. He had just finished talking to that 'Seiji' fellow, leaving him to create his realm as he wished. A God of Order. That's what he was. Guerre found it naive that the newborn could create order from nothing. He didn't like how easily Seiji picked out a king for that realm. Thoughts of a possible invasion entered his mind. Give those mortals something to fight, give them suffering to make them stronger.

Guerre blinked, and he was in a garden. He recalled seeing them when he was first brought to this world but paid no mind, seeing it as a waste of time. But that was a few hundred cycles ago. He was a slightly changed God now. At least, he hoped he was. Guerre decided to surge forward and explore the place.

In truth, Guerre needed this. Or at least, his mortals did. They were like worker bees. Born to fight, fight to win. They erected large stone walls and weaponry to tear down those same walls. They were excellent soldiers, but they weren't exactly celebrating their conquests. Simply just fight and move to the next. It just didn't feel right to the deity. They needed to properly celebrate their victories. A reward. But also a form of conflict, something Guerre needed more of. A chance to make them weak for others to take over. That's what breeds true strength, a fine cacophony of work and reward.

Guerre happened upon an apple on his walk. Curiously, he bent down to pick it up. He didn't have any of these fruits back in his realm. Guerre continued to stare at the apple for quite some time.
Steven
Feeling a little bit better, a lilac appears on Algen's hand. There's another being in the garden with him, but he doesn't seem to notice how his appearance has also changed.

The cut on his finger is still there, he could heal this easily, even though he doesn't want to.



Algen got up, still holding the lilac, and got closer to the strange Deity.

When he was close enough to be clearly seen, he took an apple in his hand, shook it in front of the deity, and took a huge bite smiling.
George
Why is this thing so red? Should he add this to his realm? Would it be combatively feasible to launch this towards the nearest infant? Thoughts raced through his head until he noticed the figure before him. Another deity, Guerre guessed.

Whoever they were, they showed him how to eat it. So strange. You don't need to peel off the skin to eat it. Guerre shrugged and took a bite himself, the decision to integrate this fruit into his realm up in the air.

He ensured to make the biggest crunch he could, amplifying the sound of his teeth making contact with the apple slightly higher than it should be, until it made a satisfying CRACK.

"Thank you," Guerre said, his voice slow and cautious. He was unsure how to gauge this deity or even if they spoke at all. "Do you live here?"
Steven
He never saw anyone eating an apple so violently, but he didn't interact with anyone besides Madness and had never seen anyone other than her. 
Having an unobstructed vision was really new. 

The other Deity asked if he lived there, it seemed they didn't know those gardens, including the one they are in, were all creations of Gaia. 

He shook his head negatively as an answer to the question, then sat on the ground, using the wound in his finger to write.



Looking up and watching as the other being kept his attention on his writing, he continued:
George
Guerre watched with curiosity as the diety sat on the ground and wrote on it to communicate with him,

"So you don't speak." Guerre said, surprised, "That's a new one for sure."

He raised a brow at where this person said where their realm was. 'Far away'. It seemed interesting, perhaps he should make his next venture there.

"The gardens. Shame, you look like you'd be an excellent groundskeeper." The god complimented him.

"I'm Guerre." The god went to squat down to his height, "And you name?"
Steven
Algen smiled with the compliment, maybe he should think of making a garden on Nevarain, close to the ruins, grow some forget-me-nots there.


He wasn't very interested in telling Guerre that he, in fact, could speak but chose not to.



His bright blue eyes looked directly at Guerre, and his dark blue hair flew with the wind. He had a sad expression and an angry one at the same time, looking too much at him was unsettling.
George
Guerre nodded, "Pleasure, Algen, the mute god that writes with blood." He wondered about the domain of this new god. His appearance seemed devoid of color, and combined with his pale skin and bluish hair, it gave Guerre the impression that they were a ghost. It was strange but ultimately interesting.

Guerre raised a brow at the second comment, "Another newborn. I keep running into your kind; it's quite the trip."

"What am I capable of?" Guerre tilted his head. He had never been asked that question by another of his kind. A slightly sinister idea formed in his head—although it was the only way to show what he was capable of.

"Take a look at my eyes," Hummed the god, inching closer to Algen now, letting him stare into his eyes. They were blue, like his, but only in a darker shade. There was no white part of his eye, just all a deep blue, "Take a deeper look."

If Algen dared to do as he asked, his body would sink. Sink deep into the ground as the Garden disappeared, and all that surrounded him was darkness. The darkness consumed him for only a second before a vision approached him.

He saw a field, its grass stomped down and yellowed from the boots that marched upon it. Then he saw the bodies. Bodies of men and women scattered across the dead field. Tattered banners of a forgotten nation stood tall and flapped in the breeze.

But amidst all this death, there lay a sign of life. A single soldier, their plate armor chipped away, and his face battered and bruised. He was tired and injured. But he was alive. And even despite this, he felt powerful.

The scene shifted into several images flashing in front of Algen. Images of armies with their heads up high as they marched out into the unknown. Images of men and women in the front lines of some battle, carrying spears and shields, all seemed scared shitless but still stood tall. Wars fought for Kings who knew not of their names. Prayers sent out to gods who won't fulfill them. Holy wars cast in the names of those same gods. Algen saw the destruction that Guerre could do; deaths of husbands, fathers, wives, and mothers—but also the creation that Guerre was capable of. The strong men and women that come out on top and achieve victory.

Within moments, Algen was snapped back into the Garden. As if nothing happened. It seemed as if time was still when he viewed those images.

"I hope you enjoyed it. I never really tried it," Guerre grinned, almost proud of his own work.
Steven
Algen laughed almost maniacally, his many voices echoed, and multiple laughs, each possessing its own intensity and tone, mixed with each other, Guerre was impressive, but nothing compared to letting Madness and vice embrace his essence, painting wars more gruesome and terrifying than any of the ones Guerre showed. That didn't mean that he wasn't an interesting being, he sure had a beautiful, chaotic nature. 

It's just that Algen felt like showing all this was an attempt to scare him, and if it really was, unfortunately, it didn't work. 


A smile played om Algen's lips. Guerre was too pretty to be menacing, he had a little flower on his hair, and despite being very muscular, he still had this soft expression on him. 


There was no choice now, he needed to change forms again in order to keep this going. Letting the mist free, he made the smoke spread through the garden, obstructing Guerre's view and making him dissolve into nothing right before reforming again. 

This time he was a smaller boy with dark purple hair and purple eyes that looked like grapes. He was still devoid of color; the only difference is that now his vocal cords weren't damaged. 
"Perhaps..." He ventured, and the many voices echoed once again, so low and soft that it was very hard to hear. When he spoke, it felt like talking with the wind. "War doesn't need to be brutish to become lethal."

And looking to the garden covered in a gray cloud he shrugged: "I can see that there's beauty in disaster."
George
Guerre joined in the laughter. He didn't want to try to scare Algen. He wanted to answer his question as honestly as he could. He was a war god. That's what they did for most of the time—for what he would usually see when he closed his eyes. Guerre found the god interesting. And it would have been a plus to see such an outwardly frail-looking thing squirm in fear. Algen impressed Guerre in that way. He'd rather someone not flinch in the ugly side of conflict.

"Incite?" Guerre scoffed, "Please. Most of those mortals just stir it up themselves. I'm just here to give them a small push." A hand combed through his black hair.

"What did you expect me to look like? Let me guess, some tall, burly-looking man; his chest protruding out of his shiny golden armor?"

Guerre cleared his throat and deepened his voice to sound more gruff and gravelly, in a purposefully poor impression of a stereotypical manly man; meanwhile puffing out his chest, "Maybe I sound like this? With a big, fuck-off sword attached to my back?"

Guerre held that pose for a good second before puffing it out and shrugged, "I find this form to be more comfortable and suiting. Not all soldiers were big and strong; they had to be lean, strong enough to carry their weapons, but not so big that they lug around. Some even got a little fat in their bellies to keep them alive during the hard months."

He watched as Algen reformed into someone different, letting him speak. He was mildly surprised at this but didn't expect more. They were gods, after all; they could practically do anything.

An interesting way to convey your voice, he thought, but interesting.

"Good." Guerre grinned, "Not many see the beauty in the destruction. I respect that of you. Many of them just see War as a means to an end, or maybe just as a tool to wave around. But it's more than that. It's a test. A test of wills; of strengths and of attrition. The true rite of passage where boys become men and girls become women. It doesn't need to be brutal or lethal; some wars can be fought in a day, or can have years spent without a single casualty."

"...But I can't lie, the battles ARE what make it interesting and dare I say it: fun. But what do you expect from me?"
Steven
Laughing like this with someone he just met proved to be a healing experience that Algen hadn't anticipated when he chose to leave a part of himself in this garden.  Grateful for the decision, he thought how this conversation was being helpful to him.

"Are mortals this hostile?" Algen asked, his expression seemingly oblivious to the complexities of how mortals can behave." It appears that I came to my conscience missing a lot of things."

Pondering how big his own ignorance was, he sighed and said, "Perhaps my lack of knowledge is simply a result of insufficient time to actually think. There's much left for me to discover."

Well, now he was exploring parts of his conscience that weren't before, thanks to Guerre.

"I did expect you to be more... Angry looking." He admitted it with a smile as Guerre made the impression of a gruff man. "I do prefer this form of yours, though. Looking gentle suits the way you speak."

Realizing that he had made a mistake by assuming things from this deity, he let the voices be more muffled, making it harder to be heard. "War can have many shapes, it seems."

Getting up and eating the rest of the apple, Algen gazed at the stars above. The brilliance of the void, the gentle rustling of trees in the wind, and the softness of the grass beneath his bare feet made him feel unexpectedly at peace. This wasn't how he expected to feel being so close to the god of war—another poorly made assumption.

"Expect?" He mused, a smile playing on his lips. "I expect nothing and everything from you."

Seeing how Guerre acted, he now knew that being a god didn't dictate a singular mode of conduct. That would also mean Madness could've simply stopped before hurting him.

Anger resurfaced as he contemplated how cruel his friend —as if he could call her that— was towards him. He showed compassion and gentleness, and she returned it with hostility and hatred. Guerre was proof that gods are capable of doing much more than what they were created for, he was there being amicable when war had so many ugly sides to it.

"You are the one who chooses how to behave." He answered his question. "What you will do is up to you, but I can't say I don't expect you to know how to keep your self-control."

Cradling a lilac flower in his hands, he let the breeze carry his mist toward Guerre's feet. "I can't imagine how disastrous it would be to let war spread through the Yggdrasil. Immortal as we are, we can't really be given to the arms of death, but we can feel the weight of immeasurable suffering."

His gaze shifted to Guerre, the god stood there listening attentively, "War, in its many guises, has a profound impact on all existence. The choices we make shape not only our own destinies, but also the ones connected through Yggdrasil's branches and roots."

The wind whispered through the garden, carrying with it the fragrance of rain and eucalyptus. Algen's thoughts, like the mist, meandered through the unseen connection the gods had with each other.

"Yet, amidst the potential for chaos, there lies the opportunity for harmony," He continued. The lilac flower looked ethereal in the embrace of the fog. "As gods, we wield not only the power to make discord but also the capacity to shape understanding, compassion, and balance."

Contemplating his own words, Algen shrugged at Guerre. "I expect you to consider all this. That's it."
George
Guerre raised a brow, "If they're made right; yes, they're that hostile. IF they're made even better they'd know why they're so hostile. To test the strength of their neighbors." The god then furrowed his brows, "But then again, I get some strange ones in my realm, the ones that would rather be left alone and do nothing but tend to their gardens and chop lumber until their wee little heart gives out. Strange too, I ensured that my mortals were naturally social creatures. Shame we get defects."

"You'll get used to it. You even know more about this damn Tree than I did- but that's fair considering how much I didn't really care." He tried to comfort him with this thought, "I have yet to change my form in any significant way. I was just born in this figure. No use in fixing perfection." The god grinned at him.

Guerre didn't hear that next part. The voices seemed too mumbled and jumbled up for him to notice what exactly this guy was saying, so he ignored it. If it was important he'd know.

Guerre followed him on getting up, standing up straight and looking up with him. Stars were great. How could he weaponize them? How could his mortals do it? Oh, too early for them, they have yet to discover the potential of true firepower. His eyes drifted back down to the garden. It was nice; perhaps he would visit often. If he thought it was nice, his mortals most probably think this to be paradise. Not a bad idea to imitate in his realm. Not a bad idea indeed.

Expectations. Something that Guerre didn't know he had to fulfill. He knew he had expectations towards others—the younger deities and most importantly his mortals—but towards himself? It was strange. But oddly familiar. It was another flash of his past life. Guerre was kneeling among a council of other, grey-skinned men. Their speech was incomprehensible, like trying to speak underwater. Until he was brought back to reality.

Guerre didn't like being philosophical besides his idea of strength and power. Why waste your time thinking on something that doesn't matter at all? Guerre's head looked down at the mist surrounding his feet, "Disastrous, yes; but ultimately cleansing and beneficial. It's suffering that breeds strength and character. War is a tool, a great filter, to weed out those who are truly worthy of being able to wield this unimaginable power we hold."

He believed this wholeheartedly. No matter the war. From dictatorial regimes fighting a rebellion to small things like two neighbors fighting over a patch of land, he believed it made people stronger. To either rise above and conquer their adversary or to seek diplomacy and reach a new understanding.

Huh. Guerre thought, breaking any more deep thought in his mind, so this big tree has a name.

"True." Guerre tilted his head, "Can't have creation without a little bit of destruction. But then again, you can't tell me those battles don't look like a damn spectacle."
Steven
Algen smiled at Guerre. There was an undeniable allure to the god of war, a unique perspective on his domain that set him apart in Algen's eyes.

"I guess it is a spectacle." Algen shared, he was close to leaving any responsibility he had just to keep talking. "I'm more fond of peace and cozy days, but battles do hold its value. I could easily watch it from afar."


Placing the lilac flower behind his ear, gracefully he started shaping a portion of the mist with his hands, trying to make something new. 


"Your form really looks like perfection." He admitted in a hushed quiet whisper, one of the voices being more clear than the others. It was the first time this happened, and he wasn't sure if it was his true voice surging.


"Do you accept gifts?" He asked while still molding the mist like it were clay.
George
"Oh well," Guerre shrugged, "Agree to disagree." He concluded.

If it were any other god that he had met, he would insult them for wanting that cozy lifestyle. Although Algen was different. He didn't shy away when he showed him the horrors of war. He seemed like good company- like Oda. Sure, he didn't seem as combatively inclined as Oda, but they seemed like they could give quite the fight when the time gets rough. Perhaps he should introduce them to him.

Guerre didn't hear what the voices said, shrugging it off as usual.

"Yes, I do accept gifts," Guerre said, beginning to finish off his apple, "Why? You plan to pay tribute to me?" Guerre joked.
Steven
"HA!" He laughed out loud, "How amusing—tributes!"

The mist was gaining some shape, for now it was a sphere with two holes on it. 

"This responsibility lies with your mortals," He remarked with a smile, "But I can do something. I guess... It's my first time doing something complex."

He made a body for the misty sphere, sculpting ears and delicately crafting a torso— cautiously like making a sculpture.
"Share with me something you cherish, *Besides* War." He smiled, feeling a bit excited to see how this would turn out. "Maybe a flower? A color?"
George
Guerre scoffed, "Shame. I'd like to see your tribute."

He thought for a moment now, wondering something he cherishes other than war. Guerre's mind racked through his head, trying to grasp at the memories that seem so close, yet so far. Eventually he shook his head, perhaps his past life isn't ready to reveal itself yet.

His eyes followed down to his red cloak.

"I like red," Guerre said simply, "That's a color."
Steven
"Red it is!" Algen exclaimed, his hands clapping together, unintentionally dispersing the mist head he had crafted, or at least perceived as a head for the moment. "I'll make you present on my first big creation in honor of our meeting. You, the first to treat me with kindness!"

Excited, he embraced the opportunity to immortalize their encounter.

A warm smile adorned his face as he began shaping the mist once more. The humanoid figure emerged, it was just like them, just smaller and simpler. 

"I offer my friendship," Algen proclaimed, working on the hands, mouth and hair of the creation with pride. "Yet, let my promise echo through my many voices—betrayal will not go unanswered. I won't be used again, and if you dare, I will end your and this entire species existence with my own hands." 

The mist sculpture took shape. He added a rose to the hair of the fog man, it didn't have color for now, but he knew that anyone who looked at it would imagine it as being a red Rose. 

"You have my loyalty if you want to." He stepped away from the sculpture, admiring the work. "But if you do accept this gift, remind my promise." 

The *Thing* He made had a weird shape, it wasn't perfect, and it needed to be polished to really be good. 

It also didn't have life yet.

Without life, this was just a statue of a man made of smoke. His body was imperfect in many places, one leg was bigger than the other, and the eyes were too big for the face. The only thing that was perfectly made was the rose; everything else felt like an artist's first painting.

"Now tell me, *Guerre*, would you accept my offering?" He spoke, and the tone of it was weird, the many voices were so loud with each other that this innocent question felt like it was impossible to say no.
George
Friendship. Another one of his kind befriending him. It was easier than he thought. And apparently, all it took was being himself. Maybe the mortals should learn how to do that.

He raised a brow at the promise that Algen had mentioned. For most, it would have been terrifying or downright offensive to have someone threaten them; but for Guerre? He found it endearing. Someone on his level willing to put betrayal up there with the highest of crimes.

"Please, Algen. I don't betray nor do I turn tail. I dig my feet in the dirt and lay in my own grave if it is my choice. Don't mistake me as some brute, I'm more civilized than the others of my kind."

"Of course, I accept your gift. I will appreciate our friendship and your loyalty. I promise that in times of need, you only need to say my name, and I will arrive to aid, as I hope you will do the same for me."
Steven
"Good, that's all I need to trust you." He shrugged and winked. "I'm a easy guy."

He said this in a light way, but he knew that even a small sign of change would make him destroy their deal in a second. Algen had trust, but it was still fragile.
Despite this, he also had a feeling Guerre wouldn't do anything bad towards him, the god of war's disposition during their conversation hinted at a great reliability.

"A red rose will always adorn the hair of my creation as proof of my loyalty." He said while dismantling the sculpture with the movement of his hands. "You can always count on me, and you're always welcome in my space. I trust you with closed eyes, just as you trust me.*Do not* Change our agreement."

He laughed, shrugging the seriousness off, and expressed his affinity, "I like you." The multiple voices echoed the sentiment as the mist gradually diminished. "You should come visit me on Nevarain another time. I'll gladly show you my favorite flowers and fruits."

As Algen's form started to disintegrate, dissipating with the mist, he reflected on the shared experience in the garden. "I had a splendid time here with you, Guerre. Perhaps, in another moment, I could show you how silent days are as good as battles."

With a wave to the god of war, Algen allowed the fog to embrace him, "I bid you farewell for now, but seek me out in another moment, will you?"

And with that, he vanished, dissolving seamlessly with the fog that stayed in the garden along the smell of eucalyptus, rain and pine for several more moments before dissipating entirely.
George
Guerre returned the wave. What do you know; 3 new gods he met in the span of a few cycles. It was quite the luck he had. He made a mental note to go to Algen's realm, it doesn't seem too hard of a task despite how he mentioned how "Far away" It. He also made another note to show him Valorkhan, maybe show them the stone walls that they erected around their cities. It was quite the feat. But for now, Guerre decided to leave, wondering what else he should do while his friendly bout with Oda continued.