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It would be as it always had. The circle always remained unbroken, no matter how fractured or torn it appeared on the surface. It would always come to pass this way, and would continue to do so for the rest of eternity. Birth. Life. Death. This darkness - this plague - was not so shocking, even if its source was invisible to the God's vast stores of knowledge. Even that was fine, so long as there were no surprises.
Of that however, he was not completely certain.
But as the seasons changed and time moved on, certain contingencies needed to be accounted for. All was choice and chance, but the God could see more, knew more, and in this capacity, he would advise the mortals of Helovia.
One in particular.
Midas...
The name rose from the pool like a whisper in the darkness. Inflated by the magic of the God, it flitted through the air, then moved into the tunnels of the caves. Silently, invisibly, the magic sought out its target: the paint with the golden touch. The God needed him now, and swiftly, but was not concerned. Midas had never kept him waiting long, and surely this time would be no different. As the wisp of magic finally found the dark ears of the winged one, it burst gently, releasing the name, spoken in the voice of the god. It was also accompanied by the mental image of the Sunken Falls, where the God was currently waiting, hidden in the vast pool of liquid.
The time for palaver of things to come, was now.
Private. For @[Midas]
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