Ikenga stepped forward, tapping his foot against a stray brick of the broken fountain. The liquid gold that had bled out earlier lay static, dull, and unresponsive.
"Look at your domain," Ikenga said, gesturing to the graying expanse. "A treasury is meant to circulate. Wealth is power because it moves, it influences, it commands. By locking yourself away, you have stagnant-fied your own divinity. You are suffocating the concept you represent."
Tide looked down at his trembling hands. For months, the numbness had been a shield. But Ikenga had shattered that shield with a single punch, leaving the raw, ugly nerve of his pride exposed. He was a son of Jaus. He was the God of the Everflowing Treasury. Yet, he was being outpaced by a creature that had been born from mud.
A low, rumbling hum began to vibrate from deep within Tide's chest. It was faint, but for the first time in a while, the oppressive grayness in the air flickered.
