The world spirit and the dryad of Homeostasis had wandered off to give Matthias room. He had fallen into introspection, and he needed time alone.

  His otherworldly origins gave him pause. They gave him explanations of what a god was—preconceptions and expectations. With a heavy breath, he did his best to clear his mind and push those away. He let his awareness slip from his avatar. He let sensation, noise, and everything else fall away. He let it all go. He released his awareness of the adventurers plumbing his depths. He released his awareness of the various monster nests. He let go of population counts. He relinquished the watchful eye he kept on the various fusions waiting to hatch.

  One by one, each thread of awareness dimmed like lanterns being shuttered. The constant hum of mana circulation softened. The distant tremors of footsteps in caverns faded. Even the steady rhythm of tides against his coastline grew distant, then silent. It was not sleep. It was deliberate stillness.

  Matthias kept letting go until there was not a ripple within his mind. For the first time since he had become a dungeon, he was surrounded by nothingness. Even when he had slept as an avatar, things had continued in the background. But now, there was nothing.

  The absence was not empty in the way he remembered from his previous life. It was vast. Endless. Like floating in a dark ocean without current or shore. No up. No down. No pressure. Just potential.

  Only once his mind was clear and empty did he allow himself to observe—without interacting. He watched as everything he had built continued to function without him. Water flowed. Wind blew. Monsters fought. Somewhere, a hatchling cracked free of its shell. Somewhere else, a baker laughed as flour dusted the air. Life continued, indifferent to his attention.

  Letting the images fade once more, he turned his focus inward. He focused on the idea of faith.

  He felt an odd twisting sensation in his gut before something clicked.

  Matthias suddenly became aware of all the faith directed toward him.

  It was like smoke wafting from both people and monsters—soft tendrils rising and curling through unseen currents. Some strands were thin and fleeting. Others were thick, heavy with emotion. They did not move through space, but through connection. Each strand hummed faintly, carrying warmth, memory, and intent.

  Before his spiritual senses, Matthias could scarcely believe what he perceived. His spirit was stuffed with faith, saturated with it, as though he had been breathing it unknowingly for years. Yet none of it flowed into his core. A thin film seemed to exist between him and that accumulated devotion.

  It shimmered faintly, like oil on water.

  As he sifted through the faith, he could discern what had earned each wisp. Even though it was as thick as stew, he could still pluck out individual ideas and prayers that had been offered up to him.

  Most of the faith came from his monsters. They thanked him for their lives. They thanked him that they did not simply exist to stand in a room and guard it. They were allowed to live, hunt, build, breed, and die at their leisure. He felt flashes of satisfaction after a successful hunt. The pride of a brood-mother watching her young take flight. The quiet contentment of a creature basking in sunlight it had earned.

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  They were grateful to be individuals rather than tools.

  Then came the faith from the masses. Thanks for food. Thanks for life. Thanks for healing and herbs. Gratitude whispered over steaming bowls of stew. Relief breathed out beside sickbeds as fevers broke. Laughter carried across fields heavy with harvest.

  There was so much gratitude from both near and far.

  Then there were the adventurers. They were thankful for the food as well. But they were also thankful for opportunity. Thankful for loot. Thankful for the vast lands of adventure he had laid out so that each day offered something new to sate their wanderlust. He felt the thrill of discovery. The satisfaction of overcoming a challenge. The fierce joy of survival.

  Then Matthias found a particular mote of faith that gave him pause.

  It was from Xalt.

  Gratitude for perspective. For information. For being treated as a peer rather than a monster, despite the depravity of his art.

  That strand burned steady and quiet.

  Matthias turned back to his core and reached for the film that kept him separate from all this faith.

  The moment his awareness brushed it, resistance pushed back.

  Upon touching it, he realized why the world spirit had laughed so hard at him. The barrier was made of self-loathing, doubt, and fear. Self-loathing from his previous life. Doubt that he could live up to the expectations placed upon him. Fear that he was failing.

  The surface of it felt brittle yet stubborn, like scar tissue layered over something tender. When he pressed against it, he felt echoes—memories of inadequacy, of not being enough, of bracing for disappointment.

  Looking back at the veritable ocean of faith and gratitude, Matthias almost laughed at himself.

  He found he could not directly manipulate the metastasized film. So instead, he gripped his own spirit.

  He began to spin and compress it.

  At first, nothing happened. Then a subtle pull formed. It was like walking laps around a swimming pool in an attempt to create a whirlpool. Slow. Repetitive. Intentional. With each rotation, the currents strengthened. Faith began to follow the motion, drawn into a spiral. Round and round the energies stirred, warming as friction built. The pressure mounted—not painfully, but insistently.

  The compressed faith began eroding the film as it spun faster and faster. Fine cracks spiderwebbed across its surface. Matthias did not stop. He did not even look toward the barrier. He focused solely on the motion, on the steady tightening of the spiral.

  Then a deluge of mana and faith struck him.

  It slammed into the forming vortex like a tidal wave.

  Ironically, the surge came from his Devourer Hydra. It was gleeful over the meal it was enjoying. It was burrowing into the leech dungeon, consuming everything it found along the way. The hydra’s joy was savage and uncomplicated—a predator reveling in dominance. Each bite released fresh mana. Each act of devouring was accompanied by exuberant praise for its creator.

  The added pressure proved too much.

  The film shattered.

  There was no sound, yet Matthias felt the break like a thunderclap through his entire being. The barrier fractured into glittering shards that were instantly caught in the roaring spiral and ground into fine grit. The last fragments dissolved like ash in a storm.

  Then the flood began.

  Faith and mana poured into his core in a radiant torrent. Heat spread outward from the center of his being, not burning but illuminating. Once more, he experienced every prayer ever offered. Every iota of thanks given by monster or mortal flooded his awareness as their faith transformed into mana, filling his ever-hungry core.

  The deluge was greater than even what the Clockwork Dungeon had provided, and yet he did not feel overwhelmed.

  He felt… aligned.

  As the torrent began to slow, a fresh wave of faith poured in. It was as if anyone who had ever prayed to him suddenly sensed that their prayers had been received. That acknowledgment sparked renewed devotion—gratitude for being heard.

  Warmth spread through his avatar’s chest. His knees weakened.

  Matthias felt tears flowing down his avatar’s face as he processed it all.

  Only then did he find it strange that every prayer he had received was one of thanks. Not a single voice had begged him for favors. Not one plea demanded salvation or wealth or vengeance.

  They were simply grateful.

  He let the thought drift away and simply basked in the affirming warmth of those who placed their faith in him.