A week had passed since the end of the event. While players had returned to their daily grind of leveling up, hunting, and completing quests, the natives of the apocalypse world couldn't move on so easily. The chaos had left a scar—one that couldn't be healed with time alone.
Their faith, once absolute, had begun to crack.
The resentment was subtle at first—a quiet murmur in taverns, a shadowed glance on the streets—but it grew louder with each passing day. The broadcast had exposed too much. The Celestial Temple, once a symbol of hope and divine will, had become a focal point for anger and distrust. Many natives now whispered that the gods had failed them. That their protectors had grown weak—or worse, corrupt.
