The colossal figure of green radiance expanded its form, its voice a thunderclap that shook the very marrow of Oksia’s bones. “TEVIS OBOLGA! WE KNEW YOU WERE HERE! HIDING FROM YOUR DUTIES? YOU CANNOT ESCAPE THE CELESTIAL COURT FOREVER, CREATOR!” The words ripped through the tranquil air of the newly scooped pond, churning the water into a frenzy of silver-backed ripples. Oksia Miersa, still reeling from the sudden appearance of intrusions that defied comprehension, tasted copper at the back of her throat. These were not mere monsters or vengeful spirits. These were… gods. Or worse, the entities that *managed* gods, and they were here for *her* god. Tevis, however, merely blinked at the monumental declaration. He tilted his head, a faint frown creasing his brow. “Creator? My duties?” He glanced down at the fishing rod clutched in his hand, then back up at the swirling constellations of the titan’s face. “Do I know you?” The jade colossus shimmered with suppressed indignation. Its voice, still a reverberating chorus, lowered to a menacing rumble. “YOU ABANDONED THE COSMIC ORRERY! THE SEVEN REALMS FALTER WITHOUT YOUR GUIDANCE! THE RIFTS OF AELUM CRACK, AND THE FATEWEAVERS DESPAIR! RETURN TO YOUR THRONE, OR THIS… PETTY MARSHWORLD WILL BE SCRUBBED CLEAN TO RECLAIM YOUR ESSENCE!” Oksia choked on the sulfur-tinged mist. Scrubbed clean? They meant to unmake Zemora. They meant to erase the sun-drenched mud hut, the thriving cabbage patch, the purring Calamity now lazily floating in the pond. They meant to erase *him*. Her hand flew to the hilt of her sword, but then she paused. Her blade, crafted for mortals, felt like a child’s toy against such entities. Her gaze darted to Tevis, who was now squinting at the glowing entity, a thoughtful hum escaping his lips. He scratched his chin, completely unphased by the threat of planetary annihilation. “Hmm. Aelums… Fateweavers…” Tevis murmured, mostly to himself. “Sounds like a lot of paperwork. I really just got this pond set up. The bass are going to be biting soon, I can feel it.” He then looked directly at the titan. “Look, I appreciate you dropping by, but I’m kind of retired. And honestly, the noise is disturbing the fish.” Oksia’s jaw dropped. *Disturbing the fish?* These beings threatened to unravel existence, and her god worried about the fish. A strange, furious heat rose under her ribs, scouring away the initial terror. Her Tevis, her quiet, peaceful farmer, deserved his undisturbed hours by the bank. He deserved his simple life, free from the demands of grand, galaxy-spanning bureaucracy. She looked from Tevis’s tranquil, oblivious face to the towering, incandescent forms of the pantheon. They saw him as a runaway god, a truant creator. She saw him as the gentlest, kindest soul, a man who just wanted to grow radishes and catch bass. And they were threatening *his* peace. With a raw, guttural cry that ripped from her throat, Oksia strode forward. Her hand didn’t go to her sword. Instead, it snatched the rusty hoe Tevis had used earlier to till the fortress walls. It felt absurdly light, a flimsy stick in her grip, but a fierce, protective fire blazed in her eyes. She planted her heels in the sodden loam, shielding the unassuming farmer from the might of the cosmos. “You… you monstrous, glowing bullies!” she screamed, her voice cracking but unwavering. “He doesn’t want your ‘Orrery’ or your ‘Rifts’! He wants his peace! You leave him alone! Or by the sacred mud of his hut, I swear… I’ll dig a furrow right through your… your stardust!” She brandished the rusty hoe, its dull blade reflecting the impossible light of the celestial beings, a beacon of outrage. The transcendent visitors paused, their multi-dimensional forms flickering with what Oksia perceived as utter bewilderment. A single, crystalline snicker rippled through their ranks, a sound like grinding glaciers. They were laughing at her. At her pathetic, mortal defiance. But Tevis wasn’t laughing. He watched Oksia’s trembling form, her shoulders squared, her chin jutted out, defending him with a rusty farm implement against literal gods. A soft, unreadable expression crossed his features, a flicker of something ancient and profound lurking behind his placid stare. A faint, tender smile touched his lips. “Oksia,” he said, his voice quiet, a balm against the cosmic cacophony. He reached out, his hand gently resting on her shoulder. The touch was light, yet it slowed her hammering ribs, sending an anchor of calm straight through her. “It’s alright. They just don’t understand the concept of a quiet afternoon.” He then looked at the pantheon, his smile still gentle, but a new, undeniable authority now radiating from him. It wasn’t the blinding warmth of his aura, but a deeper, fundamental force that seemed to still the very fabric of existence. The verdant titan, once so imposing, seemed to dim slightly under Tevis's mild, direct regard. “You know,” Tevis continued, his voice still conversational, “I thought I’d put up a sign. It’s pretty standard practice on Earth, helps avoid these kinds of misunderstandings.” He walked over to a fallen branch of swamp-wood, thick and gnarled, that had been dislodged by the dreadnought crash. He picked it up, hefting it in his hand. The wood, dark and mundane moments before, began to shimmer. It didn’t glow with magic, but with a pure, fundamental essence, a concentrated clarity of being. Tevis’s fingers, stained with pond mud, moved with impossible grace. He didn’t carve with a tool; he simply *willed* the wood into shape. Runes, not of any known language but of absolute, self-evident truth, manifested on its surface. They pulsed with an internal luminescence, not bright, but deep, resonating with the structure of reality itself. Oksia watched, mesmerized, as the branch transformed. It became a perfectly rectangular plank, smooth and polished, radiating a soft, golden light. Upon it, in letters of pure, solidified thought, shimmered three simple words: **NO SOLICITING**. Tevis nodded, satisfied. He walked back to the mud hut, ignoring the gaping cosmic visitors, and with a casual flick of his wrist, the sign affixed itself above his door. There was no sound of nails or hammering. It simply *was* there, a natural, undeniable part of the hut. The moment the board anchored against the lintel, the surrounding fabric of reality *shifted*. It was not an explosion, nor a collapse, but a sudden, violent *rejection*. The fabric of space, torn open by the trespassers, snapped shut with an audible *thwack* that rattled Oksia's teeth. The vast, yawning void beyond Zemora’s veil compressed, shuddered, and then vanished. The swirling stardust figures of the pantheon, who had moments ago commanded the very cosmos, were not smited, or fought, or even argued with. They were simply… *ejected*. One moment, the towering green manifestation was there, its stellar eyes burning with fury. The next, it was gone, along with its starry brethren, vanished as if they had never existed in this dimension. The rent in the sky healed, leaving behind only the familiar, thick fog of the Gloommires, now seeming less ominous, more like a comfortable blanket. A profound, unbreakable stillness blanketed Tevis’s estate. It was a stillness so complete, so absolute, that it felt like the very concept of disturbance had been unmade. The air hummed with an intrinsic peace, a bubble of perfect tranquility now sealed from all outside interference, from all cosmic demands, from all galactic paperwork. Tevis sighed, a happy, contented sound. He lifted his willow branch rod. “Finally,” he said, casting his line into the pristine waters of the new pond. The bobber floated serenely, undisturbed by even the faintest ripple. Oksia stood by the mud hut, still clutching the rusty hoe, mouth parted in disbelief. She looked at the ‘No Soliciting’ sign, then at the sky, now merely foggy, then at Tevis, whistling softly as he fished. A slow, contented smile spread across her face. Her god truly was beyond all understanding, and all the more wonderful for it. She looked down at the hoe, then back at the mud hut. She decided to make a truly magnificent stew to celebrate. With a happy hum, she walked over to the newly expanded vegetable patch, pulling up a large, healthy carrot. In the distance, across the muck, Bogumil crouched motionless among the reeds, clutching his bone charms and staring at the restored sky in wordless terror. For Tevis Obolga, the afternoon was finally perfect.