[i]There it is again. Someone has spilled blood without cause.[/i] 

Metanoia twitched as he felt it again, that throbbing in his head whenever someone committed a sin. It was bad enough dealing with the mortals on a regular basis, cluttering the universe with their egoistic cries and selfish ambitions, along with the other, baser gods, who would do little to ease the situation. Their reactions to mortal behavior were quite the contrary than what Metanoia expected: many would do nothing and focus on their own domain. Others would make the situation worse, like Morios and Daeros, those selfish powers promoting their ways. The Holder of Regret had tried reining in the gods' behavior for the benefit of the mortals below, but it seemed as if they would harden their self-assurance of their ways every time he tried to reach them. 

Caesilinus was all but lost at this point after the god-kings death; Metanoia's Wanderers were doing everything they could to restore order to the city, but their efforts were proving in vain. It confused Metanoia when these things contrary to his mindset occurred, such as how everyone in the city seemed content to debauch themselves into nothingness, wasted away by their indulgence at the news of Aroesus' death instead of mourning his passing and moving on with their lives. Metanoia had seen pantheons change leadership more peacefully than this, so why hadn't future generations of mortals caught on to the cycle yet? The other cults and churches hardly helped matters, as the other, power-craving divinities let their followers run amok trying to secure their religion's dominance below while the gods fought over the throne above.

The throne itself was conspicuously empty these days, though the other gods never took their eyes off of the throne. Metanoia knew that many of them imagined themselves on that throne, forcing their rivals to kiss their feet and taking what they wished from both gods and men. The God of Guilt, however, would take no part in these petty intrigues, not while lives were still at risk below. 

Which brings the invisible god to the current moment. He stood at the mouth of Mount Nynos, waiting for the rise of Sileon, Aroesus' brother. Though the primal god had disturbed Metanoia with his compliance towards his brother's stranger and irrational orders before falling into slumber once more, someone had to inform the deity of the loss of his family. And, being the sentimental god he was, Metanoia had also hoped to spare the islanders' lives from Sileon's waking throes. 

He waited, invisible save for the little breeze that seemed to follow him when he didn't take physical form. At the first sign of Sileon's awakening, he would try to stop him from awakening too harshly and protect the people below. It was the only thing he knew how to do in chaotic times like these; after all, he'd been doing this for his whole existence.