The Empyrean

If you put thought into it, the Empyrean is the only place we know suited in purpose and makeup to the natural development of gods. Where our primordial soup was boiling mud and mineral, theirs is shining, golden, and full of elegant lines and swirls like an oil painting, and bursting with power that even their creation has to be sheltered from. Shut away behind divine seals and gateways, so that the birthplace of the gods does not mingle with the birthplace of mortality.

Adventure outside the semi-permeable shells that encase the livable surface of every Throne, and one will find themselves in a sea of viscous golden fluid. It is not made of anything valuable, nor can it be refined into any known useful products, nor still can it be mixed alchemically or chemically without the result simply being a larger amount of Empyrean.

This fluid, despite its beauty, is deadly to all forms of mortal life that lack a blessing from some form of divinity, simply turning flesh and bone to ash upon contact. Not even the soul is left after a death by Empyrean exposure. Where it goes is unclear, but no known god claims those souls after death.