I've watched a caravan arrive and leave an entirely new festival in its wake. Traders bring household idols casually, like spices or pastries. Sailors drunkenly mix sea chants with mountain hymns. The result is a tapestry woven through nearby cultures, where foreign Gods earn local nicknames, and theological arguments evolve faster than I can archive them. You can see some of those shifts in Altars of the World.

Syncretism is the natural way of Mortum Caelum. The deep secrecy of tradition should lead to isolationism, conflict, or loss of culture. Instead we see conquered peoples rename enemy Gods to fit their cosmology. Philosophers weave disparate myths into grand theories, and those mystery cults cherry-pick whatever symbolism resonates as they evolve.

For every fusion, though, a purist movement rises, claiming to guard untainted truth. They launch reforms, burn imported icons, but rarely retreat into isolation to preserve their truths. It's as if they intuit that path leading to their own destruction.