If the apelings allowed themselves to grow comfortable, to rest upon the laurels of their past victories, it was only a matter of time before they were overtaken. Outgrown.
As for how to deal with this, it requires the inclusion of other godling races.
The heavy silence of the throne room was disturbed as the grand doors creaked open, revealing the arrival of an apeling—a member of the Ripple Clan. The creature moved with a fluid, almost ghostlike grace, its sleek fur catching the dim light, with it's robe trailing behind. It stepped forward with a deep bow, pressing a fist against its chest in deference.
"There is a call request from the wolves, my king," the apeling announced in a measured tone, its voice carrying an air of urgency.
Seated atop his throne, Zephyr's expression shifted from mild confusion to concern. His fingers, which had been absently tracing the cover of an old tome, stilled. His mischievous eyes flickered with realization as he abruptly rose to his feet.
