My Beloved Child
Beloved child of mine,
In truth, gods are not nearly as magnificent as one might imagine. After all, we too are merely creations born of the world itself. It was not the gods who made the world. Rather, the world made the gods. A god is nothing more than an administrator tasked with ensuring the world runs smoothly. This holds true in every world. The very existence of such an administrator implies that situations arise which require management.
Not long ago, I received a report from an angel that a soul from our world had drifted into a realm called Earth, and I nearly tore my hair out. Occasionally, fragments of circulating souls would slip away like that, but this was the first time an entire soul had crossed over on its own. Since only gods can communicate between worlds, I had to handle the matter personally. Because it was a soul from our world that had wandered off, I needed to visit in person, offer my apologies, and enlist the help of that world's angels to guide the soul back to us once its life there came to an end.
Most souls that crossed over had already been born into new lives by the time we found them, so they had to live out those lives and return as souls before we could guide them home. In the end, to carry out this task, I had to cross over repeatedly and observe that world from afar. The one silver lining—if it can even be called that, for the souls themselves it was nothing short of misfortune—was that souls born outside their own world never lived long. They faced two insurmountable problems.
First, they were never truly accepted as beings of that world. Misfortune constantly followed them, afflicting those around them and tormenting them mentally without ever directly harming them. When there was no one left to torment, death itself would come for them. Second, their hearts could never be filled. No matter how happy their circumstances, an unfillable emptiness remained within them. Even after enduring every kind of misfortune, that void would eventually rob them of the will to live. That was why they never survived long.
So I assumed the same would happen this time, and indeed, he grew up watching his parents suffer from misfortune. He tried desperately to repay everything he had received from them, running without rest even though his heart surely remained empty. Though the misfortunes never ceased and his environment never improved, he never stopped. Even as he was rejected by others because of the misfortunes surrounding him, he chose to live for others rather than for himself. That sight was so heartbreaking, yet so radiant, that before I knew it, I found myself watching over his life whenever I had a spare moment, forgetting even my beloved rest.
But in the end, even that life reached its limit. Death came for him in the form of misfortune. After finishing an all-nighter at work, he left early for lunch and was scheduled to die in a drowsy-driving accident alongside a child. The angel from Earth who had come to guide the souls dying in the accident told me that day that it was neither his mistake nor an accident born of his choices. A child had carelessly run into the road to retrieve a ball, and the truck driver, dozing at the wheel, had swerved too late. The truck, already speeding, overturned and crushed him.
The angel added, rather unnecessarily, that sometimes people defied fate to push the child to safety, but in this case the vehicles following behind would have killed the child anyway. I found the angel's needless remark irritating. As the appointed time drew near, I watched his final moments, hoping at least that he would not suffer greatly. But in that very moment, he delivered a shock greater than anything I had ever known.
In such situations, most people would flee or freeze in place. He was different. Driven by the single desire to save the child, he burned even his own life and succeeded—whether by instinct or something else—in throwing the child out of harm's way rather than simply pushing them. The child was thrown hard and injured slightly, but narrowly escaped the accident's range and was not caught by the overturned truck. Only one person died that day. The angel beside me clutched the back of their neck and collapsed, muttering something about a "written apology."
It was a miracle. Until the very last instant, he had lived for others and, in doing so, created a miracle. Watching him, I could only weep in sorrow. After witnessing his end and guiding his soul back to where it belonged, I prayed that this noble soul might at least live a happy life in its original world. That it might finally be allowed to live for itself.
Our world occasionally produced singularities that threatened its order, though the scale and nature of each incident varied. To preserve the world's balance and correct the distortions these singularities created, we would sometimes bestow our power upon chosen souls and send them down. In the lower realm, they were revered and loved as saints and saintesses. Remembering this, I poured my power into his soul, filling it with the wish that he might be loved by someone in his new life, and guided him back to where he belonged. I accidentally forgot to erase his memories in the process, but I knew he was not the kind of person who would regret his life, so I considered it a small privilege for his efforts.
Before long, that soul would be reborn, and if the power I had given him awakened, I would be able to find him again quickly. I planned to comfort him then with a blessing. But that wish never came to pass. Just as the time approached for that soul to awaken my power, another incident occurred in which several souls drifted into other worlds. This time they scattered across two different realms, forcing me to entrust our world's affairs to the angels while I rushed about day and night. After begging other worlds' gods for help and finally returning, I wept once more. Because of the favor I had given him out of love, hoping he would be cherished, that child—Leila—was once again crying for someone else's sake in this life.
I tried to reach out to her heart and comfort her, but Leila had already closed her heart. Believing everything was her own fault and refusing to blame anyone, she kept rejecting me. Seeing that, I realized I needed another approach. While continuing my attempts to open her heart, I ordered an angel to deliver a clear oracle to the Church, instructing them to find this child by any means. It was not the usual cryptic message meant to give them headaches over time, but a direct and straightforward command.
Over the next two years, I was painfully reminded of how limited my direct involvement in the lower realm truly was. I could only manifest once every fifteen years, and even then for a mere three hours. I had to wait for the right opportunity. At last, it came. Leila was scheduled to be auctioned off at a slave market, and among those searching the world for the saintess, the closest and strongest one happened to be nearby. I manifested in the lower realm, gave him the information that a saintess candidate would appear at the auction, and guided him to pursue and rescue Leila.
Fortunately, the holy knight moved exactly as I intended to save her. But those damned demon worshippers had acted far faster than I expected, and I could only watch in helpless fury as they harmed her. Then, just as death approached, Leila's heart opened—whether because she had given up everything or because she wanted to complain to me about her life one last time. Through that opening, I could finally speak.
"Where do you think you're going? I've only just reached you."
Even knowing it was my voice, the child tried to deceive herself and asked who I was. Slightly annoyed, I decided to tease her.
"My child, who would you like me to be?"
I asked with the mischievous intent of seeing whether she would still lie to herself. The answer that came back was completely unexpected.
…Maman?
"Pfft."
Leila had spoken her most secret, heartfelt wish aloud. It was so endearing that I burst out laughing, forgetting the situation entirely. Hearing that answer, I decided to become the mother she longed for. After reassuring Leila and guiding her to use my power to protect herself, I watched the holy knight rescue her and couldn't help wondering if I had chosen the wrong person. He was certainly impressive, but Leila's eyes seemed to perceive mana and holy power differently. The image of the knight saving her had been heavily idealized in her mind. Her face flushed, her heartbeat quickened, and she eventually overloaded and fainted like a girl in love. I sighed.
"She's completely smitten."
The holy knight looked flustered for a moment but quickly untied Leila and set off with her toward the Holy Kingdom. Meanwhile, I had a mountain of neglected work to attend to, so I decided to deal with that first. Leila had been so mentally exhausted that she remained unconscious for over three days. The holy knight escorting her to the Church seemed quite bewildered, but I knew it was simply all the accumulated fatigue finally catching up to her, and I felt oddly pleased. It meant the child had finally stopped running and was allowing herself a moment of rest.
Before long, I heard Leila calling for me. She apologized for treating me so harshly and said that because of her, someone had died. Though she looked ready to cry, she didn't know how to weep for herself and held it in. She asked if she was allowed to accept my love, if she deserved to be happy. To that question, I decided to give her the words I had wanted to say ever since her time on Earth.
"You may cry as much as you wish. You are a child who deserves to do so."
To the child who had only ever grieved for others, I told her she no longer needed to.
"You've worked so hard until now."
Knowing she would receive no reward, she had never stopped running. Now it was time to rest.
"From now on, you may cry for yourself. You may live for your own happiness, not for others. That has been my only wish from the very beginning."
I poured every ounce of my desire for her to love herself into those words.
"My child. My Leila. For now, cry to your heart's content."
At last, the child let out her first cry in this world, and I embraced her soul.