The World After the Hero (3): Time Marches On
Time kept flowing onward. The Lizardmen continued their annual duels to select a great warrior, the elves and dwarves sharpened their blades every decade and flailed about trying to knock each other flat, and amid all that, humans in nations like Arcadia and beyond wrestled through wars, diplomacy, and politics. In the midst of it all, I made one decision.
"I wish to reduce my influence as the Life Goddess."
The Life Temple. Inside it lay a room with no entrance—at least, none that anyone but pilgrims born of dragons could access. I gazed at the dragons filling the chamber and spoke softly.
"Pardon...? Your influence, Goddess?"
"Uh, are you serious?"
"The foremost among gods, reducing her influence?"
They sat around a massive central table, encircling it completely, and my words sent them into a frenzy of confusion and murmurs. Well, calling them together after so long probably felt like hearing "We're closing up shop." No wonder they were rattled.
"Calm yourselves first. It's not what you think."
The dragons' murmurs quieted a bit, but they still shifted uneasily.
"Then why say such a thing?"
"Yes! Spreading faith in you is our greatest joy!"
"Are you thinking of abandoning your duties as a god?"
I shook my head gently.
"Nothing like that. I have no intention of stopping my work as a god. But there's a slight issue with the faith directed toward me."
"With faith...?"
"Why would faith be a problem?"
The dragons clearly had no idea how faith affected me. Well, I'd only realized it myself recently, thanks to the sudden surge. If not for that, even I—a god—might not have noticed. No way these kids would know.
"The faith humans send my way is gradually changing me. I'm starting to transform into the Life Goddess they hope for and imagine."
"The Life Goddess humans desire... Wouldn't that be a good thing?"
Hmm. If I were just the Life Goddess, sure. But that's only one facet of me. I don't want to change because of the others.
"I may have claimed the title of Life Goddess, but it's not my entirety. I don't wish for faith in that aspect to alter my fundamental nature."
Right now, the Life Goddess side makes up roughly 10% of me, by my estimate. The Genesis Dragon is 5%, and the Destruction Dragon... Wait, why is that here? 1% even. Ahem. Best to erase that from memory. It'll never come up.
Anyway, excluding those 16% or so, the rest is me—holding steady. But I don't like the idea of me shrinking bit by bit. The feeling of not being myself anymore? Frankly, it's unpleasant.
"That's why I want to reduce the faith directed at me. I can't just massacre all the humans, though..."
"Then what do you plan to do?"
At one dragon's question, I snapped my fingers with a faint click.
"That's where you all come in."
"Us?"
"Even if you say 'us'... We've only been pilgrims wandering the world in your name... Ah!"
Only then did realization dawn on the dragons.
"You'll reduce the number of pilgrims?"
"Exactly."
I smiled at them.
"You pilgrims have the greatest impact on human faith in me. Cutting your numbers should dial back the faith a little, at least."
"But... faith in you is already so firm. Would reducing us pilgrims really change much?"
I couldn't deny that. Still, I couldn't just sit idle. I was still researching ways to craft a "Life Goddess mask," but nothing usable yet. For now, I had to do what I could. If I didn't take this approach, I might resort to... No, massacring humans could backfire, spawning fear-based faith instead. Reverence-born faith exists too, after all. Indirect reduction it was.
"This is what comes from you all working so diligently."
"B-Blame us...?"
"Ahem. Anyway, I'll keep about half—no, a third of you. The rest, please step down from pilgrim duties."
The dragons murmured again at my words.
"I-I want to keep being a pilgrim!"
"Yeah! Wandering the world is so fun!"
"Me too—helping humans gives this tickly feeling in my chest..."
Hmm. Not the reaction I expected. I'd figured they'd cheer "Free time? Score!" But no, I couldn't back down. Instead...
"Then let's do it this way. We'll reduce the numbers overall, but rotate every few years. Say, switch every five years."
This way, we'd thin the ranks while letting as many as possible serve. Plus, five years for a dragon is like a few months for humans. Should minimize complaints.
"If it's just that much..."
"Honestly, there have been too many pilgrims for a while now..."
Fortunately, they seemed amenable. Dragons really do listen to me—thank goodness. (Skipping the part about consequences for not listening.)
And so, the number of dragon-shifted pilgrims under the Life Temple plummeted. I left human pilgrims untouched—they'd dwindle naturally over time anyway. Short-lived as humans are, they vanish in the blink of an eye.
As my pilgrims slowly withdrew from wandering the world, faith in me ebbed ever so faintly. And with it, bit by bit—ever so slightly—new things began emerging in the world.
Faint divinities. New entities born from intelligent beings' beliefs in phenomena they couldn't explain. Gods blooming in the empty spaces beyond where my children and I held domain.
Weak beyond measure—lacking compared even to dragons, yet transcendent next to humans. Such new gods began sprouting up like weeds.
Not racial guardians for specific peoples, nor egos awakened from natural forces—just fragile existences born purely from human belief. Watching these nascent gods stir with their tiny intellects, I harbored a small question.
Why had such gods been born?
The answer lay within me always. Truly, I was the cause—though not by intent.
Consider the sky, for instance. What is that vast blue expanse? What of the sun and moon rising there, the stars, clouds, and rainbows?
Before intellect bloomed in humans, they offered only vague awe to the heavens. As their minds developed, they learned of gods through me and my pilgrims, grasping how to project divinity onto abstract voids.
Thus, humans began imagining gods. Surely a master of the skies ruled that boundless blue, just as the Life Goddess nurtured all life. And the sun and moon? Treasures gifted to the sky god by the god of light.
Logically, the sky god should precede Shamash, goddess of light. But what could be done? My children—born of nature's ego—had come first, ahead of humans.
Anyway... humans started naming gods for every unoccupied niche my family hadn't claimed.
"I am the god of the sky, Baal!"
I glanced at the sky-haired brat strutting before me, then turned away, ignoring him.
"Wh-why ignore me?! I'm the god of the sky! Amazing, right?! Pet my head! Praise me! You're the greatest god in the world!"
The sky-colored kid clung to my side, whining pitifully. Sigh... Hmm...
New gods were welcome, but this? An unforeseen runt. A newborn deity, clueless and immature.
Raise him right, teach him well—should turn out fine, yeah? The name Baal felt ominous... Ignore who named him; it reeked of trouble. But nurture him properly, and it'd work out...
That hope evaporated as the kid flailed wildly in midair, shrieking. I let out a sigh.
The god of the sky. No returns, huh?