God’s Perspective

I was surprised to find that the majority of my most dedicated followers in the virtual prayers were women, children, and the elderly. When I checked Garrick's ranking, he was somewhere in the late 200ths, placing him below the majority of the other villagers. While Tom was at upper 100ths I wasn’t too shocked, though, since both Garrick and Tom tends to focus more on hunting and prays directly to me, rather than participating in group prayers.

After sending messages to everyone, asking them to decide what kind of rewards they wanted, I adjusted those rewards based on their individual achievements. My attention then turned to Isabella. She didn't stand out as one of my top followers—her shy nature keeps her from interacting much with others unless it’s necessary, like when she trades or exchanges supplies. Upon reviewing her actions, I saw that she had chosen the Aid class.

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The god of imagination lingered in his ethereal realm, his gaze resting on Isabella and her family. Their faith had grown deep, something he could almost touch. He watched as Isabella spoke with her parents, warmth radiating between them—a stark contrast to the tension that had once weighed down their home.

Isabella’s life hadn’t been easy. Her father, a once-strong woodcutter, had been injured by a falling tree, shattering his leg and his spirit. For months, their house had been filled with a heavy silence, her father’s frustration hanging over everything. He had lost not just his strength, but his sense of purpose. Though he never took his anger out on his family, it was always there, simmering just beneath the surface. It was only Isabella’s gentle care and her mother’s steady support that kept the family from falling apart. Her mother, now the family’s sole provider, had worked tirelessly, weaving baskets to keep them afloat while also tending to her husband’s restlessness.

Isabella’s younger brother couldn’t handle the tension. The pressure from their father’s injury and the financial strain had driven him away. At fifteen, he left the village to find work, returning only once a year when the snow melted. His most recent visit had been just before the god’s arrival, a fleeting presence that felt more like a memory than a homecoming.

But everything changed after Isabella received her first healing skill. She used it on her father, healing not only his body but something deeper within him. The transformation was immediate. With his leg healed, he found his spirit again, returning to his work in the woods with renewed purpose. The anger that had once flickered in his eyes was replaced by something gentler. He smiled now—real smiles—and the tension that once defined their home was gone, replaced by peace and laughter.

Her mother had also flourished, taking up basic alchemy alongside her basket-weaving. She wasn’t just surviving anymore; she was thriving. Together, her parents had taken on new roles—her father focusing on gathering resources from the forest, her mother diving deeper into her craft.

Isabella, still humble despite her growing abilities, had become the heart of the family. She cared for them not out of obligation, but out of love. And every day, they prayed—morning, noon, and night. They gave thanks to the god of imagination, their faith so steady and unwavering it almost made him uncomfortable.

Now, he watched them, Isabella standing with her parents, their heads close together in quiet conversation. They were discussing something ordinary—maybe her father’s next trip to the woods or her mother’s latest alchemical experiment—but the peace between them was unmistakable. 

...

In her small room, Isabella stood by her desk, fingers tracing the worn surface. She had received a message from the god of imagination himself—a promise of a gift, anything she desired. It was an extraordinary blessing, yet she felt uncertain. As a healer, she wasn’t sure what she needed. She didn’t fight, and she didn’t crave power.

“I don’t need anything for myself,” she whispered, half to herself. “But maybe I could ask for something for Father. The woods can be dangerous…”

Her father’s deep voice interrupted her thoughts from the doorway. “Isabella, don’t worry about me.” He stood there, arms crossed, his face calm but kind. “You should be thinking about what *you* need. The god of imagination is offering this gift to you, not me. I’ve been taking care of myself in the woods for years.”

Isabella turned, frowning slightly. “But, Father, I’m just a healer. What could I ask for that I truly need?”

Her father smiled softly, his voice gentle. “That’s for you to decide. But don’t hold back because of us. This is your moment.”

Her mother appeared in the doorway, smoothing her apron as she entered the room. “I couldn’t help but overhear,” she said, her voice warm. “I was thinking about this, too. The other day at the market, I saw a wand made especially for Aiders. It helps reduce the cooldown on support spells. I think it would suit you perfectly.”

Isabella looked down, her hands resting on the desk. “But my abilities are still so simple. I only have Healing Touch. Do I really need something like that just to heal? Maybe I should let the god decide for me… let him choose what’s best.”

Her mother smiled, nodding. “Sometimes, it’s wise to trust the outcome to something greater.”

Her father stepped forward, resting a hand on her shoulder. “You’re a smart girl, Isabella. You’ll make the right choice.” His voice was full of pride. “Whatever happens, we’re here for you.”

Isabella looked between her parents, feeling their support surround her. With a deep breath, she nodded. “I’ll trust the god’s decision. Whatever gift I’m meant to receive, I’ll accept it.”

As the sun began to set, casting a soft glow through the window, Isabella felt a sense of peace. She didn’t need to have all the answers right now. Some things were best left in the hands of fate.

...

The god of imagination watched, unseen but ever present. He saw the family’s faith in him, their quiet conversations, their trust. He had granted many gifts before, but something about this moment felt different.

For a long time, he had thought of himself as a guide, someone helping to improve their lives—like a mayor overseeing a city. He gave them what they needed, made sure they were growing, and felt proud of their progress. But as he watched Isabella now, her humility and faith unwavering, something stirred within him.

'Why do they follow me so faithfully? Why do they place their lives in my hands so completely?'

The realization hit him, clear and sharp. He wasn’t just a guide or a caretaker. He wasn’t a distant figure overseeing their lives. He was their god. A being they worshipped, trusted, and relied on in their moments of deepest need.

For too long, he had seen his role as a responsibility—something to manage, rather than embrace. But now he understood. He wasn’t just improving their lives—he was their protector, their source of hope. And he needed to act like it.

Straightening, the god felt a shift within himself. His purpose became clearer, his presence more commanding. 

"I am their god," he thought, the words echoing through the vastness of his realm. "And it’s time I started acting like one."

He had been given their faith, and now, he would honor it.