Chapter 46: Myths Tell Stories

In the beginning of the world, there were two sisters.  

The sister goddesses, Teshua and Tengri.  

No one knew their origins. 

Not even themselves.  

But from the moment they were born into the world, they were instinctively bound by a destined purpose.  

“To create stories.”  

They would create worlds as the stage for their stories, and create beings to become the protagonists of those stories, spreading them far and wide so they would be praised and celebrated.  

Though divine power now permeates the world, even this is not eternal.  

The narratives of the stories they created and revered became energy, proof of their existence.  

And there was another purpose: “To protect the world from the evil gods who had lost their original worlds and now wandered through dimensions.”  

In the dimensions, countless gods existed.  

There were mature gods who preserved their stories and continued their eternal lives, and there were evil gods who had lost their stories, leaving only corrupted emotions in their bodies, seeking to destroy the stories of other gods.  

To these evil gods, young and immature gods were often prime targets.  

Countless young gods, unable to withstand their attacks, lost their worlds and fell into the same corruption, becoming evil gods themselves.  

In that sense, the sister goddesses could be said to have been born into a blessed environment. 

They could divide their roles.  

Teshua said to Tengri,  

“My beloved sister, I will create a beautiful world. Can you protect it for me?”  

Tengri nodded.  

Though the sisters were born with different natures and abilities, Teshua believed she could trust her clever younger sister.  

Soon, Teshua, having poured out all her divine power, completed the blueprint for a new story.  

First, she molded her sacred power to create the land that would serve as the stage for the story.  

But her spoiled younger sister complained, asking why there was no place for her to reside.  

Not wanting to disappoint her sister, Teshua created a vast sky to match the land.  

With the stage set, they needed characters and props. 

Teshua studied stories from other dimensions several times to borrow knowledge and wisdom.  

Inspired by what she saw, she created countless lifeforms: humans, animals, and plants.  

Her younger sister seemed particularly fond of the birds that flew through her domain, the sky.  

She even modeled her own appearance after them. 

Seeing her sister so pleased made all the effort worthwhile.  

Teshua looked down upon the completed world from above.  

Just as they had their own story, the countless beings she had created each lived their own lives, carrying the weight of their destinies, whether heavy or light, weaving their own tales.  

As these stories piled up, the beings built a brilliant civilization, and in gratitude, they created churches to praise the sister goddesses.  

It was a world that could be called beautiful, even compared to others.  

With a satisfied expression, Teshua, having exhausted her strength, entered a period of rest.  

To honor her sister’s request, Tengri left behind children called the Saka in the northern lands to uphold her will, and soon became the sky, watching over the earth.  

The world her sister had created was a space so lovely that merely gazing upon it filled her with love.  

There were many sorrows, but also many joys. 

Even as mere creations, each of their lives was precious.  

And so, she wished to see from their perspective, to immerse herself and feel what they felt.  

She wished for this precious world not to be destroyed.  

But this was a wish that could not be fulfilled. 

Time passed, and the time came for her, like her sister, to shoulder her duty.  

The evil gods who had lost their worlds and wandered through dimensions.  

Mad and wicked, they abandoned their divine thrones to interfere in this beautiful, peaceful world, leading its stories to ruin.  

The fate-altering power of these evil gods, who had staked their thrones, was not something Tengri could handle alone.  

Fate. In other words, inevitability.  

The supernatural flow that governs all things in the universe cannot be resisted by human power, so it is said that it must be so.  

However, contrary to what is known, it is not immutable.  

A price, or in other words, a sacrifice.  

Though the content of the fate to be changed is unknown, if one can pay the corresponding price, it is not impossible to change it.  

If enough narrative accumulates in a story, it gains the legitimacy to alter fate.  

If one can pay the price to change fate, they can resist the fate altered by the evil gods.  

So, what is the method? 

What should be done?  

The forbidden power of the evil gods, black magic, had already begun to take root in their world.  

Already, many children were being wounded by its ominous energy. 

They had to act quickly.  

Tengri recalled the memories of her wise sister. What would she have done?  

That’s right, she would always seek inspiration by studying other stories.  

Following her sister’s example, Tengri observed the fragments of other dimensions to gain wisdom.  

In a distant dimension’s worldline,  

A man bearing a crown of thorns and a cross was being whipped by soldiers, dragging his wounded body in a painful march.  

Blood streamed down his torso from various wounds, and his bare feet were covered in cuts as he walked on an unpaved road.  

He was the beloved son of God.  

But even as God’s beloved, he was still merely human. He asked God,  

“I want to know why. Why must I die? The approaching death terrifies me.”  

There was no answer. Yet he continued to ask.  

“Why must I suffer like this, for whom? Only in death will I understand Your will.”  

The beloved son of God resigned himself.  

“I am but a being swept up by this fate.”  

Upon reaching the highland destination, the soldiers, slapping his dazed face to wake him, nailed him to a cross and raised him to the sky.  

Gasping for breath, he soon vomited blood. 

His body trembled, and eventually, he bowed his head and died.  

Fate had been altered.  

Though the lowly soldiers did not know it, this man’s death had saved their lives.  

The Great Purification, having reached the threshold of sin, faced destruction by the evil gods, but his sacrifice restored the world to normalcy.  

Witnessing this scene, Tengri was filled with thoughts.  

First, sorrow and regret. 

Why did he have to walk that path? 

She understood it all too well.  

And then, she realized she would have to use this method as well.  

To protect this precious world, there seemed to be no better way.  

The unjust death of one beloved by the gods—there was no greater price to pay for altering fate.  

‘My child, I am sorry.’  

With a gesture from Tengri, a child was chosen.  

A child of the Saka, one destined to have the most dramatic narrative. 

This child’s sacrifice would become a story unmatched by any other.  

That narrative would be a sufficient price to alter fate, and this world would be saved.  

She envisioned the conclusion of this story.  

The plot of the story thus woven.  

This is the story of a sacrifice, one chosen by Tengri, destined to be offered, and the child of the Saka who loved that sacrifice.  

…

The feeling of floating in a warm dream shattered as the sensations of reality returned.  

Sacrifice? Fate? What does it all mean?  

It feels like I’m missing something important. I need to think.  

As the keywords align in my mind, they seem to form a signpost that will resolve the questions I hold.  

But the urgency of the situation leaves no room for such thoughts.  

“Frennila, snap out of it! We’re under attack!”  

“…Huh?”

Svioha, who had always maintained a dignified and refined demeanor, shook Frennila with all her might, snapping her out of her daze.  

If even Svioha was this panicked, the situation must be dire. 

Frennila quickly surveyed her surroundings and saw that the stupa’s roof had collapsed in the brief moment she was out.  

This is annoying.  

I need to think, but now this happens?  

Her hands trembling with anger, Frennila turned her gaze outside the stupa.  

Ah, now I understand instinctively.  

The ominous energy—it’s the black mages.  

Surrounding the stupa like a fence were countless infected spirit trees and rock-like monsters.  

And behind them, puppets exuding a sinister aura, likely controlling them directly.  

This is infuriating.  

While I was out of it, many warriors had already fallen, severely wounded.  

Some are beyond saving.  

Werhe, who had been leading the defense, was also badly injured, barely managing to stop the bleeding from his head as he hunched over.  

Lie-nim, by his side, was channeling healing energy, her face filled with concern.  

Why do we have to suffer like this? 

Is this the fate and sacrifice Tengri spoke of?  

No, probably not. 

The last memory from before comes to mind.  

Tengri chose one person. Only one.  

One person?  

Ah, with that single word, the scattered thoughts in my mind fall into place, and I can’t help but think of one person.  

The Crown Prince?  

For a moment, her steadfast pupils shook violently. 

The Crown Prince is the sacrifice?  

I want to throw everything aside and run to the palace, but the situation won’t let me go.  

The black mages’ minions are closing in, as if to say I can’t escape.  

“…This is so annoying!”  

Frennila’s usually gentle face twisted in anger.  

These spirit trees, these black mages—I need to deal with them quickly and get to the Crown Prince.  

The memory of the previous battle with the spirit trees comes to mind. 

Ordinary arrows won’t be enough to take them down.  

Her gaze falls on the collapsed wall of the stupa. 

The place where the light that led her to the dream had lingered.  

‘Arrow’  

In the gap, there are iron stakes shaped like arrows.  

Why are these here? 

As if drawn by the light, she touches one of the stakes and notices an inscription on its side.  

-In memory of Kenen, from your beloved Friya.

Perhaps the names of those who left this behind? 

I don’t know, but this seems like it will be a great help in this situation.  

‘I’ll borrow this for now.’  

Reciting the names inscribed, she nocks the stake onto her bowstring.  

Aims at the target, draws the string, and fires.  

The sound of the iron stake cutting through the air is like an explosion. 

And, a hit.  

The stake destroys the core of the rock monster and cleaves the head of the tiger-like spirit beast behind it in two.  

The black mages, caught off guard by her unexpected attack, seem momentarily flustered.  

Seeing this, Frennila clenches her fists.  

She nocks another iron arrow.  

“Everyone, prepare to pursue.”  

Every second counts. 

But she remains calm.  

This will help us end things faster.