Shadow Slave

Tatal had been gravely wounded in the battle against the Basilisk. In fact, she was barely alive.

But she was alive.

The shadow delivered her unconscious body, as well as the hide of the slain Devil, to the outskirts of the village. Then, he disappeared and returned to the comfortable, cold darkness of his cave. The tribesmen had to be full of shock and joy at the return of their shaman. After all, slaying the Basilisk was not what a mere Ascended was meant to be capable of... the battle Tatal had fought was, without a doubt, a spectacular and awesome feat — a feat worthy of becoming a song, or perhaps even a myth, one day.

The myth of a valiant shaman who faced an unstoppable calamity with a song and a copper blade.

But the shadow was in no mood to observe the tribesmen celebrating.

He was troubled... he was uneasy.

Even now that the Basilisk was dead and Tatal was out of danger, the shadow still felt strangely disturbed. It was all because of what Tatal had said, back in the depths of the forest.

‘Why did she refuse my help?’

The shadow was like a god to the people of the small human tribe. So why would Tatal turn away from her god and choose to face the Devil alone?

The shadow did not know why, but that question resonated with the depths of his dark being.

A fragment of a long-forgotten conversation surfaced from the depths of his mind, spoken by a man he did not remember in a life he did not want to recall.

‘Never trust the gods...’

Who had said it?

What did it mean?

The shadow already knew the kind of chilling horror lesser creatures felt when faced with the unfathomable vastness of Divine and Unholy beings — and of those who were Sacred or Cursed, as well. Being so small, so insignificant, so indescribably powerless... it almost made everything feel meaningless.

The only way to keep your sanity while sharing a world with such beings was not to think about their greatness at all.

However, the shadow had only ever considered the gods as a harrowing, inescapable threat. They did not even need to harbor any hostility against the shadow to destroy him. Entire realms could perish from the smallest aftershock of their actions — in front of them, even a being like him was no more than an ant, and just like an ant, he could be crushed by the careless steps of these giants.

He had only ever thought about the gods as an odd, inherently hazardous and calamitous force. He always assumed that beings that were lesser than him, like the tribesmen, would feel the same way.

But what if a god was benevolent, instead? What if a god was gentle and cared about you? What if they were willing to extend a helping hand without asking anything in return?

One would assume that having a god’s favor would be an incredible boon. Who had not hoped for a miracle, after all? Who had not wished for there to be an all-powerful, kind being watching over them?

The shadow was neither kind nor all-powerful, but he could have been Tatal’s miracle.

And yet, she had refused him. It was for his benefit, yes, since she considered him a dear friend. But it was for her own benefit as well — her words hinted at that, implying something he had never considered

before...

That a benevolent god was just as terrifying as a hostile one — maybe even more so.

‘Why?’

The shadow spent a long time in the darkness, thinking.

In the end, he came to a conclusion that made him uncomfortable. That conclusion was not about what Tatal believed, but rather about what the shadow himself felt would be true... but that did not make it any less confusing.

It was that the existence of a kind god still rendered the efforts of mortals meaningless, while their benevolence was too sweet to resist — once someone tasted it, there was no going back.

If the great gods existed and were willing to pay attention to the lives of mortals, then what were mortals to do? They could strive to accomplish something for their entire lives, and in the end, everything they achieved would still be infinitely inferior to a deity’s casual act. Their lives would feel fleeting and dreary, pathetic and pitiful in comparison to the glorious existence of gods.

They would only be able to look in envy at what gods could do, what gods created, and what gods possessed.

Power, freedom, abundance, immortality... Life was harsh, and mortals could endure its harshness because that was the reality that all living things had to confront. But what if they had to behold beings who were unbound by reality, who treated reality as soft and malleable instead?

That, the shadow surmised, would fill them with a heartbreaking sense of injustice.

Of maddening envy and quiet despair. Faced with the greatness of gods, mortals would only have two choices. One was to continue living their lives, heartbroken, while the other was to throw themselves on the perilous Path of Ascension in hopes of becoming a deity one day, too.

But that was just one side of the coin.

On the other side was the danger of receiving help from a deity.

Humans were small and weak, but gods were great and all-powerful. So, what if a god descended into a mortal realm to help its people?

Once a deity helped them once, wouldn’t they want to receive that help once more? And if they continued to be favored by their god, wouldn’t they come to expect divine assistance? Wouldn’t they come to rely on it, forgetting their own efforts?

What would happen if a deity solved all their problems, protected them from all the dangers, and gave them all the things they desired?

The shadow remembered the awe Tatal had felt when she saw copper for the first time, and the joy she shared with him when the craftsmen of her tribe learned to work it. The enthusiasm she was brimming with when figuring out how to make clay bricks. The boastful pride she was full of because of her wool dress — the first one in the village.

He knew that he could have created her a blade that was a thousand times more durable than copper with a thought. He could build a city for her tribe in a matter of minutes. He could weave a fabric that was more sublime and wondrous than anything Tatal had ever worn, touched, and seen.

He could have killed the Basilisk, as well. But if he had... would Tatal ever be able to overcome the temptation of asking him for more?

Of killing more of her enemies. Of providing more for her tribe. Of making life less harsh... of overcoming the struggles of life in her stead.

And if that happened, then would her joy, enthusiasm, and pride disappear one day? Would they be extinguished, little by little, like a flame starving without fuel?

Stolen away by the generous deity.

The shadow stirred.

It did not know.

It felt like Tatal had fathomed something that even he, a being far greater and more ancient than her, had not.

That it was hazardous for mortals to be subjects of divine affection.

Countless people across history had not felt the same. The two men of the Empire he remembered were certainly comfortable serving a nation ruled directly by a god.

But then again, was the Empire really the best example? Or was it exactly the kind of malignant anomaly that Tatal was reluctant to create?

The great and glorious Empire of War,

which conquered the world with fire and sword... whose conquest could not be resisted or stopped, because it was protected by a god.

Until, one day, it was stopped. The people who stopped it simply had to kill the gods first, destroying all of existence with them. The shadow rested in the darkness, uncomfortable. He did not know why the issue of godhood concerned him so much, let alone the issue of the relationship between gods and people.

He wasn’t a god, after all, and neither did he have the desire to help people.

Tatal was the singular exception to his indifferent attitude toward all humans, and since she did not want his help, the point was moot.

So, the shadow could forget all about it and rest easily, knowing that these maddening questions had nothing to do with him.