Idom was once again stunned by the sudden appearance of Zigeyr. He would probably never grow accustomed to such abrupt visits.
'Sigh… I have no privacy at all,' he thought.
"What is it that you wish me to do, Lord?" he asked, his hand still poised over his notebook.
Zigeyr's gaze settled on him, calm and calculating. "So… how do you feel, having expanded the borders of your land?"
Idom paused, then answered carefully, "Oh… I feel a sense of satisfaction, every day. Fighting the opposition's maneuvers, managing the anger of the world… it keeps me occupied." Despite his words, gratitude lingered within him—gratitude for Zigeyr's assistance in reclaiming the nation's lost territories.
"You speak with… familiarity," Zigeyr observed, his sharp gaze probing deeper than mere eyes could reach. Previously, he had told Idom he could read minds—but it had been a calculated lie. No god could ever truly read another's mind. One could only estimate, through logic and observation, what a human might be thinking. Thought was far too intricate, chaotic, and unpredictable to be perfectly known.
Idom felt a sudden unease. Why did he feel so… relaxed, speaking to this boy-god? He reminded himself of Zigeyr's cruelty, the countless lives at his whim, and yet… there was something disarmingly normal about him, something almost human.
"I… I am sorry, Lord," Idom murmured, unsure if he was apologizing for his own thoughts or the ease of his speech.
Zigeyr's stare lingered, unblinking, and Idom squirmed under the weight of it. "Is there… something you wish me to do, Lord?" he asked, his voice barely steady.
A small, deliberate smile spread across Zigeyr's face. "Do you have a child?"
"Yes," Idom admitted, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
"Is it a boy or a girl?"
"A girl…" he whispered, fear rising.
"How old is she?"
"She is… twenty years old."
Zigeyr said nothing, his silence heavy and deliberate. Idom dared not meet his eyes. Though Zigeyr already knew the answers, the simple act of asking deepened Idom's unease.
Then, in a sudden motion, Zigeyr snapped his fingers.
Before Idom could react, a girl appeared, standing in the room as if summoned from thin air. Idom's eyes widened, and he rose instinctively. "No! Lord, please… do not involve my daughter! I beg you!"
Ria, bewildered and frightened, froze in place. Moments ago, she had been tending to her mother, who was still recovering from an unexplained gunshot. Now, she was here, in a room she did not recognize, facing a god she had never met.
"Father, what… what is happening? Why am I here?" she stammered, confusion and fear in her voice.
Idom's gaze softened as he looked at her. He sank to his knees, his voice pleading. "Please, Lord… I am willing to accept any punishment, but leave my daughter out of this."
Zigeyr ignored his entreaties. Slowly, he extended his hand, and Ria's clothes were torn away. Her eyes widened, a mixture of fear and incomprehension shining through them.
"No!" Idom shouted, rushing forward—but a single, commanding voice froze him in place.
"Kneel, human!"
The weight of the command pinned him to the ground. Even if he had been able to move, he would have been powerless to save her. This was the cost of his defiance, the consequence of the nation's debt to Zigeyr.
Idom remembered the war, the gratitude he had once felt… and the fear. He had witnessed how Zigeyr's forces toyed with human minds, indiscriminately slaughtering friend and foe alike. The chaos, the cruelty, had left a seed of determination within him: never again would his nation be at the mercy of Zigeyr.
The fear ignited the seed of betrayal inside Idom's brain. He was determined to never gift his nation to Zigeyr. When the other god's will awaken, he will ask one of those kind gods in his religion to take control of the nation. Surely, they could fight against Zigeyr and all of them will not be like Zigeyr, right?. The thing he was writing in his notebook before the arrival of Zigeyr was the information of Zigeyr and his subordinates which he could collect.
And yet, now, that fear burned even brighter. Zigeyr's subordinate may have been the instrument of terror, but if the god himself stepped onto the battlefield… the consequences would be unimaginable.
Ria remained on the ground, her hands covering her chest, tears welling in her eyes. She could not comprehend what was happening. Time offered her no answers.
With a chilling smile, Zigeyr grasped Ria by the neck and dragged her toward the bed. Her struggles were futile. Idom's pleading voices were swallowed by the oppressive presence of the god.
They reached the bed. Zigeyr threw her onto it, glanced once at her father—now silent and kneeling—and then returned his attention to Ria.
A soft, almost amused chuckle escaped him. "Heehee."