Deo sat cross-legged on the floor of his small apartment, the late afternoon sun slanting through the blinds and painting stripes across his textbooks. Outside, Canada moved on in its quiet, ordered rhythm, indifferent to the thoughts consuming him. He had always been drawn to history, to the patterns of human behavior, to understanding why things were the way they were—but lately, the questions had grown heavier.
Wars, famines, diseases, injustice—humanity had never done anything without leaving a trail of suffering. And yet, God, if He truly existed, seemed content to watch from afar.
If I were in His position… could I do better? Would I allow death, misery, cruelty? Could I create a world truly worth living in?
The thought hit him like a stone dropped in water, sending ripples through his mind. He had asked himself these questions countless times before, but today, they were sharper, more urgent. Today, the weight of them pressed down like a physical force.
He scrolled aimlessly through his phone, reading articles about famine in Africa, political corruption in Asia, environmental disasters in South America. Every story added weight to the gnawing questions in his heart. Each headline, each image of suffering, felt like a personal challenge to his faith, his morality, and his sense of self.
Why do we suffer? Why do we keep failing ourselves?
A sudden ping broke the rhythm of his thoughts.
Deo's eyes darted to his phone. A message.
"Isaiah 55:8."
He frowned. That verse. He knew it well. "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord." He scrolled back to check the sender—no one he recognized.
Another ping.
"Do you think you can do a better job?"
The words burned on the screen, simple yet heavy with meaning. A chill ran down Deo's spine. His first instinct was skepticism, a nervous laugh, even irritation. Was this some elaborate prank? A bot malfunctioning? Something else entirely?
Something else…
Curiosity flared. Something primal, daring, and dangerous stirred inside him. His heartbeat sped, a drum in his chest. Without hesitation, almost instinctively, he typed a single word:
"Yes."
The room shivered.
At first, subtly. The sunlight shifted, slanting unnaturally across the floor. Shadows stretched, twisted. The air grew thick, almost liquid, pressing against him from all sides. Deo's breath caught, and a faint panic sparked in the back of his mind. His small apartment—the place he had always considered safe—felt as though it had become alive, watching him, waiting.
And then the voice came. Not through his ears, but directly into his mind. Calm, resonant, absolute:
"Deo. You have challenged me."
He froze. His pulse thundered.
"You have claimed you could do better."
"I… yes," he whispered, his voice trembling. Small. Fragile. And yet, he could feel the conviction in it.
"Then so be it. I grant you my abilities. Three hundred days—your perception. Three hundred thousand years—the span of human history. Guide it, shape it. Fail, and all is lost."
Power surged through him like a torrent. Every nerve, every cell in his body ignited. Knowledge, insight, and understanding cascaded into his mind, faster than he could comprehend. Threads of history stretched before him, infinite and intricate, glowing with possibility. He could see choices humanity had made, choices it could make, lives intertwined across centuries.
He gasped.
This… this is insane.
For hours—or perhaps only minutes, time had begun to feel irrelevant—Deo sat on the floor, overwhelmed. He tested his abilities with small things: encouraging a dying plant to bloom, nudging a stray bird toward food, subtly improving a neighbor's day. The results were immediate, miraculous, and intoxicating.
Yet even these minor actions carried consequences. The plant grew too quickly, drawing a curious neighbor. The bird's path altered the flight of another, small yet meaningful. Ripple effects, he realized, were unavoidable.
Everything is connected.
It was in this moment, as he sat absorbing the enormity of his newfound power, that reality's delicate limitations became painfully clear. Even with this divine gift, he could not manifest full power. The universe itself could not handle it. Stars might collapse. Time could shatter. Entire civilizations could blink out before they began.
Deo closed his eyes, pressing his palms against his temples. The excitement he had felt when typing that one simple word now mingled with terror. Responsibility had a weight he had never imagined, heavier than mountains, sharper than swords.
I… cannot do this alone.
The thought came not as fear but as clarity. If he could not wield full power without endangering existence itself, then there was only one solution: he would have to act carefully, strategically, and—eventually—seek help. But for now, he had to learn. He had to understand the limits of even divine ability.
Early Experiments
Deo's first interventions were small, almost trivial. He healed a child with a mild fever in a neighboring town, redirected rain to a drought-stricken farm, and subtly prevented a minor car accident he had glimpsed in his visions. The effects were immediate, beautiful, and exhilarating.
I can actually do this…
He leaned back against the floor, closing his eyes, feeling the threads of history pulse beneath his awareness. Every life he touched, every choice he influenced, became a luminous filament in the infinite web of time. It was breathtaking.
But the first signs of consequences appeared quickly. A famine prevented in one village caused a power vacuum elsewhere decades later. A disease cured too early erased the existence of someone who would have contributed crucial discoveries in medicine. Even small actions produced ripples, far-reaching and unpredictable.
Deo's heart sank.
I thought I could fix the world… but maybe I can't.
He could feel the enormity of responsibility pressing down on him. Power alone was not enough. Wisdom, patience, and restraint were equally essential—and he was just beginning to grasp how little he truly understood.
Realization of Limits
Days passed—or what felt like days. Deo explored the limits of his perception, stretching the threads of history, nudging small events, learning from the feedback of time itself. Each success carried a shadow of unintended consequence.
He realized the ultimate truth: even God's power was bounded by the structure of the universe. To act without caution would be to annihilate everything he wished to save.
I must be careful. I must be deliberate. Every decision carries weight beyond comprehension.
He sat quietly in his apartment, the late afternoon sun now dimming. The city hummed outside, unaware of the invisible threads weaving through its lives. Deo felt a strange mixture of awe, humility, and terror. He had never imagined that one human, even with divine power, could hold such responsibility.
Three hundred days… three hundred thousand years. And already, I feel the weight of it.
Foreshadowing the Trial
Alone in his apartment, Deo reflected on the challenge ahead. He had the power, yes, but understanding its limits, its consequences, its dangers—that was another matter entirely. Each day would test him. Each intervention, no matter how small, could reshape the world in ways he could not yet comprehend.
And he was alone.
I have no one to guide me, no mentor, no reassurance. Just me… and the threads of humanity stretching endlessly before me.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room into a golden twilight. Deo sat silently, eyes open, staring at nothing and everything at once.
I have the power… but will I destroy what I try to save?
He did not answer. He could not. Not yet.
The trial had begun.
Chapter 1: The Trial Begins
Deo sat cross-legged on the floor of his small apartment, the late afternoon sun slanting through the blinds and painting stripes across his textbooks. Outside, Canada moved on in its quiet, ordered rhythm, indifferent to the thoughts consuming him. He had always been drawn to history, to the patterns of human behavior, to understanding why things were the way they were—but lately, the questions had grown heavier.
Wars, famines, diseases, injustice—humanity had never done anything without leaving a trail of suffering. And yet, God, if He truly existed, seemed content to watch from afar.
If I were in His position… could I do better? Would I allow death, misery, cruelty? Could I create a world truly worth living in?
The thought hit him like a stone dropped in water, sending ripples through his mind. He had asked himself these questions countless times before, but today, they were sharper, more urgent. Today, the weight of them pressed down like a physical force.
He scrolled aimlessly through his phone, reading articles about famine in Africa, political corruption in Asia, environmental disasters in South America. Every story added weight to the gnawing questions in his heart. Each headline, each image of suffering, felt like a personal challenge to his faith, his morality, and his sense of self.
Why do we suffer? Why do we keep failing ourselves?
A sudden ping broke the rhythm of his thoughts.
Deo's eyes darted to his phone. A message.
"Isaiah 55:8."
He frowned. That verse. He knew it well. "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord." He scrolled back to check the sender—no one he recognized.
Another ping.
"Do you think you can do a better job?"
The words burned on the screen, simple yet heavy with meaning. A chill ran down Deo's spine. His first instinct was skepticism, a nervous laugh, even irritation. Was this some elaborate prank? A bot malfunctioning? Something else entirely?
Something else…
Curiosity flared. Something primal, daring, and dangerous stirred inside him. His heartbeat sped, a drum in his chest. Without hesitation, almost instinctively, he typed a single word:
"Yes."
The room shivered.
At first, subtly. The sunlight shifted, slanting unnaturally across the floor. Shadows stretched, twisted. The air grew thick, almost liquid, pressing against him from all sides. Deo's breath caught, and a faint panic sparked in the back of his mind. His small apartment—the place he had always considered safe—felt as though it had become alive, watching him, waiting.
And then the voice came. Not through his ears, but directly into his mind. Calm, resonant, absolute:
"Deo. You have challenged me."
He froze. His pulse thundered.
"You have claimed you could do better."
"I… yes," he whispered, his voice trembling. Small. Fragile. And yet, he could feel the conviction in it.
"Then so be it. I grant you my abilities. Three hundred days—your perception. Three hundred thousand years—the span of human history. Guide it, shape it. Fail, and all is lost."
Power surged through him like a torrent. Every nerve, every cell in his body ignited. Knowledge, insight, and understanding cascaded into his mind, faster than he could comprehend. Threads of history stretched before him, infinite and intricate, glowing with possibility. He could see choices humanity had made, choices it could make, lives intertwined across centuries.
He gasped.
This… this is insane.
For hours—or perhaps only minutes, time had begun to feel irrelevant—Deo sat on the floor, overwhelmed. He tested his abilities with small things: encouraging a dying plant to bloom, nudging a stray bird toward food, subtly improving a neighbor's day. The results were immediate, miraculous, and intoxicating.
Yet even these minor actions carried consequences. The plant grew too quickly, drawing a curious neighbor. The bird's path altered the flight of another, small yet meaningful. Ripple effects, he realized, were unavoidable.
Everything is connected.
It was in this moment, as he sat absorbing the enormity of his newfound power, that reality's delicate limitations became painfully clear. Even with this divine gift, he could not manifest full power. The universe itself could not handle it. Stars might collapse. Time could shatter. Entire civilizations could blink out before they began.
Deo closed his eyes, pressing his palms against his temples. The excitement he had felt when typing that one simple word now mingled with terror. Responsibility had a weight he had never imagined, heavier than mountains, sharper than swords.
I… cannot do this alone.
The thought came not as fear but as clarity. If he could not wield full power without endangering existence itself, then there was only one solution: he would have to act carefully, strategically, and—eventually—seek help. But for now, he had to learn. He had to understand the limits of even divine ability.
Early Experiments
Deo's first interventions were small, almost trivial. He healed a child with a mild fever in a neighboring town, redirected rain to a drought-stricken farm, and subtly prevented a minor car accident he had glimpsed in his visions. The effects were immediate, beautiful, and exhilarating.
I can actually do this…
He leaned back against the floor, closing his eyes, feeling the threads of history pulse beneath his awareness. Every life he touched, every choice he influenced, became a luminous filament in the infinite web of time. It was breathtaking.
But the first signs of consequences appeared quickly. A famine prevented in one village caused a power vacuum elsewhere decades later. A disease cured too early erased the existence of someone who would have contributed crucial discoveries in medicine. Even small actions produced ripples, far-reaching and unpredictable.
Deo's heart sank.
I thought I could fix the world… but maybe I can't.
He could feel the enormity of responsibility pressing down on him. Power alone was not enough. Wisdom, patience, and restraint were equally essential—and he was just beginning to grasp how little he truly understood.
Realization of Limits
Days passed—or what felt like days. Deo explored the limits of his perception, stretching the threads of history, nudging small events, learning from the feedback of time itself. Each success carried a shadow of unintended consequence.
He realized the ultimate truth: even God's power was bounded by the structure of the universe. To act without caution would be to annihilate everything he wished to save.
I must be careful. I must be deliberate. Every decision carries weight beyond comprehension.
He sat quietly in his apartment, the late afternoon sun now dimming. The city hummed outside, unaware of the invisible threads weaving through its lives. Deo felt a strange mixture of awe, humility, and terror. He had never imagined that one human, even with divine power, could hold such responsibility.
Three hundred days… three hundred thousand years. And already, I feel the weight of it.
Foreshadowing the Trial
Alone in his apartment, Deo reflected on the challenge ahead. He had the power, yes, but understanding its limits, its consequences, its dangers—that was another matter entirely. Each day would test him. Each intervention, no matter how small, could reshape the world in ways he could not yet comprehend.
And he was alone.
I have no one to guide me, no mentor, no reassurance. Just me… and the threads of humanity stretching endlessly before me.
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting the room into a golden twilight. Deo sat silently, eyes open, staring at nothing and everything at once.
I have the power… but will I destroy what I try to save?
He did not answer. He could not. Not yet.
The trial had begun.