Memories of celestial chaos started flashing through the young man's dream as he slept on a bed within a large village hut. He tossed here and there restlessly, his dream obviously disturbing his sanity. He had been unconscious for two days now ever since he "fell from the sky" as the natives would term his arrival on Earth. He had been in a deep, dreamless sleep since then. More like a limbo state. Of nothingness. Of memorylessness. But today, he would remember. He would dream. And his dream was quite perturbing...
He dreamt of a space war. A fierce, heavily bombarding star battle raging between his starship and his enemy's mothership from another constellation. A stellar-territory dominion war, it was. Ferociously overwhelming beyond imagining. His starship had been brutally shattered by the annihilatronic bombardments of his enemy's mothership.
The sole survivor among three thousand star soldiers, he barely escaped through a space-shuttle as his starship faced annihilation. His damaged shuttle, bombarded by the enemy mothership, spiraled out of control despite his efforts to navigate toward the nearest planet—a primitive, life-supporting world he would never visit under normal circumstances. Fate, however, had other plans.
Strapped in his safety belt, he braced for crash-landing, experiencing a violent collision that shook his very being—
He jolted awake on a primitive bed, heart racing. It had been a dream. Disoriented, he found himself alone in a rustic hut, the unfamiliar scent of dried herbs hanging in the air.
Brilliant sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the village outside where similar thatched huts dotted the verdant landscape. Villagers bustled about with their daily tasks, their movements deliberate and purposeful.
Those who noticed his presence immediately bowed with profound reverence, their faces alight with awe. Instinctively, he glanced behind to check if they were honoring someone else—perhaps a respected elder—but found no one. The startling realization struck him: they were venerating him.
With uncertainty clouding his mind, he returned their gestures with a slight bow, assuming this constituted their customary greeting. His modest response only intensified their worship as they prostrated longer, their bodies pressed against the earth while uttering melodic incantations he initially failed to comprehend. As he focused on the middle-aged man leading the worship, his weathered face etched with devotion, understanding dawned on him like lightning.
"They think I'm a god!" he thought, gasping inwardly, a cold shiver running down his spine. Overwhelmed by their fervor, he retreated into the hut's shadowy interior. "I'm just a soldier from across the stars. A super soldier, yes," he mused, running his fingers through his hair, "but a god? Count me out!" he declared aloud, his voice echoing against the mud walls.
The villagers remained outside, perhaps fearing they had offended his divine sensibilities. He welcomed the momentary solitude while contemplating the bizarre situation that had ensnared him. Then he detected voices—hushed whispers from outside that reached him with unexpected clarity despite not seeing the speakers.
Something peculiar about this planet struck him as he listened. "These people aren't good at keeping secrets," he thought, a wry smile playing on his lips. Though they whispered as if to prevent him from hearing, he understood not their words but the thoughts behind them. This indirect comprehension allowed him to grasp their language without formal learning, the meanings materializing in his mind like pieces of a puzzle assembling themselves.
After contemplating the situation, he mused out loud, "How could they think I am a god?"
"Because you are, my lord," replied a young woman who had entered unnoticed, startling him. She bowed deeply as he turned, her slender arms carrying a wooden tray of food intended for him, her eyes never rising to meet his gaze.
"No, no, no, no! Please! I'll have none of that," he protested, gesturing emphatically. "I am not who you think I am." The desperation in his voice was palpable.
"But you are The Prophesied One, my lord," she insisted, her voice soft yet unwavering, conviction etched across her delicate features.
"The who?" Amusement and bewilderment battled within him—amused by her earnest reverence, bewildered by such apparent gullibility. He couldn't help but notice the sincerity in her dark eyes.
"The One prophesied by the Oracle of Nri," she explained, straightening her posture with pride. "The god who will fall from the sky and bring justice, peace, and freewill to our people." Her voice carried the weight of generations of belief.
He laughed heartily, the sound bouncing off the walls. "That's a nice one," he mocked, though his laughter held a nervous edge. "But you have to do better than that. Much better." He crossed his arms.
"You don't believe me, my lord?" she asked, her head tilting slightly, curiosity replacing deference in her expression.
"Let's just say that I only believe in what can be proven," he replied, his military training having long ago stripped him of any spiritual inclinations.
"Fair enough," she said, accepting the challenge with unexpected confidence. "I hope you're strong enough to take a walk with me, my lord. But first, you must eat." She placed the tray on a small wooden dining table, the aroma of unfamiliar spices wafting toward him. "You haven't eaten for more than two days since falling from the sky. And only the gods know when you last ate before that." Concern softened her voice.
With his stellar digestive constitution differing greatly from these people's, food hardly concerned him, as his kind rarely experienced hunger. The gnawing emptiness others felt was alien to his enhanced physiology. "What's the reason for walking with you?" he asked instead, evading her care.
"To prove that you're a god," she answered placidly, a mysterious smile playing on her lips.
"Fair enough," he said, smiling cynically, certain she would fail in her attempt to convince him. He silently resolved not to be manipulated into becoming anyone's deity, regardless of how charming or persuasive his host might be.
Recognizing his skepticism in the set of his jaw and the coolness of his gaze, she launched her first challenge. "For example, I witnessed your shredded clothing mending itself while you slept," she said triumphantly, her eyes gleaming. "If you're not a god, can you explain this sorcery?"
Taken aback, the young man hesitated, a flicker of alarm crossing his face. He hadn't noticed his tunic had torn during impact. The self-guiding nano-repair mechanism—part of his Genetic Engineering Programming from his Super-Soldier training—was classified information he couldn't share with a primitive alien civilian who wouldn't understand such technology. His mind raced for a plausible explanation.
"Oh, look at that food," he deflected, gesturing toward the tray with exaggerated interest. "And what's it called?" He feigned curiosity to demonstrate his supposed hunger—and therefore his mortality—while buying time to formulate a better response.
"Yam and palm oil sauce," she replied, her knowing smile suggesting she recognized his evasion tactic.
"How does it taste?" he pressed, not genuinely interested but desperate to change the subject.
"Like yam and palm oil sauce," she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief as she challenged his obvious diversion.