The silence of the heavens was endless. Wis sat beside the sacred pond, his reflection merging with the flickering scenes of mortal life below. Though time flowed differently in the divine realm, he could still feel the weight of each moment.
He wanted to continue observing the mortal world, yet another part of him longed to learn from his Father.
The Father, as always, saw through him.
"My child," he said softly, "there is no need to rush. You have eternity ahead of you. You are my disciple now - your fate is no longer bound by mortality. You, too, are eternal."
Wis frowned. "But Father... isn't it taboo to change fate? To break the law of the universe?"
The Father smiled faintly. "It is. Yet I did it anyway. Some laws must be broken, not out of rebellion, but mercy. Do not burden yourself with fear, my child. Simply watch and learn."
Wis nodded silently, though unease lingered in his heart.
Days passed, and within the pond, Wis saw the birth of a boy frail, crying in the arms of a mother who could barely feed him.
Years rolled by in moments. The boy grew in poverty, scorned by others for his weakness. He worked tirelessly, yet every step forward brought him two steps back. His father died early. His mother fell ill.
He became a soldier, not by choice, but by hunger. In battle, he fought bravely but luck never favored him. His comrades mocked him, his leaders used him, and when war ended, he returned home to find his mother gone.
He lived a quiet, lonely life thereafter a man who had given everything and gained nothing. When death finally came to him, it was in the cold of winter, under the same tree he once played beneath as a child. No one mourned him.
Wis sighed heavily. His heart ached.
He turned to his Father. "Aren't you a god? The God of All Gods? Can't you do something?"
The Father's gaze remained calm. "I am indeed a god but even gods are bound by the fabric of existence. We do not interfere in the mortal realm. It is forbidden."
Wis's eyes narrowed. "Why? You have the power to ease their suffering."
"There is one above me," the Father said quietly. "He existed before time, before the first flame of creation. I am His creation, and I too created life. But even I must obey the balance He set. My role is not to rule - it is to watch."
Wis blinked. "So... you are His archangel?"
"You could say that," the Father replied with a faint smile. "Now come. There is more to see."
Days later, the pond shimmered again. This time, Wis saw a woman walking across endless wastelands a mother searching for her son who had vanished in war.
Each day she wandered, clutching a small charm her son's. She asked every traveler, soldier, and wanderer she met, but none could give her the answer she wanted.
The truth was cruel: her son had died years ago. His body had long been buried in an unmarked grave.
But the mother refused to believe it. Hope became her curse.
Rain or shine, year after year, she searched. Her hair turned white, her skin wrinkled, and her strength faded yet her eyes still looked toward the horizon. She whispered the same words each dawn:
"My boy... I'll find you soon. Wait for me."
She died by the river one morning, her hands still clutching the charm.
Wis's tears fell silently into the pond.
The Father looked at him and in Wis's grief, He saw His own reflection, His own memories of creation, of the first mortal He ever watched die.
Days later, Wis tried to focus on his studies, but his mind kept returning to what he had seen. The Father noticed his silence and asked,
"You are still troubled, my child?"
Wis hesitated. "Father... what is harder to live without meaning, or to search with nothing?"
The Father's gaze turned distant, as though looking through time itself.
"Most men," he said, "live in quiet despair drowning in comfort, yet starving for purpose. To live without meaning is to die slowly. But to search for something, even when you find nothing... that is courage."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"The question is not whether life is painful, my child, but whether your pain has purpose."
Wis nodded slowly, only half understanding. He returned to his chamber, the Father's words echoing in his mind.
A few days later, Wis found the Father waiting for him beside the sacred pond.
"Come here, my child," He said. "Let me tell you a story."
He told him of an ancient king King Solomon, a man known for his wisdom. He ruled a great nation, possessed wealth beyond measure, and was loved by his people. Yet in his final days, he wrote, 'All is vanity under the sun.'
The Father continued, "He had knowledge, power, and glory, yet he saw that without purpose, even wisdom turns to dust. Meaning is not found in what we possess, but in what we seek