I wake to the sound of birds and the gentle hiss of the stove. I sit up, stretch, and blink at the ceiling like it's still a dream.
Then I remember. I'm in a forest. I have a house. I have a life. I take a moment to let it all soak in.
I roll out of bed and walk to the wash basin I installed yesterday. The water is cold and clean, and I splash it across my face like I'm trying to wake a different version of myself. I can't help but smirk.
Not a god. Not a celestial being. Just a man in a small house.
And the man is hungry.
I stare into my cupboards and frown. The man has no food.
A full English breakfast comes to mind: eggs, sausage, tomatoes, baked beans, mushrooms, toast. No black pudding, though. Even gods have standards.
I read about it in manga, and it lodged itself in my brain like a seed waiting for water. I don't have any of it on hand. I do, however, have Creation Magic.
I grin.
[Wright] "Then let's create a breakfast."
I close my eyes and reach out with my magic. The air around me thickens, and the world's energy bends to my will. Not raw. Not violent. Just obedient. In minutes, two full plates appear on the table, steaming and fragrant as if they've been cooked by a professional chef.
Eggs, over easy, perfectly fried. Sausage, browned to a crisp. Tomatoes sliced and grilled. Baked beans simmering in a sweet sauce. Mushrooms sautéed to tender perfection. Toast, lightly buttered.
It's, in every sense, otherworldly. I set the plates down and call out.
[Wright] "Donny! Breakfast's ready!"
Donny lumbers in with his usual calm, as if he's lived this way his whole life. He sniffs the air and blinks. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of the feast. Then he lets out a low, satisfied churr.
He approaches the table and settles beside me, waiting patiently like a well-behaved pet. I set one of the plates down for him. Donny leans forward, eyes fixed on the food, and lets out a soft, eager churr.
I laugh.
[Wright] "Yeah, yeah. I know. It smells good."
Donny's shell shifts slightly, a tiny tremor of excitement traveling through its grooves as his eyes narrow in appreciation. He gives a happy, contented churr and begins nibbling slowly. I watch him eat, feeling a strange warmth in my chest.
It's peaceful.
After the meal, I lean back and sigh.
[Wright] "This is the life."
Donny responds with a soft, satisfied churr—Then stops. His head lifts. The churr cuts off mid-vibration, replaced by a low, uncertain rumble deep in his throat.
Donny's eyes shift toward the door, pupils tightening. His limbs pull in slightly, posture lowering—not in fear, but in instinctive deference.
Footsteps follow. Something is approaching. Not loud. Not heavy.
A familiar presence.
I stand and walk to the door. Behind me, Donny lets out a quiet warning churr—low, tight, uneasy. I open it. And there, kneeling on my threshold, is a woman.
A goddess.
She bows low, her forehead nearly touching the ground. Donny recoils immediately. His shell scrapes softly against the floor as he retreats several paces, pressing himself against the wall. His breaths come slow and controlled, each one a careful churr that barely dares to exist.
Not fear. Submission.
I stare. I recognize her instantly. But it isn't just her shape. It's the weight of her existence.
The air around her feels denser, like the forest itself is leaning toward her. The light dims slightly—not from shadow, but because divinity demands attention.
[Jyne] "Lord ∄◊#—"
Her voice breaks.
The name strikes reality like a hammer. The air warps. Space ripples. The forest itself seems to flinch. She swallows hard, forcibly locking the rest of the name behind divine restraint.
[Jyne] "My lord."
The pressure eases—but does not vanish. I respond casually, like I'm greeting an old friend.
[Wright] "Oh. Hey. You're early."
Jyne's body trembles, though her face remains perfectly composed. She stays kneeling, eyes lowered, voice soft.
[Jyne] "My lord. I have come to speak with you."
Behind me, Donny lets out another low churr—deeper this time, like he's bracing for a storm. I glance back at him, then sigh.
[Wright] "You don't have to kneel."
Jyne's eyes flick up briefly.
[Wright] "I'm not a god anymore."
She forces herself to remain composed, irritation and anger boiling beneath the surface.
[Wright] "You can call me Wright."
Jyne's eyes widen at the casualness. Her jaw tightens—but she doesn't argue. She rises slowly, every movement rigid with restrained fury.
[Jyne] "Wright."
[Wright] "Yeah."
Her gaze snaps past me, taking in the house behind me. The structure. The plumbing. The solar panels. The way the land itself has been shaped.
Donny's eyes widen, and he lets out a sharp, startled churr—half warning, half disbelief.
Jyne's shoulders tighten.
[Jyne] "Why are you here?"
[Wright] "I retired."
She blinks. Then her eyes flash.
[Jyne] "I heard."
[Wright] "Yeah. I'm living the slow life."
I smile.
[Wright] "You know. Like in the manga."
Her polite facade shatters like glass.
[Jyne] "That is absurd!"
My smile vanishes.