For the Record

Bring a razorvine sample to Mimir, I said.

He’d appreciate it, I said.

(Are you really surprised?) Nyx jabs.

No, I guess not.

At least he’s hitting it off with Abaris. They’ve been excitedly chatting back and forth about new discoveries and lost races and blah blah blah. I even had to enlarge the portal house so there would be enough seating in our sitting room. Or sitting area I guess, it’s not a separate room.

He brought a bunch of other settlers with him too. Technically they’re ‘scientists’ and ‘academics’ and ‘researchers’ but I’m just going to call them settlers, since I’m apparently expected to provide them room and board.

That works out well enough though. I just foisted the responsibility on Nerin. If they –

(She.)

She?

Nyx sighs. (Nerin is a woman. You’ve known her this long and still haven’t caught that?)

If it took this long for anyone to correct me, then did it even matter in the first place?

Ooh, another trademark Nyx facepalm. I think I’m starting to appreciate those, like some emergent form of art.

Maybe I’ll commission a statue of it.

(You wouldn’t dare.)

Oh? Watch me.

(Ass.)

Anyway, I’ve long since lost interest in the scientific discourse around me, so I guess I’ll just leave.

***

This town is downright bustling now. Nerin was clearly the right choice for the leadership role, because the supply chain here is unexpectedly well organized, between merchants flowing in via teleporter and the processing and outbound shipping of razorvine fruit and even razorvine corpses themselves. The teleportation pad itself was provided by Mimir, a prefabricated unit he just happened to have in his dimensional storage ‘from his expeditionary days’, and if he’s going to just provide something like this, I guess I’ll have to at least offer him some form of hospitality for it.

But not in my own home. Nerin gave him his own.

The razorvine processing is interesting as well. A handful of rogue-Classed adventurers came with the many academics as hired guards, and their stealth and quick-kill Skills have been indispensable for gathering the raw materials. Moving the whole unprocessed fruit is easy enough with merchants loading it in carts or into their own dimensional storages. I do have a handful of adventurers with cooking or alchemy Skills making other products like candied razorvine fruit or some kind of burn salve, which should also be a useful export.

I did, however, absolutely forbid the removal of any artifacts or architecture. This is my home, and I’m not going to just give away my home.

Nyx materializes and plops down on the edge of the dry fountain I’m standing by. “So you’ve grown attached to this place already? That was fast.”

“It shouldn’t be a surprise. This place was important to Astraea, important enough to risk me eating her. Besides, you’re the one who told me I should accept this already. They’re both a part of me. Maybe I’m more the Queen of Hunger, but Astraea is in there too.”

I sit down next to her, and we share an oddly comfortable silence for some time.

...

“I wonder if any of the science folks know how to fix this thing,” I muse while glancing over my shoulder at the fountain.

“Probably.”

I can ask Nerin to look into that sometime.

Although...

My former Assistant furrows her brow. “Oh no. That’s your idea face.”

“Yes it is!” I exclaim as I spawn a dozen of my kin, immediately programming them to float within the bordered pool, taking turns flowing themselves through the spout in a gross mockery of water.

“Yes, it is,” she deadpans. I’m shocked she didn’t sigh or facepalm or something else more animated, but I’ll take what I can get.

The change causes a commotion among the bystanders, some of which come over for a closer look. Wisely, they don’t try to interact with the moving ash bodies – I hadn’t instructed them not to attack willing prey, which could lead to casualties. I should probably change that sometime but eh, I’ll get to it eventually.

None of the gawkers try initiating conversation, which is fine by me. I’m not particularly interested in them as long as they...

What do I want them to do?

...

“Well, you’re some kind of stillborn pseudo-god thing now, right?” Nyx asks.

“Yeah, I think so.”

She props a foot on the fountain edge and rests her head on her knee. “Maybe you want mortals around for the same reason the normal gods do?”

Huh.

“And that is?”

“Do you know what devotion is? You know, ‘prayer’ and so forth?”

I think on that for a moment before answering. “Not really, I guess. Outside of pledging loyalty or something.”

She nods back without lifting her head. “It’s an act of offering your own mana, your own divinity, to a patron god. It makes them stronger.”

“Woah, woah. Wait. Are you saying that damned rabbit told me to rebuild this place to make me stronger? Why would he do that?”

The bond with the headmaster remains silent. I wonder if he’s even watching anymore?

“If I had to guess... I’d say that he’s hoping that you being here in a place of religious significance to Astraea will increase the odds of those parts of her soul awakening and making you a more reasonable and less volatile person.”

“And he was probably right, at least about the... hey, did you just call me volatile and unreasonable?” I snap.

Nyx shrugs. “I call ‘em like I see ‘em.”

I sigh and absentmindedly watch the exhaled ash drift into the fountain, caught up in the stream of moving wraiths.

...

It took some time to convince Izahne and Omorth that they didn’t need to constantly follow me as bodyguards, but they finally came around to it. My wife was the more difficult to convince, since she’s basically joined at the hip at this point.

I flatly wave at another merchant walking past, no doubt with an inventory full of exports.

“Do gods normally just hang around their villagers? I mean, the usual gods,” I ask.

“Nope. Those mortals probably don’t even realize you’re the patron god here. You didn’t exactly introduce yourself. After all, you said it yourself: you aren’t interested in any of them. You may as well not even be here.”

I guess she’s not wrong. Even I’m not sure why I’m here.

Probably because I’m bored.

...

Maybe I should go invade the castle again as an excuse for a mock battle with Vivianne.

Not like she can hurt me, not really. Not in any way I can’t immediately regenerate.

...

...

In all fairness though, I’m not sure where else I’d go. There isn’t really anything I want to do.

“Do you care if I take the forge?”

I blink. That question came out of nowhere, didn’t it?

“Yeah, sure. I don’t care. Have fun. You like making stuff, right? Go for it. Too bad about your Class but you can probably still have fun.”

She looks excited for a moment before the rest of my statement sets in. A moment later she quietly mutters, “I wonder if I can change my Class.”

***

Nyx and I rejoin my party and retainers shortly before Olive usually serves the evening meal, not that either of us need to eat. My former Assistant seems to enjoy it, and I can tell that for some reason Izahne enjoys sharing meals with me.

And so she should! My presence is the greatest honor!

Ahem.

“Is this another truffle thing, Olive?” I ask.

The fox spirit twirls to face me with a sharp-toothed grin and a flourish of her furry tails. “It is, her majesty.”

I catch myself smiling, just a little. She pretends not to notice, but I can tell from the ripples in our bond that she definitely did.

Vivianne, seated across from me, raises an eyebrow in my direction.

...

“What?”

“Wouldn’t you normally ask for what reason I’m here?”

...

I half-heartedly glare at the centipede knight. “There wouldn’t be any point to it, would there? I’ve never invited you here, but clearly Olive has, and I’m sure at this point nothing I say about it will change that. So no, I’m not going to ask you why you’re here. I know damn well why.”

My personal chef interrupts my tirade by moving a dish in front of me, this one with a raised lip, and needless to say I’m distracted from conversation for some time to follow.

***

Another evening of the same routine. We lounge in the sitting room, the others clamoring about their days, who met who, who discussed what where and blah blah blah.

Maybe this is why the gods are bored enough to die.

(Probably.)

As the time gets late and the two mortals start showing signs of needing rest, I gently lift Izahne from my lap with a handful of manifested feelers before standing myself. She only blushes lightly when I do this now, but I can still tell through our bond that she finds it somehow exciting.

Whatever. I know she’s weird, but at least she’s happy.

Omorth is already standing to the side of our room’s doorway as we approach. Olive glides by, sharing a knowing glance with the sword knight as she heads to her own quarters. She’d insisted for some reason that they be as small as the ones in the temples, though I can’t imagine why.

She probably doesn’t even need to sleep.

I’m already laying down with Izahne nestled against me as usual when a thought hits me.

“Wait... do you even need to sleep?”