A god awoke from the void. The first thing he saw when he looked upon the world was faith.
Yet the source of the world did not belong to him at first.
Could he save his world? And could he... become a true god?
Countless living beings in the world born alongside him held him as their sole object of faith. This was the entire meaning of his existence, and the only source of his power.
But he soon discovered that faith could fade. The more civilization advanced, the more the gods were forgotten. When believers stopped praying, the world began to crumble.
He had to save the world.
More than once.
The first time, he watched helplessly as a tribe was destroyed and his believers died in the flames. Only the most devout high priest left behind a wisp of lingering soul.
For the next three thousand years, the god slept as civilization changed.
But he remembered everything that had happened.
The second time, he descended into an ancient city-state as a hero. With nothing but a spear in hand, he drove back more than a thousand enemies.
And yet... the city-state still fell. Plague, siege, and war: he couldn’t save anyone.
But as they died, they all called out the same name.
Not the name he had when he descended, but “O god who once protected us...”
Countless prayers from the dying rushed toward him. Hovering above the ruins, he watched the city-state burn beneath him and the people who had died for him.
Beside him, the wisp of lingering soul that had slept for three thousand years trembled gently for the first time.
He suddenly understood: a god was not someone to pray to.
He still had to endure several more cycles. He still had to watch more people die for him. He didn’t know when he would succeed. He knew only this: to be remembered was to exist.
And he would remember every person until he truly became a god.
