Goddamn so-called god dragon. All these reporters, I hope they're just my imagination.

What even IS all this?

I look over the gemstone table. Each huge slab of gemstone is finely yet ornately decorated with carvings and some sort of softly glowing lines.

Did I mention it's partly transparent? The whole multicolored thing seems to be merged into one solid gemstone. At least if I don't go completely bananas, I'll be able to write a good book. I'll title it 'The Gleaming Debate.' How am I supposed to think when I'm distracted by this thing?

image [https://timjames.net/data/acd/images/153.png]

I slowly sit down at the table, my eyes still glued to its dreamlike surface.

"Impressed? Dragons positively adore when others admire their treasures."

I look up at him.

"It IS impressive. Except I'm going blind."

"Roh, my. That wouldn't be fair."

He snaps his fingers.

The sky dims.

I look up.

There's no clouds. Did he just dim the sun?

I look back to him. Then behind him, where several reporters are looking at the sky as well.

"All the radiation is still making its way here; I merely altered the photons entering your eyes. You'll still get a suntan. Think of it like invisible sunglasses."

Those reporters are recording him at a safe distance— even the ones who've continued gawking at the sky. Jeez, how do they hold their cameras while looking skyward? That takes skill. At least they don't seem to be focusing on me? If I tell them to leave they'll just go out on the street. Tch. Point your cameras at the sky, please.

I look back at Chronovoid.

"Sure. Whatever. I'm an atheist."

"Fate dragon, as you already know. Deity."

"Are you going to convince me you're real? You can't."

"I know. Instead, I'll prove that atheism isn't irreligious."

"Haaah? How are you going to do THAT?"

"What don't you believe in?"

"Gods. Including you."

"Why not?"

"Any number of reasons."

"Such as?"

"There's no way you can manage godly power safely."

"Do you always crush plastic cups when you hold them?"

Wha— plastic?

"Of course not."

"As a body gets stronger, its strength must be adjusted. The more powerful the body, the more fine-tuning it needs."

"Exactly."

"What puts a limit on ones' ability to adjust their strength?"

"Their nervous system and senses."

The imaginary dragon nods his head.

"Then the nervous system, which drives both the body and its senses, can it also be developed in tandem?"

"It can't."

"Mhm. How do you learn?"

What the fuck.

"By going to school."

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

"How do you learn to walk?"

My mind can't— what is he saying?

"By watching others."

"Does that mean a child who never sees other humans might never learn how to walk?"

"It's possible."

"Possible. What about crawling? Where do they learn that?"

My thoughts hit a roadblock. Where DO they learn that? Is it built-in, somehow?

"Maybe it's built-in?"

"Why can't they learn to walk the same way?"

Everything comes to a screeching halt. I'm not able to keep arguing this point. The nervous system must improve on its own. I don't know how, but—

"What does this have to do with atheism not being irreligious?"

"You must think I'm trying to prove gods exist because learning to control a god's strength is possible."

"I do."

"I'm using that discussion to show how we come up with justifications for beliefs we hold. Justifications which likely aren't true because they're logically inconsistent."

Huh. Okay.

"Fine, but that doesn't prove your point."

"A person can believe in god via faith, correct?"

"Right."

"They often have strong, yet illogical reasons for their beliefs, correct?"

A 'deity' is telling me that. Hah!

"Correct again."

"Your belief that gods cannot exist because their bodies are too powerful. What is that?"

"An illogical belief. But only one."

"How many illogical beliefs must you debunk to disprove a true believer's faith?"

"Quite a lot, but it can be done."

The imaginary dragon shakes his head.

"The answer is infinity."

Ummmm.

"What? How so?"

"True believers can always come up with more reasons to justify their faith. It's a debate which cannot be won. If you bother them enough, they may find reasons to ignore or despise you. They deny you AND your ideas."

Oh. That explains why I never win those religious debates.

"Okay, so what?"

"Are you not ignoring me?"

The gears of my mind are hit by a wrench.

"But, that— that doesn't prove, the logic!"

"The logic? I'm saying you're just as faithful as any other believer, Kalai. Hopefully, you're rational enough to see it."

"No, I mean. Even if I'm wrong, atheism is..."

My words trail off.

"Just another belief. One based on somewhat rational-sounding philosophies. In the end, what matters isn't your worldview. The only thing that matters is what's actually true. What's true is that I'm sitting right here— yet you still believe in atheism. Faithfully."

The reporters start murmuring quietly.

I get momentarily distracted and lose my focus.

Am I a FAITHFUL atheist? That doesn't make any sense! But no matter how many justifications I come up with.

There's always some bit of knowledge. Some part of my belief I'm unsure about. Do I know enough about physics to disprove godhood? Do I know enough about evolutionary biology to disprove higher species? Do I know enough about math to statistically prove my beliefs? And if the statistic isn't 100%, do I know enough about logic to justify myself?

I don't. I don't. I don't. I don't.

I'm not stupid; I'm a normal person! I can't learn so many things solely to justify theological beliefs.

It's not worth my time.

But, then, how can I be sure?

Even if my beliefs were correct; even if this dragon really doesn't exist. If I can't be sure, then on some level, isn't it all faith? I thought the whole point of atheism was to reject faith. If I can't ground my beliefs in solid fact...

Umm.

Hmm.

I've seen many atheists use bad logic. They'll make arguments how it's 'not sensible to believe in god.' That's not logical at all! It holds exactly as much weight it being 'not sensible to believe there is no god.' A kindergartner could come up with this argument. Of course, I knew their arguments were similar to religious ones, but I'd dismissed it until now.

Am I dismissive of atheism's faults because I'm faithful? Really? No. No, it can't be.

Argh.

I don't have another solution. I'll need to think this over.

"I concede, Chronovoid. I can't solve the argument you've presented. But I must know: if one can't be sure of themselves, what's left?"

"Empirical agnosticism. It means 'I don't know until I have sufficient evidence.' You could also accept that theism is on the same ideological level as atheism. In either case, you should let others be religious without antagonizing them so often, you know? Live and let live. Though, Kalai. While I don't expect you to believe that I'm a deity, I hope you'll at least acknowledge that I exist."

I think for a moment.

"Yeah, I can do that much for you."

He places down, then slides something across the table.

*chnk*

*shrrrk*

"I saw you like animal skulls. That's a dragon horn. Dracosect said he wanted to give you it as a gift. He cut it off one of my other dragons in a fight, so Temp granted it to him as his prize."

I pick it up, expecting it to be heavy. It's exceptionally light. The edges look sharp as hell, though. I'm not testing those.

I carefully hold and weigh it.

"Feels like plastic."

"Stab it into the table."

"It really is a nice table."

He beams with pride.

"Rawh! Of course it is, I made it. Try to break the table with a rock— it won't work. I promise."

"Okay."

I carefully hold this 'dragon horn' in one hand, then lean over and grab an ornamental stone off my lawn.

"Huuuup."

I slam it down onto the table.

*THUNK*

*chrk-ribble*

*ribble*

The rock broke in half. Damn. I paid for that!

Chronovoid does something. The rock reforms into one piece, then floats back to where I got it from.

Okay, then. Fix my sofa!

"Now the horn."

"It's gonna break."

"Yes, it will."

I give him a weird look.

I thought this horn was supposed to go through the table, not break.

I raise the horn up and— no, let's not make it easy. Flat side down. I flip it, then drop it. The thing's so light it'll—

*SHINK*

The flat side of the horn goes clean through the table like a sword. It's continuing toward my— FUUU—

Ah?

There's that clear shield. It's protecting my, uhm, my important bits from being eviscerated.

I swiftly grab the horn, then hold its point very far away from myself.

"That was kind of stupid of me, wasn't it?"

"No, no. Our horns contain magic. Don't hit anyone with it, they'll die. Just like you almost did."

Wait, I almost DIED? What?! I look over the horn with immense fear. What in the hell is this thing?!

Then I see the table vanish. Oh. Hmm.

"Can I have that table? It really is nice."

He looks prouder than ever.

"Sure! I'm glad you like it!"

The table reappears. It's not missing a horn-sized wedge.

Huh?

"Are you creating that somehow?"

"Reah, quantum physics."

Uhhhhhhh. What?