He was a god now, he thought, dazed still, bewildered by the epiphany but knowing, somehow, deep inside, that it was true. He looked down at his reflection in the lake. His fur was blue, a soft blue of the sky at nightfall, the dancing lights just visible under his skin, if he looked for them. He searched for that awareness that he had suppressed, the one that had broken out, was responsible for his family’s murder. It responded to his call with a foreign glee, rising to the surface, static visible, flighty, across his fur. He could see the magnetic field inside him arise, bending the dancing lights, contorting them. He was a god, and with it came a power he was not in control of, had only the faintest grasp on. He was a god and a danger to the world.
What was he a god of, Tva wondered, who did he deserve to be a god to. Him, kin slayer. He snorted, looking away from his reflection with shame. He wouldn’t wish his godhood on any being. Did other gods have similar godhood conceptions, he wondered. Were they all kin slayers? What disgusting beings, he thought, for the first time. They had seemed so majestic, so awe inspiring as a pup, but now that he knew the truth, the thought of them sickened him. Did any of them want this? Were they all changed against their will, like him? Perhaps some of them did so with intention, he thought, suddenly queasy.
Gods were endless, beings without natural death. He had the whole of eternity laid out before him now. What would he do with it? A lone wolf god, belonging to no pack. No need for food nor shelter, the aimlessness of it overwhelmed him. He lay down, among the lupus flowers, his nose buried in their soft sweet scent. He would think on it tomorrow. For now he would sleep. And dream. Of his family, he hoped, with a prayer to Noctua’s moon high above. Of his family if he had never been taken, of his life if he had remained unchanged.
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He awoke refreshed, his dreams the icy still silence of freshly fallen snow. He lifted his head from his paws, peering at a small crunching noise, a small rabbit nibbling the tender roots of a plant nearby. His ears perked, naturally spurred by the sound of prey. He stilled, every muscle frozen in attention to the small creature as it gnawed away, oblivious. He didn’t need to eat, a voice in the back of his mind reminded him, he was freed from all biological needs. But what else would he fill the void of eternity with? What would guide his actions now, he wondered, his eyes still fastened on the animal, watching as it finished its first snack and moved to the next.
It continued for quite a while, working its way through a patch of grasses, all while Tva watched, mesmerized. He recalled back to that moment, before his younger brother’s fangs pierced his flank, when he was surrounded by his distant relatives, their preparations to take him down like a quarry. What it had felt like, being the one hunted. Was that a familiar sensation to this small rabbit? It must be. How often had it fled from a hunter like him? How often had it scrapped by, just barely evaded the jaws of death?
He wouldn’t kill again, he resolved. He had killed enough in his previous life, as a mortal, before he had become a god, had killed enough in his godhood transformation as well. There was no more need for it. ‘Hello little being,’ he cooed to the bunny, doing his best to use his new voice to soothe. The small rabbit froze, its eyes bulging wide and scared. ‘I mean you no harm,’ he reaffirmed. The rabbit’s eyes flickered to him, before it fled. ‘I will be your god, your protector,’ he decided, his voice a vow.