Long ago, people used to believe that the stars themselves decide their fates. That they bore messages from the divine who watched over them. That they were angels who blessed chosen heroes to do great deeds, and were prayed to when one’s wish needed to be granted.
Of course, in the modern era, that notion had largely faded into something more metaphorical, and the people have gradually transitioned from the reverence of stars to worshipping the divine directly through works.
Soldiers would do their jobs as a way to worship their war god. Healers would heal as a way to worship their god of life. Warriors would fight and hone their craft as a way to honour the warrior god, who ascended from a warrior to that status long ago.
The world had gotten very secular in these past few centuries, all thanks to progress and understanding. Yet the gods did not care. They're Onlookers, entities who were completely unreachable, beings who fundamentally operated within their own set of rules, above the realms of creation that they've made.
Churches do still exist, but people have rarely gone to them for the sake of prayer. They now considered themselves more or less spiritualists, believing in something higher due to the undeniable evidence for it. They have no religious dogma whatsoever to really guide them, just a philosophy, a philosophy that through works you were honouring them even without uttering their names.
The Onlookers who watched from the unreachable heavens were once brought to existence through people identifying the concepts of the world as the work of the divine, and revered them as such for so long, forming myths about how the world was made through them.
That was how gods were born, if one were to use such a term to describe it. They were really beyond that notion. They were once outside of the notion of non-existence and existence. But through that act of naming things, they could become existent.
They didn't exactly need persistent faith in them specifically in order to keep existing, for they are self-existent. But cultures change, and their names changed in turn. They evolved alongside the ones that gave them these identities, but their existence remained clear despite the abstractness of their being.
However, when it came to the—
“Angels…that’s a false idea entirely.”
Those words were said by the Sage herself, Sophia Winchester. The story of how people viewed the gods also came from her very thoughts on the matter, as she gazed at the night sky above, dotted with dozens of constellations and formations, surrounding the bright moon above.
“...hm.”
The Guiding Hand. The White Rabbit. The Sage. And the most recent title, Mary Poppins. She was someone that officially did not exist in any record, yet had quite the impact in changing history through choosing those who will change it.
She was most certainly not an Onlooker, gods that possessed no desire, who watched from the heavens above impartially. Yet, they blessed people with what they shall be defined by at their birth. They would also reward the act of faith through enforcing their will upon those who truly believe.
Nor would she consider herself as a Personification, who have reached the pinnacle, or have come from an Onlooker that gained desire, becoming the embodiment of a certain notion they were defined by, godlike in power.
The most accurate term for her would be an angel, but angels need a god to serve. She didn't have a god to serve nor would she want one. She was just the ever enigmatic girl who had once been chosen herself, her role in this world to become the facilitator of stories.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
But, if stories could be called a god, then maybe the term ‘angel’ could be deemed as true.
And if one were to define the stars being angels as false, that their role of guiding heroes was a lie, then they would be correct. But every belief has its grain of truth, every myth has a basis from something tangible.
As if one were to redefine the roles that were given to the stars to someone else, then Sophia Winchester would be the only true angel.
“Alden, he is truly quite the child even now. To think I would be mad at that.”
She commented upon an event that's far away from her, her small smile apparent. He believed her to be someone that would scold him for ‘failing’ in not giving the desired chapter of the story of that girl she chose a year ago.
In fact, considering how her kind operated…
“But that's our role, isn't it?”
She turned around to a tree beside her, no, she turned to gaze upon the nameless grave that lies beneath it. It couldn't even be called a grave, for the stone that has acted as its head has eroded, damaged even.
“To facilitate the stories of the people in this world, to guide and observe the ongoings of their lives."
The grave did not answer back, but she wouldn't need it in order to initiate dialogue with it. It was more of a tradition now, to speak to this particular piece of stone. Every year on this very day, she spoke to the eroded piece of rock.
It coincided with the anniversary of the death of the founding king of Albion, but the nameless grave was not his. Still, that figure did bear importance to her.
“Valerius’ descendants are currently facing a great peril, with a potential enemy amongst their subjects targeting them.” She said, “But I doubt they would falter from just that. They're strong, and hold great conviction and pride in themselves as a family, just like him.”
She sighed and continued to speak, “Even with your name as their surname, they don't exactly hold a candle to your compassion and kindness.”
The gravestone did not speak, but if it would, it would probably chuckle at that comment made by her.
“No one in our family could really hold a candle to you. Even I feel inadequate after all this time.” She said, “I just hope that you would be glad for us, wherever you are.”
The gentle wind blew from her left side, leaves flowing with the invisible current, the grass beneath dancing as it did. She held onto her hat to not let it take off from her, and she continued.
“My current chosen person. The story has chosen her to be the current focus in this world.” She said once again, “She's a kind girl, yet she's someone that has lost so much in her previous life. I wish for her to be happy, for she is blessed, she has a dream that I want to foresee happening.”
Her tone had become increasingly worried for the girl she chose, yet she steeled herself. “It’s such a simple thing to ask of the story. But even so, there will be moments of despair where her heart shall be tested. Every narrative has its conflicts afterall, it's a necessity, and I believe that she would see through it.”
The wind still blew over her, and she looked at the direction of where it's going, the skyline of the capital. “The current times we live in are at their most peaceful for these past few centuries, thanks to the one I chose to end the Great War. There's a chance that the narrative may develop into something of that magnitude again in the future, but I fully believe she would be capable of enduring it when the time comes. However…”
She turned to the gravestone again, “The story that is her life, her dreams and wishes…it’s only getting started, isn't it?”
She manifested a flower into reality, a Forget Me Not, and kneeled before the gravestone, placing the plant at its stead.
She stood up once again, and smiled, “The prologue has ended, the first chapter of these immortal reveries, of the dreams that this girl has and of the people around her. And so—”
She turned around, but not towards the city, it was towards—
“All that's left for the narrative now is to continue, isn't that right?”
She spoke not to anyone in particular in this world, not even to the story nor the one who wrote it. Clearly enough, she spoke to the ones that have observed this story in their leisure.
After a teasing smile was born from that statement, the White Rabbit turned around once more. And in the next instant, she disappeared, as if she had never existed in the first place.