Chapter 45: Troubled Hearts
The constellations present a powerful face to mortals and each other to protect their reputations. This is because their image directly ties into their power and nature.
Widespread reinterpretations of a constellation’s image could profoundly alter the constellation—their essence, power, and how they exist in their world—which may be either a massive benefit or a catastrophic setback. In a way, it’s comparable to a modern-day streamer.
Streamers must put on an entertaining show to maintain both influence and relevance. Influence gradually opens up opportunities and can earn them a steady income, while relevance keeps their careers alive.
Gods among constellations mirror this dynamic. They struggle to keep their religions thriving to sustain their growth in power. The moment a religion loses its grip on its followers, the god behind it loses “relevance,” effectively ending their career as a deity.
That isn’t to say they stop being gods entirely. Their influence lingers, embedded in the cultures they shaped—much like creators leaving lasting marks on their platforms. Yet once all that relevance fades, there’s no moving beyond the peak of their career—or moving forward at all.
They don’t lose their powers, but neither can they grow stronger. The truly terrifying part of losing that relevance is that you can no longer use your “influence” as a constellation to shape how people see you.
Once relevance is gone, influence ceases to be an actively usable resource, much like streamers who’ve fallen off their audience’s radar.
What does this imply?
With no ability to influence the masses, no matter the power you possess, you will be at their mercy when they might reconceptualize your very existence.
DemonKingofUnification:
To think that the people from my homeland are still producing so much of this… filth!
>odasfinestnobunanavolume3.jpeggy
#1OlympusBeauty:
Why not embrace your BL protagonist image at this point? It suits you very well~ I especially like the scenes from the third chapter!
DemonKingofUnification:
This foul woman! It is because of women like you that so much of this corrupting literature has spread throughout the land!
#1OlympusBeauty:
Careful with how you speak, Demon King. I might just report you to Chaos for misogyny~
DemonKingofUnification:
Dare to try it? I doubt that the staff up in Chaos would bother with the words of a LonelyFans wench like you!
Boulder_Masochist:
Demon King, do you not fear that the mass production of these books might alter your very essence? Were I in your place, I certainly would.
#1OlympusBeauty:
What a delight it would be to witness! A Great General of the East, who nearly united the Land of the Rising Sun under a single banner, now succumbing to his desires for brotherly companionship! Hohohoho~
Thankfully, all constellations have one safeguard: the influence they’ve already deeply imprinted on history. Once a constellation’s image has firmly taken root in the core of a culture, etched into the minds of its people, that image becomes virtually unshakable. Though there are always some exceptions.
DemonKingofUnification:
What is there to worry about? My people know better than I could ever care to express the person I was in life. What truly offends me is that I was made the subject of such a vile genre of literature in the first place.
That doesn’t, however, change the fact that they can no longer wield it at will. By the time they’ve lost all “relevance,” their ability to shape the minds of the many—to forge new images of themselves—has long vanished.
At that point, constellations effectively become little more than “powerful individuals,” rather than god-like figures with authority over specific divine domains. Gods who fall this far are often deities of dead religions, while ascended constellations who reach this state are typically heroes or villains long forgotten by time.
It is for these reasons that gods hold what Yvell calls their “legacies” in the highest regard. A constellation’s legacy forms the very foundation of their existence and stands as proof of their accomplishments. To insult or covet another constellation’s legacy is virtually an invitation for death.
And Esphera’s legacy was being the mother of all humanity on Elynthys.
“Graille, will you not please relinquish this overly ambitious idea of becoming this ‘Mother of All Life’ figure? Is that not reaching too far beyond your station?”
Esphera, in particular, had a complex about her first legacy that she had yet to resolve.
It was that her claim to such a legacy was shaky from the start.
“Esphera…? Did I offend you somehow?”
“Oh, no… Um. No, you did not. It is just…”
A goddess of the sun creating humanity—creatures who do not share in her most fiery aspects? The warmth of their bodies, gentle and kind, like a pale reflection of the ringed sun in the sky?
Throw a human into fire, and they’d burn to a crisp. Throw an efreet into fire, and… nothing happens.
Though efreets share a humanoid form, and the human image of their goddess is deeply embedded in the minds of men, the reasoning behind her story remains incomplete.
For now, humans follow the words of shamans unquestioningly. But what happens when doubts begin to take root?
What will become of Esphera, a sun goddess, and her legacy as the so-called creator of mankind? It was a question she refused to find the answer to for herself.
What she did know, however, made her certain of one thing. It was that her hold over this role she has long loved was no tighter than a baby’s grasp.
If anything, her own junior, nature incarnate, might be able to hold that role better than she ever could. This realization was a little more than she could bear.
“Please, just think of something else…”
“... Senior, do you perhaps see me as competition?”
“H-Huh?”
It was now Esphera’s turn to be surprised.
Graille was still naïve and eager. As someone who had yet to go that far with her own worshippers, she couldn’t help but see this more as an indirect attempt to slow her growth as a goddess.
She knew that constellations from different worlds often competed for faith from her studies. She also remembered how hostile and intrusive Esphera had been when they first met—on that night she gave Yvell her name.
The thought that Esphera saw her as a rival, not a friend, stung deeply. Graille only wanted to catch up to the constellation she was growing fond of. From her perspective, she was merely trying to match her friend’s standing, not surpass her.
To stand on equal footing with Esphera—the sun goddess who watched over the entire world as a ringed star in the sky—Graille believed the title of “Mother of All Life” would be fitting.
She hadn’t even considered that, in trying to match her friend’s standing, she might be stepping squarely into Esphera’s divine domain over humanity.
“Have you seen me that way from the start? Is that why you were trying to get in my way since the first day that you have known me?”
“N-No, that is not—”
“You did not want me to grow closer to Sir Yvell. You feared his wisdom would push me closer to reaching your level.”
“No! That is not true! I am—”
Graille clenched her fists in pure frustration.
“Enough. To think that I would share a mentor with a constellation so deceptive. How that angers me so. Sir Yvell must be ashamed to have taught such a conspiratorial woman. You are ill-fit to receive his teachings.”
“... What did you say?”
Yvell, the Utopic World Builder. Esphera’s greatest target of admiration. To claim her to be ill-fit as a student under him felt like another slight on the already insecure sun constellation.
“You take that back!”
“I dare you to make me!”
“Waaaaaaah!”
““Ah!”” (Esphera and Graille in sync)
It seemed that their loud arguing had awoken the poor high elven baby who was sleeping beside her treasured rubber chicken. Graille was quick to pick her up into her arms and attempt to soothe the distressed Sylvariel.
“I am sorry, little Sylvie! I did not mean to be loud!”
“You woke the poor child! What a cruel mother you are!”
“You dare? You were being just as loud!”
“Waaaaaaah!”
““Oh, I am sorry, Sylvie! Please do not cry!”” (Esphera and Graille in sync)
Step.
Step.
Step.
It was then that a familiar figure had appeared, hearing the commotion from afar. It was their respected teacher, Yvell, the Utopic World Builder.
“... Or so I thought, but why are you two fighting again?”
““She started it!”” (Esphera & Graille in sync)
“Oh, boy. Are we back to zero already?”
Defusing the situation wasn't particularly difficult. The two goddesses learning under me are quick to listen to my words, as always, so just telling them off was enough. That isn’t to say that the animosity they built up just now didn’t go away, however.
“...”
“... Ugh.”
“Goo.”
The silence was deafening.
At least little Sylvie is happier now. Giving the rubber chicken a few squeezes got her laughing pretty quickly.
The situation left me awkwardly holding the infant, though, as Sylvie was still unsettled from being in Graille’s arms when she’d been shouting just moments earlier. I should give the two a scolding later, after I get them to tell me what was going on that led to this.
“So? Are you two going to tell me what happened?”
“Well…”
“...”
“Goo.”
After a few minutes of explanation, I gained a fairly good picture of what had happened. It seemed like a classic case of miscommunication. Well, maybe not so classic, considering the two affected are constellations—but that’s beside the point.
While I can’t say what either side truly intended to say, I can say that neither intended the other harm. Both were reacting defensively to a perceived threat. As far as I could tell, it was insecurity on the part of Esphera and a sense of betrayal on the part of Graille.
Unfortunately, however, simply understanding the root of the issue was never enough for spats between people. Whether as children or adults, people can still be too quickly driven by their emotions and go a few steps too far that they can’t run things back, at least not immediately.
Teachers in school always get the strange idea that forcing their students to apologize to each other would somehow get them to get along again, but that’s just stupid. If anything, I’d argue that apologies lacking any sincerity would only amplify the issue by deepening their animosity for each other.
It’d be better to let the two of them realize, on their own, what they each did wrong—and how misguided they were—over time. Maybe give them a small nudge now and then.
Some might call that neglectful, but just like you can’t force a new friendship to bloom, you can’t force people to fix a broken one either. What you can do, however, is put the two in a situation where they have to learn to get along.
“... I will not ask you two to apologize to one another. An insincere apology from each side would only broaden the distance between the two of you. Instead, how about I assign you two a little task?”
“A task?”
“What task would that be?”
“It is a bit of a complicated issue, I must admit. But I have faith that you two will find the right answer to the problem at hand.”
I explained to them the plan I had in mind about inviting constellations over to this new world, which the pair clarified they had both decided to name Elynthys. Unsurprisingly, both weren’t too favorable towards the idea, but they were willing to entertain it.
Their accepting the plan off the bat wasn’t, however, what I wanted out of this. What kind of teacher would I be if I just pushed a huge responsibility like that on these two rookie constellations?
Instead, what I wanted was for them to find a solution to the main weakness of this plan.
“A solution…? I do not think I understand, Lord Yvell.”
“Neither do I. Can we not just accept the plan as is?”
“No. That would be forcing the two of you into an unfavorable position you might not be able to climb out of on your own. I am not such a cruel mentor that I would impose something like that on my disciples.”
“Then what is it that you want us to do exactly?”
“I am lost too. If you could explain it a little better…”
I closed my eyes for a moment to let the tension build as the two constellations watched silently, expectantly awaiting my response.
“How about you two engage in a… friendly competition?”
“...!”
“...!”
The young Snide was an honest man. Perhaps even honest to a fault. Unlike the other young hunters he stood alongside, he was neither lazy nor rebellious.
He always followed the words of his elders and acted according to their expectations. He wanted to become like the person he idolized—the town’s Great Chieftain, and the father of his dear friend, who was akin to a brother, Nova’k—the man known as Fallen Star.
Named after the shard of the Star Mother that had made Starfell practically a sacred ground, Fallen Star worked hard to live up to his own name. After taking up the role of chieftain, Fallen Star implemented many great changes that led to various developments around the town.
The most key among his achievements was the implementation of granaries, following a wisewoman’s teachings from long ago. Had it not been for those granaries, the residents of Starfell would’ve starved to death long ago, or vacated the place entirely for greener pastures.
Now that the land has been plagued by one crisis after another, preventing crops from producing in abundance, Snide felt his morals being put to the test.
“... Snide, tell me what you hid under your cloak.”
“Spotter, please do not do this.”
“Show me what you are hiding right now.”
Standing before Snide was an aged gnome with a fierce expression. It was a look born of betrayal.
“I had thought you better than this. The town starves, yet here I find you hiding food from your brethren.”
“No, please! I can explain!”
In that moment, a decades-long resentment began to take shape in the young man’s heart.
