I am a man of hypocrisies. I craft reasons, stitch arguments and weave logic to justify what I want to believe. It’s as if I encase my convictions in layers of rationality, trying to disguise them as truths.

  But I wasn’t always this way. I used to look for truths, facts in hopes of understanding my surroundings, but as I grew up, I realised that certainty is fragile.

  At some point, I stopped searching for the truth and started creating it. And if I had to trace it back, it all began that day—the day I asked my father a question that was crawling on my young mind.

  “Father, why do gods expect worship and prayer from us? If I were a god, I might want worship out of vanity, but beings who are supposed to be selfless? Why would they expect us to praise them?”

  My father knelt, his warm hand resting gently on my head. With a hint of amusement he answered, “Gods don’t expect praise from us. They only wish to be remembered, to check on us as a parent would.

  Prayers weren’t their creation but ours. Humans, being selfish, believed that by praising gods, we could curry their favour, perhaps even gain something in return.

  It’s just as a wise man once said. Everyone prays in despair, but no one prays in jubilation. If one prayed in jubilation, why would despair exist?”

  His words made sense. Too much sense for my young mind to ignore. Yet, a part of me burned to prove him wrong. I resolved to defy that wisdom. To defy what appeared to be the truth... Perhaps it was the birth of my obstinate nature which led me to it.

  So, I told myself I would only pray when I was happy and won’t even think about god in sorrow.

  I convinced myself that this was necessary to show that it wasn’t humanity that was selfish but the gods who inflicted misery to compel worship.

  But I failed.

  No matter how much I tried, it was nearly impossible to pray in joy and all too easy in sorrow. In my lowest, I turned to prayer, to faith. I couldn’t explain why.

  It wasn’t long before I began to understand—perhaps my father was right, maybe I was selfish like everyone else. Perhaps the world needed gods, despite the fact that they existed or not.

  The reason simply was not for morality born from the fear of hell. But for hope. The belief that someone was watching over us, that our suffering had purpose, that the chaos around us would lead to something meaningful.

  And so, I concluded that god was necessary as an object of worship. Something which people needed to cling to for hope… I knew that it was highly possible that a being like god didn’t even exist, yet I crafted theories and reasonings to justify what I believed.

  And yet… at this very moment, on this night, for the first time, I find myself doubting. Doubting what I once held as truth… and what I never did.

  Is he regenerating that guy’s entire arm?

  Ard’s eyes froze in disbelief. Before him, the celestial being’s hands emitted a soft, preternatural green glow. The light poured over the maim body lying beneath. To his astonishment, the twisted limb of the lying began to regenerate.

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  Violation of laws, a reversal of entropy. Miracle that nature itself had commanded to reverse its course.

  Flesh and bone fused seamlessly. Tissues layering upon muscles in a harmonious dance of creation. Within moments, the chopped arm was whole again. Fresh and flawless.

  This isn’t possible. Am I hallucinating?

  His rational mind rebelled. He rubbed his eyes furiously. Desperate to dispel the vision, but the scene remained unchanged. It was real.

  The cold air on his skin, the uneven earth beneath him. It was real.

  Moonlight filtered through the branches above, casting superlunary patterns of light and shadow.

  His body felt different. It was a weird sense of contradiction—light as air yet weighed down by an invisible force. He willed himself upright, every motion sluggish, his body resisting.

  One hand pressed against his forehead while the other trembled uncontrollably before his eyes. Useless, frail.

  Heart thumped, erratic and desperate.

  lubb–dup–lubb-dup

  “Am I dead?” he whispered to no one.

  No. No, I’m not. My heart—it’s racing too fast. This is real. It has to be, he thought. Then, a new wave of panic.

  Wait, where is Tiya?

  He turned his head sharply. His vision shifted to the motionless figure of a woman lying nearby. Wave of relief washed over him as he saw her chest rise and fall.

  She was breathing. She was alive.

  She’s fine. But how? We were in the car… driving… and then… the crash. We fell off a cliff. There’s no way we should’ve survived—not without a single scratch.

  Shaking off the fog of confusion, Ard’s eyes shifted to the stranger. The figure knelt a short distance away as his attention was fixed on two lifeless bodies lying before him.

  His long and beautiful snow-white hair shimmered under the moonlight. The being wore a robe. A pure white robe with resplendent golden borders. Even though his attire was simple, it exuded a beauty that defied comprehension.

  Top of his head rested on a delicate leaf-like crown made from gold.

  From his pale hands poured that same luminous green light.

  Is this his doing? Did he… did he save us?

  Ard’s thoughts clashed in a storm of awe and confusion. The being before him seemed to blur the line between myth and reality. A power far beyond human understanding.

  Is he… a God? There’s no other explanation. He has to be.

  Compelled by an unshakable force, Ard pushed himself to his feet.

  Staggering. Crawling. Stumbling.

  Slowly, he managed to close the distance between himself and the enigmatic figure. Each step felt like an eternity, but still he couldn’t stop as something beyond reason drew him closer.

  His heart raced, breath was ragged. Terror gripped his chest.

  As he reached the stranger, he felt an instinctive pull to kneel, to lower himself before a being whose very existence seemed to eclipse his own.

  Ard was nothing—a speck of dust, insignificant and unworthy of notice. Yet he couldn’t resist the question clawing its way to his lips.

  When I imagined God, I never pictured a figure or a face. No grand throne. No blinding light. Just emptiness. Infinite space. Pure consciousness adrift in the void. But this… this being…

  He fell to his knees, his voice trembling as he spoke. “Are you… are you God?”

  The stranger turned. His golden eyes—brighter and fiercer than the sun—turning towards Ard. His pale, flawless face betrayed no emotion, save for a faint flicker of confusion. Those piercing eyes scanned Ard with a gaze that seemed to see through him, to lay bare every secret, every thought Ard ever had.

  Ard’s breath hitched. Fear coiled in his chest, tightening with every second. A part of him wanted to flee, to escape the overwhelming presence before him. Yet another part, stronger and more desperate, held him in place, waiting for an answer.

  And then—