Chapter Text
Even with the weeping branches obscuring some of his vision, Minho was still able to observe the human that was rushing around his shrine.
Now, what this human was doing or why he was doing it in his shrine, Minho didn't know - what he did know was that it annoyed him greatly, just not enough for him to stand up and do something about it.
Not yet, at least.
It would be a bother to move and with that thought in mind, Minho closed his eyes and leaned back against the weeping willow’s trunk, the harsh bark rubbing his skin uncomfortably through the thin silk of his red robe. Minho had lived a nice existence of godhood for centuries, and had lived decades without anyone bothering to even visit his shrine. He couldn’t see any solid reasoning as to why he should move just because some urchin had decided to visit the shrine of a god long forgotten.
Silence had become a part of him in the hundreds of years he had existed in solitude. It had been a constant companion as years had drifted by with Minho always sitting in the spot under his willow, only the gurgling of the river behind him and whistling through the leaves to entertain him.
It had been years since anyone had dared enter his shrine. The stories about him were enough to create rumors and as his shrine had begun to fall into decay, well, the rumors had evolved all on their own, keeping anyone but the most desperate out of Minho’s shrine.
So why, he wondered, had this human, this young man, decided to visit his shrine and not even do anything other than run about doing something? Or nothing. Again, Minho wasn’t sure what he was doing in his shrine.
The strange man moved closer again, the sweep of his broom grating Minho’s ears. The human was noisy. Very noisy. Minho could barely hear his heartbeat or the exhale of his lungs as he breathed. As if that wasn't bad enough, there was a tread of energy hanging about the human, much stronger than any belonging to the stray cats Minho allowed to fill his shrine, and it was messing with Minho's sense. He was so used to being alone, or simply surrounded by the cats, that any disturbance of energy messed with his head.
Minho’s eyebrow twitched in annoyance.
He tried to ignore the sound. After all, humans were easily bored and while this was the first time Minho had seen the silly little human around, he was sure he would soon grow bored and leave just as quickly as he had arrived.
All Minho needed to do was be patient.
The human soon began to hum softly under his breath, the sweeping of the broom following the rhythm of his hushed singing. Minho didn’t recognize the song. Why should he? He hadn’t been around humans for hundreds of years, yet the cheerful tune wasn’t much different from the ones that used to be sung around his shrine many, many years ago.
Minho opened his eyes slowly, trying to stop the river of memories from filling his head. He didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to be reminded of the time he had loved music, when singing and laughter had filled his shrine and silence had been unknown to Minho’s sensitive ears.
Minho glared at the human running around his shrine, his long curly hair pulled up in a sloppy ponytail as he went about sweeping the courtyard. With every sweep, the leaves tainted by autumn flew up in the air before slowly descending, only for the motion to be repeated. Again. And again.
It was noisy.
Minho should do something about it. Just not yet. He was too comfortable hidden away in his little hideaway under the veil of the willow's branches. He had been sitting there so long, just waiting to be forgotten, to turn to stone, or perhaps become a part of the earth. Who knew what happened to forgotten gods? Certainly not Minho because no matter how much he struggled to become one with eternity, he somehow remained in people’s minds, forever unable to fade out of the world.
He supposed it was a fitting addition to his punishment that he couldn’t even blink out of existence. It was every god’s fear, and yet, here Minho was, longing for the numbness of nonexistence, and yet out of all gods he was not granted the relief.
Somehow he stuck around.
Minho pitied the human for having decided that his shrine was the one he was going to pay attention to. No other human would dream of entering through the charred gate, nor would anyone sane take the long walk up the broken stairs leading to the courtyard in which Minho’s shrine was built.
If it wasn’t because Minho was tied to this place, invisible shackles around his wrists holding him down, he too would have left when he had the chance.
Now, all he had was his rotten shrine, and, as it turned out, a human set on sweeping the forsaken place.
Minho wasn’t sure what other god had convinced the human to go to such an extent for a stupid prank - because it had to be for amusement alone that someone would dare enter the shrine of a god fallen from grace - but he surely hoped the human would get something good out of it. This had to warrant at least ten years of good luck or a prosperous marriage. Minho just hoped that the human would leave and never return as soon as the god responsible had had their laugh.
Minho was used to loneliness, and except for the few brave or lost souls who wandered into his shrine every now and then throughout the years, he was also forced to live in solitude.
Something he was perfectly content with, thank you very much.
Not even death would be kind enough to take him, so Minho had been forced to accept an eternity tied to the place he had once wronged and in his wrath destroyed. Minho had long ago come to accept that fact.
Shouldn’t the human have realized that an abandoned and charred shrine wouldn’t house a kindhearted god?
Minho scoffed when the human stumbled over his feet, the poor mortal looking flustered as he continued to sweep the courtyard, just as enthusiastically as before, if not more. Minho shook his head at the sight of the flushed cheeks on the human. Minho was almost entertained by the human but he was too tired to make anything of the hilarity of the moment.
Minho should do something about this. Poor thing probably didn’t even know he was being made a fool of. It was too cruel to continue, and it needed to be stopped. And so he did.
“Go home,” Minho yelled as he got to his feet, the blood-red silk of his robe sighing softly as he stood, the gold bangles on his ankles and wrists chiming melodiously as he took his first step out of his hiding place. The weeping willow’s drooping branches moved to the side as Minho walked through them, the silver chains tied to some of the branches softly tinkling as the wind played with them. Around his bare feet, the red fabric swooshed, tickling his ankles with each step he took. “You won’t gain anything from being here,” he added, stepping up the little row of stairs that led him onto the stone-covered courtyard.
The human looked up and squeaked when his eyes met Minho’s, the broom falling from his hands. His eyes were blown wide for just a second as his eyes drifted over Minho, eyes lingering on his face for a second too long. He was short, though Minho himself had never been considered tall, the human seemed even smaller and mortal surrounded by the leftover buildings of Minho’s shine. The entire place still reeked of divinity even after years of its deity being left to rot on his own.
There was some amusement at how well-built Minho’s shrine was. It had been attempted to be torn down many times, but it was simply too well made. Even after hundreds of years of abandonment, it still stood tall, the sanctuary and its richly decorated gates reaching for the sky next to them.
Minho hadn’t set foot inside that building since the last fire on the holy grounds was extinguished.
“That’s okay,” the human said, his voice soft and pleasant, if perhaps a bit hesitant. He jittered, thankfully seeming to have enough self-preservation to be slightly awed at Minho’s presence. “I like working,” he added with a small smile Minho might have found charming if it had been directed towards him a few hundred years earlier.
Now, Minho just found it hateful.
“Who’s paying you?” Minho sneered, eyes cold as he came to halt in front of the human, finally able to take in the appearance of the mortal who had been haunting his haunted shrine. “Who made you come here and disturb me?”
Minho was in some way surprised to find that the human wasn’t as young as he had assumed, not that the human had looked old from afar, but simply because Minho couldn’t imagine someone in their prime years agreeing to prank a god. He had expected a child, barely ready to leave his home, but the man before him could easily have seen twenty summers, perhaps even more with how his eyes seemed far wiser than his youthful face should allow.
Minho briefly wondered if Jeongin would be cruel enough to make Minho’s past fiascoes a constant reminder in the form of a believer, but quickly shook the thought away. The young fox god could be playful, but he would never be cruel. At least not to Minho.
The human swallowed audibly and looked a bit sheepish. “No one is paying me, your grace,” he said, scratching the back of his head. The curly ponytail followed along with the movement, swinging from side to side.
Minho decided to ignore the title and the hurt in his heart it brought with it.
“If no one is paying you, then why are you here?” Minho asked, tilting his head as he looked the human up and down, taking in the tattered clothing and the calloused hands. He looked like a farmer, so surely… “Shouldn’t you have better things to do?”
Time seemed to slip between Minho’s fingers too easily at the moment, but he was certain that harvest season should be upon them.
“I really don’t,” the human said with a shrug, smiling weakly at the god. “I like being useful.”
“Go be useful somewhere else then,” Minho said, his voice hard and angry. He bit the inside of his cheek, willing himself not to crack under the pressure of the sad eyes that were quickly directed at him. “There are better places to waste your time at. Trust me on that,” he added before he turned around, his robes fluttering in the wind as he walked away from the human, leaving him to stand alone in the courtyard. The bangles around his wrists and ankles chimed with every firm step, the sound being carried away easily on the wind.
This should be it. Hopefully, Minho would be left to his peace and quiet, another decade drifting along before his eyes as he just stared into nothingness, wishing to become nothing. Minho should be met with nothing but beautiful silence and numbing loneliness, just as he was cursed to.
No more sweeping, no more humans.
Humans, as Minho had learned fairly quickly, were vile creatures.
Once a human had decided they had gotten from you what they wanted, they were quick to dismiss you and throw you away. If you dared to go against them, they would tear you down, burn your home, and trick the other gods into punishing you for a crime you did not commit.
Humans, as Minho had always known, were creatures who only worked with unequal exchanges.
There was nothing that didn’t point in the direction that this human would be exactly the same as any other mortal.
Minho was not going to fall to his knees before yet another human.
He had learned his lesson long ago.
∞
Seemingly, the human had decided not to heed Minho’s commands. Not that it surprised Minho in the slightest, but it would have been nice to feel like he still possessed the power of his old self, and that he could banish someone from his home.
Minho sometimes missed the reverence that came with being an acknowledged god, but in the end, Minho had brought his own fate upon himself, and he would have to live with that.
What Minho couldn’t live with was the annoying humming coming from the human as he went about sweeping the courtyard once again, disturbing Minho and his afternoon nap under the weeping willow. Of course, Minho was a god and he didn’t need sleep, but that still didn’t grant the silly little mortal permission to mess with his rest time.
With a sigh, Minho dragged himself up from the ground, the grass tickling his bare feet as he trudged towards where the human had begun scrubbing the stone steps of the main building, knees of the hard stone floor as he moved with utmost efficiency.
Not even in Minho’s prime, where believers had come and gone at the shrine all day long, had anyone ever seemed so adamant to make sure his home looked as presentable as possible. And this wasn’t even the first time. No, so far the human had swept the whole courtyard, emptied all the buildings for broken furniture and moldy wood, he had broken out the tall and loose shutters and somehow replaced them all while Minho had been busy ignoring him. At current, he was scrubbing years of moss and lichen off the stones.
Minho would perhaps have felt touched if it wasn’t for the fact that the human had disturbed his precious leisure time and kept doing it even when Minho tried to chase him away at least every third day.
“Human,” Minho exhaled sharply as he stopped in front of the human, his toes peeking out from under his white silk robe, the material moving gently with his movements like clouds. He was a god after all, a true one born of wishes and desires, he knew how to be imposing and otherworldly. “I told you to leave, and yet you’re back here again,” he growled, the earth under them trembling slightly with his words.
It had been ages since Minho had used any of his powers and yet they flowed through him easily, filling him to the brim with otherworldly magic. The human should quiver under him, bend his head and heed his command.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he looked up, meeting Minho’s eyes happily, not minding that every single living being around them was holding their breath.
“Your grace,” the human said, the title making it run cold down Minho’s back. The human sat up, resting his weight on his knees as he looked up at Minho, the soft and gentle smile on his face making Minho feel slightly flustered. “I am simply cleaning your shrine,” he added, voice deep and smooth. There was no fear in his eyes, no hesitance or reproach.
Minho doubted he had ever seen eyes more honest than the brown ones staring back at him at that moment. It had been many years since the last time a human had gazed upon him with something other than fear.
Minho could only blink in confusion, the anger in him disappearing while everything around them relaxed as Minho’s grasp on the world relaxed.
“Well, don’t,” Minho said weakly, taking a step back as he gazed down at the human. He kept his face emotionless, as godlike as he could, hoping somehow he would get through to this idiot of a mortal. “I didn’t ask you to,” he added half-heartedly when the smile on the human’s face didn’t diminish. Minho’s stomach churned as the human continued to stare, his eyes so full of hope and happiness that Minho just felt like a sullen old badger ready to trample down a baby bird.
“I know you didn’t,” the human said, wiping his wet hands on his threadbare pants, the dark material already more than damp. “I am simply doing my job as your believer,” he added with a blinding smile.
That got Minho’s emotionless facade to crack, like small pieces of shattered ceramics falling to the ground between them as the god looked at the human in complete shock. Fear filled his veins, old remorse and despair flooding over and memories he tried so hard to keep away overflowed in his mind.
“My believer?” Minho asked, his voice trembling from emotions he hadn’t felt in a long while. Anger, pain, fear. All of it mingled together in a mix of terror and dread. “You’re no believer of mine,” Minho sneered when his initial shock faded. “They’re all dead,” he hissed angrily. He should know, he had seen their dead bodies, smelt the blood in the air, and felt the flames of his burning empire as they reached for him.
“Obviously not,” the human said unbeknownst to the terror spreading inside Minho. The silly mortal folded his hands in front of him as he kowtowed to Minho, the god glaring down at him with fury painted in his eyes. “My name is Chan,” the human said, returning from the bow to look at Minho, the pleasant smile for once splintering when he looked at the seething god in front of him.
Whatever bit of sanity Minho had left unraveled. No one should bow to Minho, no one should follow him, and no one should speak his name in praise. Minho didn’t deserve it, not after what happened to the last person who had dared bow to him and call themself a devout worshiper.
He still remembered how her eyes had been fixed on him, even in death.
“You are not a believer of mine,” Minho fumed, roughly reaching out to grab a hold of the human. The poor man squawked in surprise as he was pulled from the ground and dragged to his feet. His eyes were wide as they stared at Minho, but there was no fear, no familiar horror or trepidation.
Minho felt like he couldn’t breathe, like the puny body he had settled into a thousand years ago was suddenly too small to contain all of him. He felt sick, both from the human’s words but also from his own heart. Minho shouldn’t like being looked at with that much hope and reverence. But he did and that terrified him.
He was a bad person, a devil in disguise, and this stupid human needed to be taught that.
“Your grace?” The human asked, wide eyes still clinging to Minho as he hung uselessly from Minho’s hands. “I don’t mean any harm. I simply want to devote my life to your shrine, to pay-”
“Silence!” Minho yelled and the whole valley grew silent at his words. Even the wind stopped whistling as it played with the leaves from the weeping willow. “I do not have followers, I do not have believers, and I do not accept devotion from anyone!” Minho said, the sky above them darkening with his words as his anger burned brighter and hotter. Thunder cracked in the distance as Minho turned around and pulled the insolent human along, intent on kicking him out of his shrine. For good. "You will never become a believer of mine,” Minho said, his words echoing the vow he had made to himself when he had been thrown out of the heavens.
He had promised himself there would be no more. That he would become like the mountains and like the rivers, that he would keep his soiled hands from the world and let it pass him by in blissful ignorance. No puny farmer could change that.
“Your grace,” the human, Chan, pleaded when Minho dragged him past the tall gate and down the long flight of stairs leading to his shrine. The bangles around Minho’s ankles were the only source of sound, echoing alongside the thunder with every step down the wide stone stairs. The human's feet kicked and slapped on the steps as the wind picked up, pulling at Minho’s black hair, the long strands dancing wildly in the gushes of air. “Please, your grace, I promise I will stop disturbing you, just let me repay you…”
Minho ignored his blabbering until he felt the telltale sign that he had reached the borders of his shrine and the curse that kept him from leaving his shrine tugged inside of him. It was a searing pain, blinding him as he pushed himself to the limits of his shrines' borders. There was still a long line of steps left down to the road that would lead the silly human away.
“Do not plead to a disgraced god,” Minho warned as he let go of Chan, shoving him to the ground as he towered over him. He could feel his divine power in his veins, could feel how he straddled the line between life and death, somehow being more than both. The human suddenly seemed so fragile in his hands. “Do not return here. You are not welcome.”
“Your grace,” Chan pleaded, eyes huge and unafraid as he stared up at Minho. “Please, I beg you-”
“Leave,” Minho commanded, voice booming like the thunder echoing around them. Rain began to fall, the drop hurtling towards the earth and filling the valley with Minho’s anger and disparity. “Leave before you regret it,” he said, eyes alit with anger as he turned around and walked up the stairs. Under his bare feet, the stray rocks broke and turned to dust.
“Don’t plead with a god whose only ability is to create monsters out of humans,” Minho whispered to himself as he walked under the charred gate, the feeling of home and comfort this path once had given him long gone. He breathed in, sadness quelling his anger as the thunder silenced and the angry rain turned slower, washing over Minho’s face like tears.
He had tried so hard to just be, to not think, to disappear into the world and become nothing. He had buried his hurt and his anger so deep he thought it was all gone, but all it had taken to tear it down was one silly human. An insignificant little mortal with wild hair and kindhearted eyes.Minho paused under the arch of the gate leading to his shine, the weather running over him and soaking into the silk of his robes. He didn’t feel the cold of the wind, didn’t feel the bite of the chilly water. It had been so long since Minho had felt anything.
He looked up at the clouded skies, the sunlight barely breaking through the gray cover.
“You must be enjoying this,” he said to the heavens, silently cursing them for bringing all of this upon him, for lying to his followers, for twisting their minds, and for turning them against him.
He cursed them for the blood he had willingly gotten on himself when he as a deity should never have been tainted with the blood of mortals.
Minho cursed them out, and then he crumpled to the ground, heartbreaking sobs tearing through his chest at having once again turned away a precious human who had willingly called himself a believer of Minho.
Minho knew that his days as a god to worship were over, but that didn’t stop the desire of caring from filling him up from the inside, slowly turning bitter and sour from not being indulged. Minho was a god after all, and gods were meant to help, to fill the empty spaces in humanity's hearts and carry them through hardships and chaos. And Minho missed it, missed the devotion, missed the times when his shrine had been filled with song and laughter, when people sought him out for help, when he could help them with just a flick of his finger, when he could lighten the burden of life, when their devotion and prayer had filled him like food and water and made his body light and powerful.
It was so much better than now where he just felt weak and powerless, his body empty and cold, denied the powers and nourishment of a true god. He was starving, thirsting, and hurting and had been so for centuries. Chan’s declaration of belief had been like a balm, a short second of nourishment for Minho’s aching body.
But he couldn’t accept him. Minho wasn’t worthy. Not anymore.
Minho hoped Chan never returned.
He didn’t have the heart to send him away another time.
∞
Minho kept his eyes closed and tried to ignore the world around him. He breathed in, allowing the air he didn’t need to settle in his lungs before he released it.
Minho wished his existence would simply cease.
He would be like the mountains, like the rivers and the sky reflected above them. He would let time slip through his fingers, let time pass him by until he was forgotten, until his shrine crumbled to dust and there would be no one but him, strangled by nature and lost to a time long passed. If it was possible, Minho would have left the plane of consciousness long ago. However, life clung to Minho like the vines that, before Chan’s interventions, had been swallowing up the crumbling remains of his shrine, holding it together with a last strong-willed attempt at keeping Minho tethered to life.
It seemed he would never get his wish fulfilled.
Minho ignored how it was too quiet, how the loss of the heartbeat of the human, of Chan, had become so familiar that he now missed it. He ignored how the wind sounded sorrowful as it whistled past him, tugging restlessly at the willow’s branches, the lack of noise filling so much more than the knocking and scraping ever had.
Minho breathed in again, holding time in his hands as he allowed the seconds and hours to slip through his fingers.
He would have been happy to just be like this, but as it always was when it came to Minho, he was interrupted.
“Yoo-hoo,” an annoyingly familiar voice called out, the voice of a certain fox god screeching in Minho’s ear as his eyes blinked open only to see his view disturbed by the drooping branches of his willow.
“Go away,” Minho muttered sullenly as he sighed, the hands on his knees twitching as the noise above him continued. The long wispy branches of the willow danced as the fox god continued to mess around above Minho. “I haven't allowed you to enter,” Minho added, ignoring how his chest felt a little lighter at the sound of the young god’s laughter.
Minho relaxed his position, back hitting the rough bark of the willow’s trunk behind him, a curve perfectly fitting his back embracing him. It should after all, as the willow had sprung and grown around Minho from where he had collapsed at the riverside all those centuries ago, the blood on his hands tainting the water red.
To this day, Minho still didn’t remember when he had become conscious once again, but when he had opened his eyes next, the willow had grown into an adult tree, the river current having claimed more land, and the first signs of raidings visible on his shrine.
“Esteemed Lord Minho,” the fox god yelled again, a hysterical giggle escaping him after addressing Minho with the formality of a mortal to a god. “I beg of you to allow me to tread before you,” the little god giggled, the willow's branches dancing wilder as he continued to move around over Minho’s head, rustling and creaking filling the air around them.
Minho rolled his eyes, and whistled, effectively drawing the attention of the god that soon enough poked his head through the branches, gazing down at Minho like he was a small child. His long and straight platinum hair drifted around him, making his dark amber eyes seem even more striking as he stared down at Minho, a mischievous smile on his face.
He truly looked like an overgrown child sometimes.
“Lord Minho,” Jeongin snickered, his sharp eyes alight with mirth as the pointed ears on top of his head moved with the tilt of his head. “How may I serve you, your grace?” The fox god asked, earning himself a glare from Minho.
“Jeongin,” Minho said as he looked up at the young god. Jeongin’s smile was sharp, all teeth and trouble and yet Minho couldn’t help the soft feeling that filled his chest at the sight of the little fox. “What brings you here?” He asked, patting the spot beside himself, inviting the god to sit down if he so desired.
“I was bored,” Jeongin huffed out a breath as he jumped down from the branch he was perched on. He landed in a flutter of rich silk and fur, the long tails behind him swaying like the branches hiding them from the outside world. “None of the others are around for me to bother, so I assumed it was a sign from above that I should go here instead. You know how much fun you are to be around,” he said, rolling his eyes affectionately as he sat down next to Minho, his long platinum hair mingling into the endless line of golden and silvery embroidery on his clothing.
Minho couldn’t help but look down at his own blood-red robe. He had to look so plain next to Jeongin with his long black hair, unadorned clothes, and only the bangles around his wrist and ankles to remind anyone of his previous riches.
“Minho, my friend, entertain your humble fox god,” Jeongin whined when Minho remained silent and trapped within his own musings. “I am bored,” he repeated, reaching over to tug at Minho’s wide sleeves.
“You’re far from humble,” Minho said as he stared at the boy beside him. The child looked richer than Minho ever had with his fur-lined collar, embroidered red and gold robes, and the long white fox tails wagging excitedly behind him. “However, if you so desire, I will keep you company until you grow tired of me and leave on your own accord,” Minho muttered, trying to hide his smile.
“Thank the heavens,” Jeongin sighed, dramatically throwing his arms around as he leaned back, mischievous eyes never once leaving Minho. “I was almost afraid you’d send me away. Every single deity knows I’d die if I had to beg Jisung to play around with me,” the fox grinned, eyes crinkling into little half-moons.
The wind danced past them, pulling at Jeongin’s hair. Minho watched him fondly. While he was a newer god there was no doubting the young fox’s powers. Sitting this close, Minho could feel it thrumming through him, jittering and restless like lightning. Jeongin looked opulent in his rich silk and pristine white furs, gold rings decorating his pointy fox ears, but there was no denying the wildness in his dark amber eyes. Neither was there any denying the danger of the long sword strapped to his side, the wicked blade catching the sunlight with every slight movement Jeongin made.
“How do you want me to entertain you, then?” Minho asked, allowing his hand to rest on top of Jeongin’s ankle, the soft fabric warm under his fingers. He would never admit it, but the day the little fox had stumbled into his shrine had been one of the happiest in Minho’s long life. He knew it had been a dare, an act of defiance against the old gods, to show them that Jeongin might be young, but he wasn’t afraid.
Minho suspected Jeongin had been just as surprised as the old gods when Minho hadn’t chased him out, but instead offered him to sit, listening as the little fox excitedly asked about Minho’s past as he shared all the recent gossip from the world of the gods. The excited jabber had been a small blessing for Minho. Still was, to be completely honest. Now more so than ever, though that had nothing to do with the silly little human. It wasn’t like the shrine had been quiet. It hadn’t. It was just nice to have someone sitting next to him, some life.
It had nothing to do with the lack of noise. Nothing. Nothing to do with the lack of a certain someone.
“Tell me how you ascended,” Jeongin suggested, giving Minho an expectant look. Minho blinked confused, head tilting slightly to the side as he looked at the fox, drifting away from his own thoughts and back to reality. “Please,” Jeongin tagged on like he had forgotten the word in the first place. Minho both loved and hated the blatant disrespect found in fox gods and Jeongin was perhaps the first one in centuries Minho would accept being cheeky.
He at least had the power to back up his disrespect.
Still, ascension wasn’t something Minho had gone through so he couldn’t even tell Jeongin that story. Minho wasn’t a mortal who had made such a great impact on the world around them that he had become a deity. He wasn’t a revered spirit, a brave mortal, or a vengeful ghost.
No, Minho was born out of a wish.
A wish for victory.
A wish so deep and powerful that Minho had bloomed into existence, taking his first steps on a bloodied battlefield, painted red by the gift of his very first favor. He could scarcely remember it, his first steps, but he remembered the blood, the filling rush of gratefulness from his creators as they won, as their wish came true. And thus Minho granted them more victories and many more to come through centuries.
His whole legacy was written in blood.
Once Minho had been the greatest god known to mankind, his influence stretching from the north and all the way to the south, rumors of what praying to him could and would accomplish. Minho had been rich in followers and believers, and amongst the other deities, he had been a thorn in the eye, a rose that should have withered a long time ago.
Gods born from wishes shouldn’t grow old and powerful, but somehow Minho had stuck, becoming as mighty as the old gods, laying the foundation for the gods that would follow him. No ascended god was stronger than him, no other wish was ever as powerful as the one that had birthed him. Minho had been born to be divine, strong, and powerful.
But at some point, the palace crumbled like the sand it had been built out of, every single grain slowly losing its footing as it came crashing over him.
Minho was a god, but he had never been a kindhearted one, and the blood on his hands and the scorched shrine he called his home were more than enough proof of his hubris.
“Minho?” Jeongin’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts once more. Minho blinked, the past disappearing as his eyes zeroed in on the young fox looking at him with concern, his ears twisting nervously.
Minho squeezed Jeongin’s hand, still under his palm, and smiled softly.
“You’re not getting my ascension story today,” he told the young god who pouted in return. “That is far too long and old for now. Also very boring,” Minho added with a mysterious smile.
“Unfair,” Jeongin muttered, crossing his arms and pouting adorably. “I feel like every other god has something on you and yet I get nothing,” he added with a sigh. Minho’s eyes narrowed and he made sure to remember to ask Jisung how the older gods were treating Jeongin the next time he came by. After all, Minho knew how young and powerful gods were excluded by the old waning ones.
Minho wouldn’t allow those old beasts to hurt Jeongin. They could punish him all they wanted, but they shouldn’t dare put a hand on Jeongin. Minho would break every damn barrier and curse they placed upon him to avenge the little fox if need be.
“You’re getting my grand company,” Minho said with a soft smile, hiding his murderous intent towards anyone from the little fox. “Is that not enough?” Minho teased, reaching out to pinch Jeongin's ears.
“It’s decent at most,” the young god complained, ears wiggling as he pulled out of Minho’s grip rolling around on the ground. “Tell me something about yourself,” Jeongin asked, peering up at Minho with large amber eyes. “Pretty please,” he added, the corners of his mouth turning downwards in a sad grimace.
“No,” Minho said, crossing his arms over his chest as he tore away his eyes from Jeongin’s pleading look. His lips twitched as he held back a smile when he heard Jeongin whine in annoyance.
“Please,” Jeongin begged, a pout clear in his tone. “Minhooooo, tell me,” he groaned, kicking his legs and making the silk of his robes huff. Once a beast, always a beast, Minho mused, eyes drifting over to see the little fox’s many tails wiggling in annoyance at Minho’s lack of cooperation.
Really, he was adorable.
“No,” Minho said sternly, hoping he would be able to not crack under the pressure of Jeongin’s drooping ears. Even the tails were beginning to drop. “I'm not telling you how I ascended. I don’t feel like it,” he said, chest light as he teased the young god.
“I know you want to,” Jeongin said with a huff, giving up on his fake sadness to look up at Minho with sharp eyes. “You’re always so talkative,” he muttered, eyes narrowing even more as he watched Minho with every bit of his previous predatory demeanor.
If Minho hadn’t been centuries old he would have been mildly intimidated. Instead, Minho clicked his tongue and shook his head. He couldn’t argue with that. He did like to talk, to Jeongin in particular. He felt a little less gone whenever Jeongin had been by.
“Okay. I’ll tell you a story. Not of my creation, but another one,” he said, trying but failing to quell the smile that appeared on his face when Jeongin whooped and sat up attentively, his white tails moving excitedly behind his back. “I am, or rather, was a god of war,” he began, making room for Jeongin when the young god laid down on his lap, looking up at Minho with eager eyes.
“I’ve weighed and decided endless battles, started wars and ended them… I’ve built empires and taken them apart,” Minho said, allowing his hand to drift down Jeongin’s silky white hair. “But once I played the role of a harvest god,” he continued with a smile.
“A harvest god?” Jeongin frowned and gave Minho a disbelieving look, the red markings on his face bright and vibrant even in the shaded light making its way through the overhanging leaves. The markings were usually hidden, only peeking out when the young god got excited. “Who would ask you for a good harvest?”
“I know how it sounds,” Minho said, laughing gently at the memory. “But somehow this little human boy had made its way into my shrine, some summers ago. He was thin and frail, and he asked me to help his father’s harvest become bountiful so they could survive the drought,” he continued, fingers playing with Jeongin’s hair.
He barely remembered the kid, but he remembered his dark eyes. Sad and desperate as he stared up at Minho, all skin and bones.
“I remember that drought,” Jeongin said, smiling when Minho drifted his hands through the shiny locks again, almost purring under the attention. “Seungmin was really busy that year, granting luck left and right,” he added, a sly smile making its way onto his lips. “Jisung and I made a mess of a group of government officials who were hoarding grains for themselves,” he grinned sharply, sharp canines peeking out as his amber eyes darkened.
“I’m proud,” Minho said, remembering the ruckus that had been among the gods who had been supported by the corrupt men. Jisung and Jeongin had done well on overturning them. There were few things Minho despised more than corrupt men lining their own pockets when people were suffering. He had always made a point out of letting that kind of person lose any war they had begged for his favor in. “Anyways, I granted the child his wish, and never heard from him again,” he finished, laughing loudly when Jeongin looked at him like he had to be joking.
“You’re pulling my leg, right?” The young god asked, disbelieving. “That’s not the full story. There has to be more,” he protested getting up on his elbows so he could glare at Minho again.
“There’s really not,” Minho said truthfully. The boy had asked for a good harvest and Minho had granted that wish. It had been a long time since anyone had last asked him for anything, and well, Minho had been in a good mood that day. The only thing Minho had asked in return for granting the child’s wish was that he never told anyone about Minho. “The story ends with a good harvest.”
“Did you at least gain something from it?” Jeongin asked, eyes once more drifting down to the shrine that still looked worse for wear. “An offering, a promise of spreading the word of a new god in town or anything?”
“Nothing,” Minho shrugged. He was content with not being treated like a god. He would take his punishment in full, just as the old gods had intended. “I didn’t ask for anything.”
“Damn, you grew boring,” Jeongin huffed, rolling out of Minho’s hands so he could sit up and cross his arms. “Changbin told me how much of a vicious god you used to be, how cities cowered at your feet, and how kings offered every speck of gold they had in their possession to you. How -”
“Jeongin,” Minho said sharply, making the young god stop his spiel. “Don’t speak of things you don’t understand. You will never know my past so stop meddling around in things you don’t understand,” he said, not letting too much of his self-hatred drift into his voice. Minho hadn’t been a good god and he wasn’t foolish enough to ever delude himself or anyone about that.
“Okay,” Jeongin said, his eyes a bit apprehensive.
“Tell me about your latest endeavors,” Minho said, hoping to pull the fox god onto a new topic. “You must have teased someone of importance,” he said, reaching out to grasp Jeongin’s hand, the bangles on his wrists chiming softly. Clearly, it worked since Jeongin threw himself out on an epic retelling of the time he tricked a minor god into being his personal assistant for a week, claiming it would grant him more believers.
Suddenly, Jeongin sat up, his ear perked as he listened for something.
“You have a visitor,” he simply said, glancing at Minho over his shoulder. “A human visitor,” he added, drawing the words out as he stood up, tails wagging mischievously. Minho frowned, not able to feel anything had changed. But then again, Minho’s senses had dimmed significantly in the last few centuries. It had been ages since he had felt anything but the wind and the rain.
“I’ll handle it,” Minho said, quickly getting to his feet and placing a hand on the fox god’s shoulder as he brushed aside the branches and made his way out to his courtyard. Minho blinked, almost confused as he took in the red sea around him. Was it autumn already?
The stones were cold under his feet, the late afternoon sun having never fully succeeded in warming them before the clouds had swallowed it up. Minho tried to ignore it as sharp stones poked into the soles of his feet. Perhaps Minho understood why his human had decided to tidy up the place, sweeping and scrubbing the stones leading up to the tall and imposing sanctuary of his shrine.
The place looked haunted and abandoned, and yet, a deity was living here. The human had probably taken pity on him when he had stumbled across the charred shrine. Really, what other reason could there be to hang around this place? Minho had to admit it did look a lot better now. Even in the short time the silly human had been here he had done remarkable work.
The place looked much closer to what it had in its heyday.
Minho couldn't keep the bitter taste in his mouth at bay before the stickiness and itchiness of pity made him feel less than unworthy. Minho had used to be a grand god, feared and admired, and yet here he was, in an abandoned shrine, and a piteous human trying to refurbish it. Sometimes he wished the shrine had perished; That time and the weather had torn it apart and that his powers hadn’t shielded it, that Minho’s mere presence hadn’t protected it and kept it from falling into decay.
Really, it had been centuries. If there had been any justice, Minho should have been left to history, a myth, a forgotten god. But yet, here he was, still walking, shrine still standing and all good he could put to his name was that his shrine was full of stray cats and the weeping willow that had grown around him.
What a miserable god he truly was. A god more than fallen from grace.
The shrine's square was empty when Minho stepped through the gate. His eyes drifted around the place, trying not to notice the fresh paint and the new shutters or the clean stones. He frowned, feeling like it looked different than the last time he was down there. He could have sworn the main building had a hole in the wall that wasn’t there anymore.
With a frown, Minho reached out in his mind wrangling his dull and neglected powers into working, searching for the intruder, and felt something foreign around the gardens behind the main sanctuary. Minho’s eyes drifted over his shoulder as he crossed the square, eyes lingering on the worship hall as he made his way over to the gardens, barely noticing when his feet were once again walking on the soft grass as he stepped out the gate.
One day, Minho hoped his shrine wouldn’t be painful to walk through.
The gardens behind the shrine were neglected as everything else and yet they had kept much of their flourish. The tea fields were still there, almost frozen in time yet on the verge of overgrowing. Herbs were growing in neat lines with weeds filling up the space between and if Minho squinted he could almost fool himself into thinking that nothing had changed.
He followed the small path, smiling as he spotted a few of the stray cats he knew lived at the shrine, feeding on the mice that were reproducing in the ruins.
As the god turned around one of the many trees that filled out the edges of the garden, he spotted a figure crouched down beside the water fountain, making small cooing noises at the stray cats gathered around him.
“Chan,” Minho said, scaring the human who tumbled forward with a small yelp before he turned around and looked at the god with wide eyes. He looked thinner, Minho mused. More tired. There were branches in his hair and he looked worn down.
Minho crossed his arm, hiding his worry behind a mask of indifference.
“Hi,” the human said hesitantly, glancing back at the stray cats behind him. “Long time no see,” he added with an awkward smile. Around him, the cats purred, crowding closer and bumping up against his legs and hands.
“What are you doing here?” Minho asked, trying to keep his voice level. He hated how relieved he felt at seeing the silly human, how his heart filled at the sight of his many stray cats crowding around his human like he was Minho himself.
“The cats,” Chan rushed, the words barely understandable before he continued. “The strays. I’m feeding them because I noticed they looked sickly thin,” he said, hands drifting over the back of one of the cats. Minho’s eyes followed the movement only now noticing how skinny a few of the cats were now that Chan had pointed it out.
“I hoped it would be okay,” Chan added, looking like he was fearing Minho would kick him out again, which to Minho seemed fair enough since he had indeed already kicked him out once. Chan was either very brave or an idiot for returning after having been chased out. Minho was pretty sure it was the first one. He hated to admit it, but a small seed of admiration bloomed in his chest as he observed the human carefully, a decision forming inside his head. “I’ll leave if you want me to, but please just let me finish feeding the cats-”
“You can stay,” Minho said, his words clearly startling Chan who looked up at home with shock written on his face. “I will allow you to stay… or rather, I will allow you to return,” he added, keeping his arms crossed protectively over his chest.
“I can stay?” Chan repeated, his words hesitant like he thought he had misheard Minho. “Really?” He added, falling back so he sat flat on his behind on the ground.
Minho’s lips twitched, amused by his little human.
He had perhaps been too rash, as long as Chan didn’t worship him but simply took care of the cats he supposed there would be no harm done. Humans like Chan were rare. Minho allowed his eyes to rest on the human, his weak powers still lingering so he could see how righteous he was. Minho could see his integrity, his good heart, his kindness, and his bravery. And perhaps Minho’s heart melted a little as the many cats rubbed up against Chan, purring and fighting for his attention.
Minho would be a lousy god if he stopped a human from doing an act of kindness.
And Chan did look cute surrounded by the stray cats.
“To take care of the strays,” Minho specified, nodding towards where the cats were pawing at Chan’s leg, clearly begging for more treats. “You can return to feed them, to take care of them. Nothing more. I do not accept devotion or prayers, Chan, you are here for the cats and the cats only,” he said, trying to keep his voice bland. “Once you have seen to the cats, you leave.”
“Of course,” Chan said, nodding enthusiastically, his eyes bright under the afternoon sun. “The strays. I’ll… I’ll take care of them. I promise,” Chan said, a smile on his face as a big bushy cat crawled into his lap. “And… I’ll leave again. I promise. Thank you,” he added, voice trembling as he looked at Minho with grateful eyes.
Minho’s poor heart skipped a beat and he had to look away, a strange feeling spreading in his chest. Really, not even Jeongin looked that cute.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Minho said, turning around on his heel, his red robes fluttering in the gentle zephyr that went through the gardens. “And remember, Chan, you cannot stay,” he added as he walked away.
He wasn’t happy that Chan would visit frequently, still worried that the man would get ideas, but someone needed to feed the cats. Chan, unlike Minho, could leave the shrine to get what they needed. It seemed like a good solution. Perhaps the shrine would also grow a lot less quiet.
Minho could learn to live with that.