Chapter Text
What makes a god?
A god is defined as a force of nature, a manifestation of an ancestral principle, or even a being that has transcended beyond their mortal limitations and ascended into something greater. Some are even born or granted unimaginable powers and abilities. They are deities blessed with unmatched skills and wisdom, and humans look towards them in hopes to gain favor. They are something to be feared, to be respected, and most importantly, to be worshiped.
Times have changed however and those gods have gone and ascended, passing the mantle to newer, less vengeful, heirs. Rather than rule the humans and demand sacrifices in exchange for grand miracles, the new gods exist to help in forms of small blessings and talismans distributed throughout the land.
Amongst these newly crowned gods is Lord Bokuto Koutarou, the god of safe travel.
Koutarou knows he’s a vital god, good at his job too. He is friends with all of the local spirits, takes his godly duties very seriously, and does his best not to cause trouble for all the other gods. In return, he is revered often in the form of salutations to loved ones such as “get home safe!”, “have a safe trip”, and the occasional opulent “Bon Voyage”. Sure, it’s not a direct address to him, but he receives these well wishes and considers them prayer adjacent enough to send down his blessings– so yeah, he’d definitely say he’s important, benevolent, kind – and if asked, he’d confirm how much he loves helping the humans. It’s a duty and an honor.
But on occasion, he thinks the humans are a little… ungrateful towards him.
It’s not a thought he thinks often. Actually, it’s not as much of a thought at all, more of a subconscious feeling of inadequacy– but in Koutarou’s defense, New Years is typically a depressing time for most gods who don’t receive prayers, and his results have always been heartbreaking to say the least.
This year is no different. The moment the final light of new dawn closes, the gods are summoned to congregate in the Heavens to obtain their annual delegations. From then on, they will descend and grant blessings to those who bear their charms and provide ample offerings. As years pass and traditions fade, celebrating the new year has become less about prayers and is geared more towards trendy trinkets. The new gods know better though. The quantity of honors received doesn’t matter as long as they do their jobs. It’s more than a popularity contest.
But let's be honest, it totally is.
Omamori Sales Rankings
Katsumori – Success; Victory
Shiawase – Happiness
Kaiun – Good Fortune
Yakuyoke – Warding off Evil & Misfortune
Kenko – General Good Health
…
Kotsu-anzen – traffic safety; protection for travelers
“Darn it!” Koutarou clutches his head in denial as he looks at the bulletin board. He sort of expects it at this point, but it still stings to see his name near the bottom of the ranks. Honestly, it’s embarrassing when the humans don’t pull through for him considering all he does for them.
“Oof, bottom of the board again? Better luck next time Bo.” Hoshiumi teases as he scans the rankings, making the starry-eyed god deflate further. His remark is met immediately with a sharp smack on the head.
“Think before you speak, Hoshiumi.” Iwaizumi chides. “You’d think the God who provides happiness would understand better than anyone not to take joy at other peoples’ expense.”
“Am I wrong though? I’m just stating facts!” The smaller god throws his arms up in protest. “Back me up here, Sakusa!”
The dark clad god grumbles and shakes his head, choosing to sink further into the corner and away from the crowd of deities instead of participating in the discussion. Meanwhile, Asahi is kind enough to approach him with a shy yet warm smile.
“I understand that you might feel bad, but trust me, it’s not all that it’s cracked up to be,” he pats his shoulder as an attempt to comfort him. “Considering the circumstances for our blessings…”
Asahi’s voice trails off, unsure how to finish his statement, but Koutarou hears him loud and clear, not every prayer is a “Blessing.” In the corner, Koutarou also catches Sakusa's shoulders tensing up before returning to a neutral position.
Visions of mass hysteria, plague, atrocity, and extortion over the past few years played in his head. Humanity was terrified, imprisoned in their homes and reluctant to leave the false sense of security, and in response, they looked to Sakusa for aid. Meanwhile, Asahi has always been a powerfully revered god, a mirror to Iwaizumi’s blessings of fortune, but his patrons pleaded rather than prayed. While many gods served the general public, he served the damned, desperate, and forgotten. Great, now he feels like a dick.
A pit forms in Koutarou’s stomach. “When you put it that way, I guess I shouldn't complain. Sorry…for complaining.”
“No, no, no! Your feelings are totally valid. You should feel bad, I mean–I would feel bad, just not bad for us. It’s good to know humans can depend on us, so like, don’t feel bad, bad for us. I’m just saying–”
“Enough,” Ushijima interjects. “Your patronizing fumblings only serve to distress him further, Azumane.”
Asahi flinches and dips his head shamefully. “I-I’m sorry. I misspoke…”
“Indeed, but no matter, so long as there is evil in the world, we all have a duty to aid the humans. Your blessings happen to be a necessity. Bokuto’s blessings are not categorized as such.”
Ouch, thanks Ushiwaka… Koutarou winces at the ever blunt statement, the pit hollowing into a cavern of guilt and insecurity.
“Very well, if there is no further business to address,” Ushijima scans the room, lingering a second longer over Koutarou’s wilting posture. “This gathering is adjourned. Disperse yourselves accordingly.”
Koutarou finds himself stuck in place while the rest of his peers file out of the congregation. He should go back home and receive his list of obligatory tasks, ensuring those who obtained souvenirs and generic paper wishes a safe trip home from their respective temples, properly ensuring all omamoris are properly returned and effectively burned, but he didn’t have the will to do all that, much less move. Once he was sure he was alone, he crumpled to the floor and curled into a ball. Ushijima’s words warp and echo in his head, whispering that he’s useless and unnecessary. He knows it's not true, but he feels like a fraud.
Was he being irrational? Definitely.
Is he going to stop? Probably not anytime soon. No, he’s too busy throwing a pity party for himself right now to be productive. It’s not like he has actual duties to fulfill since he’s so unfavored and undeserving. Even if he did, he’d probably just flub it–
“Ah! There you are, Koutarou!”
Eh? Koutarou rolls over to look towards whoever interrupted his depressed rambling, curious eyes scanning past the tapestries and columns until they land on a familiar figure.
“U-Ten!” He instantly springs up from the floor and runs over to bring the former God-turned-messenger into a hug. Tenma startles a laugh as Koutarou effortlessly lifts and swings him from side to side. “It’s been forever!”
“I was the one who summoned you for the New Year's gathering, Bo.”
Oh yeah, Koutarou immediately shrinks, the previous thoughts returning with a vengeance along with a newfound spark of annoyance towards Tenma. “Why did you summon me? I never get prayers, you know this.”
Tenma just chuckles and ruffles his hair, already used to his abrupt mood shifts.
“It’s not for nothing, trust me.” The smaller God grins at him brightly before pulling out a small compass and gingerly pressing it into his hand. “Here.”
Koutarou looks down at the device placed in his hand, confusion etched on his face as he turns it back and forth. Did one of the other gods forget to grab it? Was Koutarou supposed to deliver it or something?
“I don’t get it.” His brows furrow. “Who’s this for?”
“This is for you.”
“No?” Koutarou frowns, unamused. Whatever joke was being played on him, it wasn’t funny in the slightest. “These are for talismans. My blessings don’t offer those.”
Tenma chuckles and shakes his head. “This one’s special, just for you. Consider it a late inheritance.”
“I still don’t get it. Who’s on the other end of this?”
“Dunno.” Tenma coyly shrugs and winks at him. “I suggest you follow it and find out.”
“Wait–How will I know?”
“You’ll see! Now go!” Before Koutarou questions him further, Tenma snaps his fingers and disappears.
Tenma is definitely messing with him, that’s got to be it. Koutarou grumbles as he floats along from city to city, following every which way the obviously broken compass points towards. At first, the device was going haywire the moment he entered the mortal realm, rapidly spinning in circles for minutes until it suddenly stopped. When he started going the direction it was pointing towards, it started spinning again. Every few minutes, it would pause again, sometimes point in the same general direction, other times, pointing elsewhere. He pushes forward though, curiosity and a bit of spite outweighing his frustrations.
And let the record know, Koutarou was FRUSTRATED, rightfully so.
Koutarou has no idea where he’s headed or who exactly he’s looking for, but he keeps trailing after it–them? Them . He lets out another huff of annoyance as he notices the needle start to twitch once more and half expects it to haphazardly spin again, but it merely shifts counterclockwise, guiding him further east.
Next thing he knows, Koutarou speeds along, turning every few miles until he reaches a peculiar looking glass building surrounded by odd signs and structures. He descends closer to the ground and scans the surrounding area, glancing over all of the passing cars lined along the busy street, pointing the compass towards every person that waves and enters the vibrant yellow vehicles, only to come up empty when the needle shifts. He continues to mindlessly turn until the needle points forward, and then he feels it.
The compass vibrates twice in his palm, telling him to stop. Unable to keep in his excitement, Koutarou grins as his head whips up, only to fall when he’s face to face with the glass building from before, if he could even call it such. His eyes narrow as he further inspects it, noting the lack of any particular proper decorum and the suspicious markings painted along certain surfaces, perhaps glyphs or wards. He doubts it’s a temple though as the pews don’t seem to lead to an altar or statue.
This looks like a portal to Hell… In reality, Koutarou isn’t sure where the entrance leads to. All he can see is a stairway leading underground. Well, if this is where I need to go, let’s go!
Koutarou wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he entered. Based on the outside, he figured it was a fancy, artificial cavern. It could possibly be filled with agriculture or geodes, or whatever humans like to harvest in abundance. If that were the case though, it wouldn’t make much sense why he was sent here. None of those things relate to traveling.
Perhaps he’ll find a vehicle collection? Submarines? Secret horse ranch– do humans still ride horses? Koutarou misses the horse era.
All he found was endless isles of concrete, more painted sigils, and colorful sheets of pages strewn across the floors and walls. He looks around to see a mass of humans stumbling around, some rushing every which way in distress while others dragged their feet with haunted expressions.
It was horrible. Maybe he did end up in Hell.
Oof, it certainly smells like it. He wrinkles his nose in disdain, nearly gagging as a waft of sulfur hits his senses. Why did I end up here?
His thoughts are interrupted by an ominous hum that was soon overshadowed by a trembling roar. Despite being suspended from the ground, Koutarou still felt the trembles as the ground quakes beneath him. He looked up in alarm, expecting the humans around him to start panicking and attempt to evacuate, but instead, they remained as they were without an ounce of concern. Rather, they seemed almost relieved, as if they were waiting for what appears to be a large, mechanical snake.
Boktuto doesn’t get a chance to observe more as the compass begins to vibrate once more before tugging him down the line. He focuses all of his attention on dodging all of the humans that started to congregate around the edges, wary not to accidentally collide with anyone so as not to make his presence known.
The tugging ceased once Koutarou reached the end of the platform. He heaves a sigh of relief and refocuses on the compass, the red end of the needle pointing straight ahead. Slowly, his head lifts, eyes landing on a human exiting the mechanical snake, a weathered looking man with sharp features. Despite his weary state, the man bore the weight of several satchels– one strewn across his body that rested on his hip, another secured on his back, and two bags tightly held under his arm.
He looks tired, Koutarou thinks to himself. An unexplained tightness clenches in his chest, a wave of protectiveness and compassion towards this stranger overtaking him despite not knowing who this man is.
And then he sees it, an odd glimmer radiating from the human’s pocket. In that moment, the human reaches in and pulls out a cluster of cloth charms artfully woven together into a chain, each emitting a soft golden glow that the god knew all too well. What caught Koutarou’s immediate attention, however, is the unfamiliar charm tied at the end, a cord of red bound around a white jade feather.
Koutarou can’t help the trembling gasp that escapes as he watches the human bring the stone up to his lips, his body shuddering as a soft voice whispers in his head–
“Thank you for allowing me to arrive safely.”