“What conditions must one possess to be considered a qualified deity?” Maggie inquired.
Urania silently gazed at her. “That depends on the perspective from which you examine the subject of gods.”
For an ordinary person without the strength to withstand natural disasters or even survive a small epidemic, the only value of a god lies in love. Gods are only believed in, worshipped, and celebrated when they love humans. Most recorded deities are those who sacrificed themselves to save humanity.
In Greek mythology, Prometheus endured day after day of having his heart pecked out by an eagle just to bring fire to humanity. The noble gods of Olympus, with their colossal bodies and immense power, viewed ordinary humans as mere ants. Yet, they were still willing to sacrifice everything for these ants. People love such stories. Werewolves are no exception.
To be a deity, one must love their people, empathize with the world’s suffering, and ultimately sacrifice everything to save the wounded world. Urania never liked these kinds of stories. Every time she heard them, her expression was one of disdain.
She thought that it was because of these unrealistic hopes that humans repeatedly fell into the traps woven by desires, even if it was the most basic trap. They didn’t want to make efforts, after all, the gods were there to support them. Humans are gradually breaking free from this ignorance, but it seems many werewolves are still immersed in the fantasy of being saved by the moon goddess. Day after day, they enter stone caves, prayer rooms, and places where the moon goddess is worshipped, pouring out their desires to the moon goddess.
Among the gifts her divine friends gave her was something that allowed her to hear the deepest desires of people’s hearts. She heard various voices seeking wealth, jewelry, power, and family happiness. However, these desires stacked up too high, and she no longer wanted to hear any wishes.
After all, it was just self-comfort for a bunch of fools who hoped to gain something for nothing. When Maggie asked her why she no longer loved this world, she thought this was the reason.
When she was just an orphan with no one to care for her, her happiness was catching a wild boar because a wild boar could feed her for a month. For that month, she wouldn’t have to toil away hunting, just occasionally finding some stored food would be enough.
After she picked up that idiotic deity, her happiness was sharing a not-so-big rabbit with someone else. She taught her how to fish in the river, how to make a wooden spear, and when she saw the deity’s face light up with understanding, she felt very happy.
She thought, “So, even someone like me can be needed.”
After becoming the high priestess, those who needed her increased rapidly. Just as she had promised the deity, she taught people everything she could learn. But later, people no longer needed those things. They didn’t want to learn; they wanted to gain without effort. The simplest way to obtain weapons and resources was not to explore new lands but to start a war.
She repeatedly saw the images of countless people dying in prophecies. Gradually, she grew tired of being needed. People didn’t want to understand the process from her; they only sought the results that only she could see.
She was a god visible in the mortal realm, uncertain of how to fulfill everyone’s ideal fantasy of a god. Should she work harder to fulfill people’s wishes? Later, she found the answer: gods could never live up to the ideal projections in people’s hearts.
Gods needed to take a broader perspective, not fixating on an individual, a tribe, or even just a whole race. They needed to see the big picture. Even if it led to results that some people were dissatisfied with, gods couldn’t alter the current reality for the sake of their people.
“In my view, gods should do more by not interfering in realms that don’t belong to them. War, death, they’re not the domains of gods. These are natural laws, and new life accompanies death. You can’t ignore the future of new life just because you’re fixated on the current death. Forcing interference in the outcome will only cause greater disasters. So, my answer is, the conditions a qualified deity should possess are that you can’t only love people.”
“You must learn to observe life and death, even if the departed are your loved ones, your partners, your children. You can’t let momentary pain cloud your judgment.” She looked at Maggie, who was gradually becoming somewhat dazed. “I currently don’t think you have this talent and ability, so I hope you think it over.”
Maggie didn’t know that gods, in fact, didn’t love humanity. Gods possessed higher talents and should empathize with the weak, show compassion for ordinary humans without power or eternal life. But gods also had to build a broader world. How could their gaze be fixed on just one race? She seemed to understand Alisa’s firm refusal to believe in gods.
Alisa had once told her, “God loves humanity, but He abandoned me.”
God loved everything – the grassy fields, flowing rivers, the wind, rain, and mountain mist. It wasn’t limited to loving humans alone. So, when people needed God the most, He wouldn’t appear. God observed from a distance and remained silent.
She indeed lacked this ability. She abhorred evil and hated all injustice. Her ideal was to eliminate the ugliness in the world and make it a better place.
“Do I have to give up love before becoming a deity?”
“At the very least, you can’t retain too much personal affection. For example, your love for Aldrich, maternal love for the child in your belly, love for your other family and friends – as a god, these are unnecessary.”
Maggie’s face revealed sadness. “But if I lose these most basic emotions, what’s the point of becoming a god?”
Urania didn’t answer. Becoming a god wasn’t a choice to begin with. The godly race birthed new life and placed them in a certain divine position. The gods didn’t ponder matters related to thoughts and love; only humans did.
“This is why I warn you to be cautious about drawing conclusions. Your path will only be more rugged and challenging than your mother’s, and perhaps it’s not a decision a young girl in her twenties can make immediately. You are indeed the daughter of the Moon Goddess, but it doesn’t mean you have to become the new Moon Goddess. After all, I’m still here, and the werewolves still maintain a stable order.”
Maggie, after hearing these words, remained filled with an uneasy stupor. Besides the woman in front of her, she had no one to share the overwhelming fear of becoming a deity while feeling inadequate.
“Can I have some time to think?”
Urania handed her a cup of tea. “This tea won’t harm a pregnant woman. Have some to calm your nerves. As for becoming the next Moon Goddess, there’s no need to rush. Take your time to think it over, whether it’s tomorrow or ten years from now. The condition is that by then, you truly possess the necessary qualities to be a competent deity.”
Maggie took the cup of tea. “Can I still come here? Just to chat with you, nothing else.”