A Blade and an Arrow

What Might Us Be

n. hiiii! i hope y'all are alright and doing well! im not as fine, school is starting again and i feel guilty af that i hadnt been able to update here.

nonetheless, heres another one! there's not much romance here, im sorry ><

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It was a windy day.

A blustery and unsettling day.

Gods, naturally, were not disturbed by such. It is nothing but an indescribable itch on the inside that no matter how much scratching you do, it won't go away. One should just have to wait for it to pass, and hope it'll be sooner than later. Otherwise, they'd have to suffer against the torment of the annoying itch.

Oscillating through the walls, the curtains flapping horribly strong against the wind; the day was simply not going well.

There are many things that one could see positive in such negativity. The plants that grows in a windy day, the chilling air that it offers to those that had fallen into despair caused by the heat of the sun rays, those that just prefers the air than the rain, snow, or sun. Many things, and yet none wishes to enter the god's mind.

This hellacious afternoon had already given him a headache. A headache that desires to stay longer than needed even when he uses his spiritual energy to ease it up. No use; it's not something his spiritual qi could easily remove. For it takes his own serenity and tranquility to calm himself down.

And neither of those were his greatest aspect.

Anger was always so easier than those. Unmindful of what leaves his mouth or what comes in his mind until he eventually revindicate his placidity, and regrets whatever his raging past had done. But that was that, wasn't it? He could do whatever he wants when he's furious and leave his future self to deal with all those problems he'd cause.

This day, however, was not one of those.

In a reason he cannot fathom, he cannot be angered today. Not even when he remembers the bad deeds he'd done, not when he thinks of everything he knew he'd be angered by, and not even when he remembers a man that manages to push every bit of his wrong buttons and never the right ones.

He simply... watches as the wind bounces through the gilded walls of his temple despite it being unseen. He could only watch as the dried leaves it carried into his temple be dropped onto the already dusty floor for the temple masters to sweep.

He's here already, isn't he? He should be sweeping it. This temple was created for his name, after all. And just because he is a god, doesn't mean he cannot level himself down to clean a vicinity of his own.

Yet he finds himself unmoving.

He stares at the leaves. Inching closer toward him with every swing of the wind. Blinking repeatedly, he leans forward to pick up at one only for it to turn into dust upon the gentlest touch of his fingers. Retracting slowly, his lips contorts into a somewhat of a frown and interest as he closes his eyes instead.

Infront of him lies a broken bow. Split in half, the longbow's string snapped. There was still crimson stained on the thin bow strings where it had dug hard and deep enough into his fingers to draw blood.

He glances down, it hadn't healed. It broke into his leather glove, he was uncertain how it had occurred. All he knew it was because there was a ghost he was chasing, and he had gripped his bow too tight it broke just as he had pulled the string taut.