Nairmis sat down again, resting the lyre on his knees, and idly plucked its open strings twice.
His Emotion Divinity continued to soothe him, dispelling his earlier panic and gradually restoring order to his thoughts.
The record godhead, Time Divine Nature, his own voice.
The clues connected in his mind, and a conjecture surfaced: his future self had sent a message to his present self.
He paused and examined this conjecture from beginning to end. The more he thought about it, the more reasonable it seemed.
Time Divine Nature was hidden inside the record godhead, and the record godhead embodied a concept related to recording, making it ideally suited to transmitting information across time.
His future self must have mastered the power of the time domain to accomplish this.
Once that thought emerged, he could no longer suppress it.
Yes, that had to be it.
His future self had mastered the time domain and become powerful enough to send messages upstream through the river of time to the past. What sort of rank would that require?
A great god at the very least, perhaps even a supreme god.
He had known it. He had inexplicably arrived in the world of Greek mythology and endured endless ages in Chaos without having his consciousness erased. That setup practically screamed protagonist template.
His luck was a little bad-he had nearly been struck dead by the God King right after taking form-but what protagonist did not suffer a little first? The more he thought about it, the more reasonable it seemed, and the more reasonable it seemed, the happier he became.
Yet amid his happiness, he could not help grumbling about his future self.
You're already the God of Time. Why send a voice message of all things? Couldn't you send something useful, like mailing your future godhead straight back here?
Right now, he did not want to put in any effort at all. He just wanted to grow stronger while lying flat, ascend to the heavens in a single bound, and become a primordial god outright, making Uranus take a detour whenever he saw him.
He tried sending this thought into that wisp of record divinity. The divinity remained quiet, not so much as trembling.
He tried again, putting more force into it. A third time, a fourth time-he tried several different methods, transmitting thoughts and pouring emotions into it, but that wisp of divinity did not budge.
He sighed and gave up. Fine. Self-reliance it is.
He could only rely on himself, then. He sank his perception into his inherited memories, searching for knowledge about obtaining godheads.
Lesser and Lesser Divinity godheads could come into being without a sound. All that was required was for a concept to appear for the first time and receive the laws' recognition.
But godheads of the third rank and above were different. They required a sufficient accumulation of divinity, which then had to be burned before the laws to proclaim one's authority to the world. Only with the laws' full confirmation could it condense into a godhead.
The proclamation would stir the entire world, and every god would sense it.
His Emotion Divinity was an exception. It was an innate godhead, so it had formed directly after the proclamation when he took form.
But the record godhead was different. It had been a wisp of divinity rather than a complete godhead from the beginning, which meant it was at least third-rank and required a proclamation.
When that happened, the God King above the sky would certainly turn his gaze upon him again.
Nairmis looked up at the sky. The day was clear, without a cloud in sight, yet he kept feeling that somewhere unseen beyond that vault, a pair of eyes lay closed, ready to open at any moment.
He drew his neck in. The God King had already proclaimed that no new gods were permitted to be born in the world. His very birth as Nairmis had violated that command.
Although the laws' recognition and Nyx's intervention had temporarily contained the situation, there was no guarantee that Uranus had truly let him off.
If he made a second proclamation, would it attract the God King's attention and bring him down to kill him?
He imagined that scene, and a chill crept up his back.
But weakness frightened him more than the God King's threat. Being imprisoned, hunted, casually crushed, without even the right to choose how he died-that helplessness was something he had witnessed for hundreds of millions of years in Chaos. He had sensed more than enough of it.
He would not be the one who was crushed. He wanted to become strong, strong enough to control his own fate and no longer live in fear.
At worst, he could call in the God of Sleep's favor then. Hypnos had said he would appear if Naermis called his name when night fell. That promise should have been more than mere politeness.
And Nyx stood behind him. Though that Primordial God had not expressed much last time, she probably would not refuse if her son asked.
But the question was whether he had the nerve to use that favor. A Lesser Deity who had known them for only two days, already using the other's promise as a lifesaving talisman against the God King's killing intent...
Nairmis rubbed his face, feeling somewhat sheepish, then decided to stop thinking about it for now.
He would take things one step at a time. First, he needed to work out how to strengthen the record divinity. How did record divinity grow?
Recording-as the name suggested, he had to keep recording, writing down everything happening in this world. For every additional thing he recorded, that wisp of divinity would grow a little.
Ideas kept flashing through his mind, and he already had a general direction.
"Master."
After quite some time, the water nymph's voice reached him, carrying a little eagerness to claim credit.
Nairmis looked up and saw several figures following behind the water nymph.
The tree nymph had brown skin, with a few newly sprouted leaves in her hair.
The flower nymph was slender and petite, her skin pinkish white, with tiny vines twined around her wrists and ankles.
The forest nymph was tall, while the mountain nymph was more sturdily built, with darker skin and a steadier stance than the others.
The four nymphs stood side by side, all naked, looking at him with nervous, expectant eyes, their fingers twisting together and then releasing.
Nairmis stood. He had anticipated this and walked over to the bushes beside the pool.
He had just made several grass skirts. Though crude, they could at least cover the essential parts. He took four, walked back, and handed them over.
The flower nymph accepted her grass skirt and tilted her head, examining it several times. Her emerald eyes blinked, then lifted to look at Nairmis. The other nymphs showed similar confusion.
Nairmis offered no further explanation. He went over to the water nymph, crouched, and spread out a grass skirt, gesturing for her to put it on.
The water nymph looked down at the bundle of leaves and vines, obediently accepted it, and compliantly put it on with Nairmis's help.
The rough vines rubbed against her pale blue skin, clearly causing discomfort.
She twisted her waist, looking a little aggrieved, then raised her head and murmured, "My master... it's very uncomfortable."
Nairmis reached out and lightly tapped her forehead.
"Keep it on."
The water nymph drew her neck in and complained no further, merely lowering her head to tug at the grass skirt.
The other nymphs watched this, then looked at the grass skirts in their hands, all appearing hesitant.
But they had come seeking protection, and the water nymph had already called him master. If they refused to comply with even this small request, would they be turned away?
None of them wanted to ask. They silently put on the grass skirts one after another, their movements awkward and clumsy. One even tied the vines backward, leaving the skirt hanging crookedly to one side.
Then they stood in place, shifting their shoulders slightly, looking somewhat ill at ease.
Nairmis nodded in satisfaction, surveying the five similarly dressed nymphs before him.
Water, trees, flowers, forests, mountains—five different natural auras gathered in this tiny clearing. Looking at their grass skirts, Nairmis suddenly thought of the phrase "a makeshift troupe."
He held back a laugh and cleared his throat, preparing to hold a meeting first.