Nairmis sat beside the fire, holding a sheet of parchment that had been treated, dried, and flattened. Several stone slabs of varying sizes lay spread before him, with tools and spare sheepskins weighing them down.
He picked up the stone knife and drew it steadily along the edge of the sheet, cutting off a narrow strip of parchment of uniform length.
The power of the laws stirred slowly around him, waiting for that moment to arrive.
Nairmis finished trimming the last sheet of parchment, stacked the sheets neatly, and set them on the stone surface. Though they could not compare with the industrial products of his previous life, they already counted as fine workmanship in this world.
He exhaled in satisfaction. Just as he straightened up, the water nymph Acenoe leaned over, cautiously extended a finger, and gently felt the texture of the top sheet of parchment.
"My master," she looked up, her eyes full of curiosity, "what is this?"
Nairmis opened his mouth to answer, only to freeze abruptly.
An immense fluctuation swept through heaven and earth. The entirety of the laws was trembling, from the sky to the depths beneath the ground, spreading through every inch of land, every stretch of ocean, and every abyss.
The Wisdom and Inspiration Divine Nature within him trembled violently. Sensing something, he knew what he needed to do.
Nairmis straightened, his golden hair lifting on its own in the windless air. He spread his arms and spoke to the sky, to the earth, and to the entire world.
"I am Nairmis, master of emotions, the resting place of the emotions of all things. I am the creator of tools, the hand that pared the first branch with a stone knife. I am the pioneer of making, the witness to clay being hardened into shape by flames. I am the originator of weaving, the guide who led wool to become clothing."
"I am the maker of musical instruments, the one who named the strings when they first trembled. I bring parchment to the world, bring the possibility of writing, bring a means for memories to take physical form."
"All that I create has never existed elsewhere. All that I leave behind can be relied upon by all things. From this day forth, all who create with their hands shall fall beneath my gaze and within my authority."
"Thus, I shall be the God of Crafts."
The instant the final word fell, the laws abruptly sank, then thundered in resonance.
Within Nairmis, the five Subordinate Divinities of tools, making, weaving, musical instruments, and pottery lit up simultaneously, transforming into five beams of differently colored light.
They gathered beside the Emotion Divinity, merging and churning. A new outline took shape within them, more solid and substantial than any of the original five, radiating intense fluctuations of divine power.
A Third-Class Divinity, the Craft Divinity.
Abundant divine power surged from that newborn divinity and flowed throughout his body.
Though the Craft Divinity belonged to production and creation, unlike the direct destructive power of flames, it allowed Nairmis to cross that threshold from a low-ranking god and stand firmly at the rank of a Third-Class God.
He lowered his head to look at his hands and took a deep breath. A few days ago, he had still been a mass of chaotic energy that could not even move. When he took form, he had been the weakest Lesser God in the entire world, not even as strong as a nymph.
Now he had crossed the threshold of the third class and gained a formal place in the hierarchy of the gods.
In just a few short days, he had traversed a path that countless gods might never complete even in an entire lifetime. He truly wanted to throw back his head and howl, then roar, "Who else?"
In a mere few days, he had risen through two major ranks in succession. He felt he could act presumptuously for once even before a Primordial God.
But just as that thought arose, a gaze descended from above the sky.
It was swift, so swift it lasted almost only an instant. Yet that instant was enough to freeze all the blood in Nairmis's body. Deep in the sky, Uranus's eyes opened a sliver, swept indifferently over him, and closed again.
Cold sweat instantly soaked Nairmis's back. There had not even been killing intent in that gaze, because crushing an ant did not require killing intent at all.
Only a moment ago, he had been inwardly smug. Now he wanted nothing more than to curl into a ball.
I'm just a trash Third-Class God. Please, venerable sir, don't pay me any attention. I just want to quietly make things. I wouldn't dare challenge your authority even if you beat me to death.
Fortunately, Uranus closed his eyes and did not look at him again. Nairmis breathed a sigh of relief.
Exactly. Why would His Majesty, the great God King, bother with a weak little god like me?
The nymphs had not noticed that fleeting gaze from the sky. They had only seen the light fade from their Highness's body and his aura grow more substantial.
Acenoe reacted first. Crossing her hands over her chest, she bowed her head. "My master, you truly are the greatest!"
Anthea followed right after her, tilting her face upward, her gaze full of adoration. "Beautiful Nairmis, Your Highness, another star has been added to the crown of the Lord of Emotions."
Dryope clasped her hands tightly, her voice sincere. "Creator of tools, master of crafts, you have turned that clay and wool into things we never dared imagine."
Silvana bowed slightly. "You are a miracle born from chaos, a creator acknowledged by the laws."
Petra spoke last. "Your Highness, it is our honor to follow you."
Your Highness. Hearing those words slowly calmed Nairmis's still-frightened heartbeat somewhat. A Third-Class God could indeed be addressed as Your Highness.
Though the spirits were weak, they were exceptionally perceptive at reading expressions, and they had already changed how they addressed him of their own accord.
These nymphs simply loved telling the truth, though they put it so bluntly that it left him a little embarrassed.
Deep in the night, Nyx exchanged a distant glance with Gaia, and they nodded slightly in tacit understanding.
Deep in the Underworld, the God of Sleep opened one eye from his long slumber, a rare occurrence. Sensing the aura of that declaration, he felt sincerely happy for the young god he had recently met, then closed his eye and sank back into dreams.
Hemera clenched her fists, wishing she could fly to that mountain immediately. But it was not dark yet, so she could only restrain her joy and silently repeat that name several times in her heart.
Above the sky, the Twelve Titans froze simultaneously. The instant Nairmis finished his declaration, they sensed Uranus's consciousness stir. Those eyes opened halfway, glanced briefly in that direction, and closed again.
At that moment, the Titans almost all held their breath at once. Only when that gaze had been fully withdrawn did anyone dare quietly exhale.
All twelve taut backs relaxed a little at the same time, but no one spoke.
At the foot of the mountain, Nairmis had already picked up the lyre. Flames had singed the flower nymph Anthea's calf, leaving a faint red patch on her pale pink skin. She was biting her lower lip, enduring it.
The light of the Healing Divinity flowed from the strings. Golden notes fell upon the burn, bringing a warm coolness. The redness slowly faded, and Anthea smiled gratefully at Nairmis.
As he plucked the strings, he looked at the scorched woolen skirt, and inspiration began flickering in his mind again.
This was a world with divine power. Making clothes from ordinary materials was no long-term solution. Could he make clothing that was not afraid of fire?
He vaguely remembered that in some myths and legends he had read in his previous life, certain clothes had been woven from natural elements such as clouds, mist, rippling water, and starlight.
The Craft Divinity stirred slowly within him, conveying a clear message: he could, but he would need to possess the corresponding source divinities before he could use those elements as textile materials.
The source of clouds, the source of water, the source of light... these were all higher-order authorities. How was he supposed to obtain them? Inspiration flickered on and off in his mind.