Dawn and Ash,A Grieving Daughter,0

<b>Memories</b>

…Why do I write this?

I cannot clear Father's name.

Only a few gods remember what happened.

Perhaps it is my selfish desire to pen the truth. The Forgotten Gods were said to be particularly evil, but not Father.
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<b>Guardian</b>

Father was the patron deity of an ancient foxfolk civilization, inspiring all its people. Although he advised mortals, he never ruled, allowing them to grow from their own decisions.

Because he loved this people, Father mingled his blood with that of the ruling family, granting them a divine mandate over their nation. I was born as a result, my mother the king's sister.

He always said my birth reminded him of his first memory of Ylva.
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I grew up at Father's side, learning his wisdom; we watched over mortals, but were not them. While Mother aged, I did not; I mourned her death, but Father helped me understand we are different. Perhaps, like the kings he advised, he desired a successor, someone who could inherit his legacy and build upon his works.


<b>Inspiration</b>

You must understand. Gods and mortals are equally violent and cruel. Father worked so hard, so long, to change that.
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Mortals are short-lived. Their memories fail, their books crumble; as a god, Father kept them from backsliding, ensured they would not repeat their ancestors' mistakes. With Father's guidance, his civilization could move forward little by little, one generation building upon the last.

Inheritance is something the divine does not do: selfish gods see no need for successors. Father hoped that I would cherish my children as he did me, and that would continue; he wanted us to build upon each other like mortals did.

It was slow, and every step forward was paid for in great effort and suffering, but it was a noble and virtuous civilization Father and I were proud of.
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Yet there is no enlightenment, because strife kept undoing Father's work. That ideology of growth through conflict yields quick results; a fire spreads quickly and burns brightly. But progress, towards what goal? Power, but how will it be used?

Strife gathers monsters and orders them to devour each other, promising transcendence to the victor. But the promise is empty: creatures born of death and violence know nothing else. Having rejected Father's way, even if humans overthrow the gods, they will be no better than their masters were.
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<b>Confession</b>

…So why do I write this?

The gods think Father was simply evil and ambitious.

Uncle and Aunt think he was deluded by unrealistic ideals.

The truth is, I murdered Father.

Father loved his people, but if I had not existed, he would have not manipulated the divine war. He desired but a small part of Ylva without conflict, where gods and humans can flourish together… but more importantly, he had a daughter. Would you not move heaven and earth to give your children a future?
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For my sake, Father broke his abstinence from violence, and it destroyed him.


<b>No Hope, No Fear</b>

Six ages of Ylva have passed.

The foxfolk civilization that Father watched over is gone; only ashes remain of the small sanctuary he quietly caretook. I am the sole remnant of that people, the only one who knows what Father hoped to achieve.

I have no more tears. My face is stone, my heart empty. Resenting Father's fate is futile. It would be unfilial to give up and die when Father fought so hard for me, but without a god, what purpose does an apostle have?
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Sometimes I see promising mortals, and wonder if I could inspire them to be more than beasts, to work together and reach higher. Inspiration… no, it is enlightenment. I bear the blood of gods and kings; could I continue Father's struggle and be a god myself?

But knowing gods and humans have no future, I have no hope.

Heaven bestows innumerable treasures upon both gods and men.

Neither has a single virtue with which to repay its blessings.

Having seen their inevitable extinction in the flames of strife, I have no fear.
