Chapter Text
To open ones eyes after what feels like a long slumber was always an unpleasant experience. Sundays had always felt the need to keep their eyes closed, to let them float in the sweet slumber for eternity, to let darkness comfortably embrace them and cradle their body into a warm abyss. He would often give them his blessing, a dream, filled with color and joy, gracing them with happiness until they inevitably awakened. He felt more than happy to accommodate them since in return for the dreams, they would bring gifts such as incense, tea and soft kilts and pillows at the temple.
If an offering was great enough, Sunday would grace them with a miracle. Maybe it was an omen or a prophecy or maybe it was a bit of knowledge. Whatever Sunday decided to gift them, most of them didn't know unless the person decided to share it with them. But they knew that his great gifts would always come on the seventh day of the week with no exception. This was how he got his name, the one that was revered by them.
If they questioned him, Sunday did not answer. He was a rather quiet God, only giving his followers restful slumber and sweet dreams. It was in his nature to listen quietly and comfort the ones who sought refuge in his merciful arms. And he would take them all, no matter how kind or wicked, granting them a peaceful slumber. Under his wing, things were peaceful and he was content with this, enjoying the quietness of the night as he watched over them.
In some instances, the people asked to be let go earlier than usual. Sunday would wince, watching as their eyes squint painfully into the light and how their limbs twisted, sore and aching, not yet fully rested. He knew to awake from slumber was a horrible thing, but he would not keep them tied here, not yet. He would just have to find a way to keep them here and make them realize why slumbering was this precious.
On other occasions, some followers stirred trouble outside of the temple. The others would come and grant offerings and pray for the guilty to be punished. His heart ached for them, how could it not when suffering was disturbing their slumber and plaguing their dreams? And in turn, he gave the troublemakers nightmares, the opposite of dreams. He made them as ugly as they deserved, sometimes even worse to keep them in life. He watched them writhe and sweat in the sheets, muttering in their sleep pleads for mercy. He would give none until the morrow arrived, watching as they jolted awake. He could care less about their discomfort of waking up after toying with his authority.
For decades and years they were happy and they grew in number, from a village to a town in what felt like the blink of an eye to a being such as Sunday. He glowed with happiness, accepting them all in turn and giving them dreams and nightmares accordingly. They started slumbering longer and deeper until none could wake them up once they crawled into their sheets. The followers were quick to make up for it, building walls and making sure they were secure and safe from evildoers on the outside while their God was blessing them.
This was Sundays life for the former 100 centuries, adapting to please his believers and helping them with his benevolence. It was as plain and boring as a customer service job but he took great enjoyment in seeing the smiles on their faces and loved granting their wishes in their dreams.
But lately, Sunday saw something that granted his interest. He was no stranger to the strangeness in human nature, he came to know all their little quirks and details, how their bodies reacted, especially the little movements and muscles that stay hidden for anyone else, the strange emotional responses they displayed with no control sometimes or their actions which eluded even him sometimes.
When he got a human offering, he thought it to be as strange as any other time. To offer one of the same flesh and blood as them seemed unusual, more so than usual. Perhaps he was special in his function but that quickly turned out false. Maybe he was considered a being as high a Sunday himself? Impossible, he deemed. He scoured his mind, looking through his memories to see if he had performed anything on par with himself but found nothing, not even in the nooks where most wouldn't touch. His soothing hands opened his thoughts and past and yet found nothing noteworthy.
"Ah" Sunday thought to himself, watching the sleeping human on his altar. "Maybe it has no meaning."
It clicked for him right then, why this human had been offered. It was a choice devoid of logic so the people who offered him must simply be stupid- lacking cognition. He settled that this was the right answer and that it was pointless from now on to try and deduce the meaning behind any other sacrifices from now on. But there was still one last question Sunday needed to figure out. What will he do with this person.
They seemed ordinary aside from the fact that they were dazzlingly beautiful and charming, even in dreamless sleep. He was a human male, pretty, short and with skin as fair and unblemished as a maiden would have. His blonde hair seemed like little rays of sun had been weaved onto his scalp, shining like gold when the torch light of the temple reflected on it. Sunday could not see his eyes because they ere closed, but he was sure that if he could, they would be as shiny and beautiful as the rest of his body. All his human bits and parts, from his slender bloody fingers to his neat and thinned eyebrows and his battered feet, fit perfectly together, like a true gift from the god of life and creation.
He thought long and hard about what he should do and settled on the easiest option: make him the first ever official priest. Why would he take a human life to the nether realm when he enjoyed giving happiness to them so much? He would've let the offering go scot free anyway. The only reasons he decided to keep him was to not offend the people who had gone through the effort of bringing a whole human here and because his temple had gotten dustier and dirtier with time. Sure, some devout believers would come and clean once in a while, but Sunday needed something a little more consistent than that. He could have the person become a priest and help around. This way he would also be more protected from others.
Sunday simply watched with curiosity at the man before him, seeing how he lay motionless. Many would've thought he were dead if it weren't for his steady heartbeat. And a while had passed. The sunset was sunrise was almost here. Most of the believers would wake up in a few hours and visit the temple to thank him for the sweet dreams and resting sleep.
Slowly, the blonde eyelashes of the man fluttered, like he was fighting to open his eyes even if the room was dimmed. Once open, Sunday nodded to himself- his eyes were indeed as beautiful as he knew they would be. They were bright like two little flames that rose from embers. Purple, like the color of nobility, having a regal charm in them, and blue, like the color of the divine. The hues mixed together like those eyes had a spell that could bewitch people or turn them to stone with a glance. It didn't take Sunday to read the emotion and words hidden in them, the sleepy confusion and sadness after waking up and then the fear and alertness as he remembered his purpose of being here.
The man quickly looked around, looking for any signs of life, and after finding none, getting up and settling next to a small pyre in the room. Sunday smiled to himself, looking down at how he snuggled to the flame, his calloused palms hovering over the heat that comforted him even if briefly. The man looked into the fire and his eyes widened, seeing there the mark of divinity, a small little dove made of fire, emerging and settling down on the marble floor.
"I am a messenger of dreams and rest." The little bird spoke, just as Sunday nudged it to. "You were offered to Them and They have appointed you to serve them faithfully here in Their temple. Nod your head if you understand." The bird of flames goes on, passing on the searing words that would burn and consume anyones soul if threatened.
The man quickly nods his head, looking at the bird with bewilderment, witnessing the power of the divine manipulating life this way. "It must be his first time seeing divine intervention." Sunday thinks to himself. The bird bursts into wild flames, quickly being reduced to ash in a spectacle of lights. All that remains is a pile of grey dust.
And so the man get up and runs as far away and as fast as his feet allow him.