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Perhaps it was a thing of concern, the level of devotion that a deity of Chan’s level received on the daily. He wasn’t anyone notable, especially in comparison to the others that had ascended with him; and yet, here he was, seated in his palace with all the grace and position of a heavenly body much more powerful than himself.
Chan had been perplexed enough at the status change itself; the last thing he expected was to garner himself a following of all things. He did not remember his time as a human, only that he was once the healer of a village and was fated to be sent to the castle in order to work for the King. He remembered glimpses of his death, and the light that followed, but beyond that, all of his memory began from his time at the lower heavens.
As narcissistic and self-centred as it sounded, Chan was curious. He wanted to know of his shrines, to learn about his believers that gave him this power that he felt undeserving of. He'd heard from other gods (namely Jeonghan and Seungkwan) that most deities had temples and flocks of worshippers around the world. Would his worshippers be from his village, wherever it was? Or would they be from somewhere else, some hopefuls praying to any and every god they could find?
“You could always go take a look,” Jeonghan had suggested, a glint that was too mischievous and knowing in his eyes. Chan had brushed the idea off immediately at first, but had gradually come to consider it. Jeonghan had bothered him some more, and Seungkwan had obviously followed, until Chan had given up and agreed.
Starting the search was the easy part. The largest point of worship for Chan was from on top of a mountain that sat between two cities. He wondered once again if that might be his home, his village from when he was human; it made sense that it was no longer inhabited, following the disaster that took his life.
But, as Chan reached the point he had identified as where his shrine was, he realised that it wasn’t a mountain at all. It was an overwhelmingly large pile of rubble, walls and pillars of what once used to be a grand castle. A wave of anxiety and familiarity swept through Chan at the same time.
Everything around him was covered in a fine layer of dust, save for a staircase that led up to the top of the only tower still intact. There had been an attempt made to clean it; the dust and sand had been cleared off, and the bottom steps had been replaced by random slabs of stone. With a deep, shaky breath, Chan gathered the edges of his plain robes and started the climb, his heartbeat hammering in his throat with anticipation.
As Chan reached the top, the sense of deja vu continued to grow, and came to a standstill when he caught sight of the room at the top of the stairs. Once he did, all he could feel was disbelief.
Chan was staring at himself. Well, a replication of himself. All around him, Chan found himself, frozen in marble and glass, stone and clay. It was undoubtedly handcrafted, gorgeous and gilded, features undeniably similar to his celestial self. All of them captured his build, his hands, and perhaps most significantly his smile. It felt wrong, thinking it so blatantly, but he looked beautiful.
“Hello.”
The sudden greeting startled Chan, and he almost backed into one of the sculptures. He felt rough, calloused hands on his, pulling him into the centre of the room.
“Careful,” the man, who Chan was now looking up at, said, smile bright but eyes cautious. “Can’t have anything break around here.”
“I-I’m so sorry,” he stuttered, almost forgetting to speak as he stared at the stranger. He looked ill, sick from what looked like exhaustion and hunger, but his beauty was still apparent. His cheeks were sunken, the darkness under his eyes intense enough to be worrisome, but the crow’s feet beside his eyes and the slope of his nose left Chan breathless. Oh, beautiful devotion.
“It's quite alright. Are you here to see the shrine?” the man asked. Chan blanched at the question. Just to see? Not to worship?
“Uhm. I’m not sure yet,” he answered hesitantly, hoping an explanation or interrogation would follow. The man simply nodded, letting go of Chan and moving towards the statues as if Chan just being here wasn’t odd.
“Let me know if you need anything. Please don’t touch, though,” the man instructed, his voice sounding hoarse with misuse.
“What would I offer to..to him, if I were to pray?” Chan asked, looking up the largest of the marble figures, one where he had his hand up as if to wave.
The man smiled, almost woefully. “Anything. Anything with good intention, with love and patience. I wouldn't know, though. I haven't been able to give him much.”
“You seem to do a wonderful job of maintaining this,” Chan pointed out, looking at the man again, still unsure of what to expect.
“I don't consider this as my offering,” he replied, tone clipped, before he relaxed again. He glanced at Chan before looking up at the statue, eyes turning impossibly fond. “Is it really an offering if it bears the inherent selfishness of being protective of my own work?”
Chan couldn’t hold back the gasp that left his lips. He looked around once more, really taking in the craftwork spread across the room. Each figure seemed to contain Chan's own breath and soul, almost alive in the way they seemed to smile down at the room.
“This..you..” Chan tried to ask but his voice was lodged in his throat. He couldn’t cry. That would be embarrassing, and his mind was still nagging at him about the narcissism laced in this plan.
“Ah, it seems I assumed incorrectly,” the man said, his bright, blinding smile returning to his face. Chan took note of the mole on his cheek, for no reason other than to remember it forever. “You didn’t come here because of the stories, did you?”
Chan tried to think of any stories he’d heard. He wondered if this was why Jeonghan’s look made him as uneasy as it did.
“No, I'm sorry,” Chan replied. The man waved his hand in Chan’s direction, batting away the apology
“Please, don’t apologise. It’s not everyday I meet someone that hasn’t yet heard about me being lost in my own head, anyways,” the man explained, and Chan's concern somehow grew.
“I'm Seokmin. i used to go by Dokyeom, a long time ago, when this castle was still standing,” the man, Seokmin, and chan felt the name fall into one of the many gaps in his memory. “I knew him, the saviour of the Sun, before he became who he is now. I knew him, I saw him, I loved him. Somehow, even as a human, his presence was as warm as any deity visiting the Earth.”
Even in his sickly state, the love in Seokmin's eyes was real. There was nothing false about the way he spoke of Chan. This man before him, this beautiful, untainted soul, was someone who had loved Chan from a time even he didn’t remember.
“You ruled the kingdom, didn’t you?” Chan whispered. That was the only explanation as to why Seokmin knew him, remembered him. He'd cost Seokmin his kingdom. “He came here, and he stayed with you. and then, your people-“
“What happened to my people had nothing to do with him,” Seokmin cut him off, the harshness returning to his tone. “He did what he could. What followed was inevitable, a calamity as per the name.”
Chan opened his mouth, once again to ask about the people of Dokyeom’s kingdom, his village, but stopped when Dokyeom–no, Seokmin locked eyes with him.
There was a challenge in his eyes, nestled close to the devotion still present in them.
“He saved me. He died saving me," Seokmin whispered, and Chan felt that wave of familiarity once again.
Dokyeom, king of the Sun. Lee Chan, saviour of the Sun.
“So do you do this because you owe him your life?” Chan asked, his own voice barely loud enough to be heard. Seokmin shook his head, blinking away the wetness in his eyes.
“My life had been his long before he signed his own away for me,” Seokmin said, his voice now shaky with pain, but his lips turned up in a smile. “I loved him before he knew me. I wanted to be his, and him to be mine, if he would have me.”
Seokmin looked around them, at the countless faces, all of Chan, staring at him, somehow full of life yet frozen. “I found out that he will live on endlessly, so I vowed to myself that for as long I live, I will live for him. People came, people left. no one comes by anymore, so I can’t trade what I have for materials to sculpt with. No one wants to hear my tall tales of being in love with him. And yet, here I am.”
Chan didn’t realise Seokmin had been staring at him, as if now it was his turn to expect a reaction from chan. ignoring the wetness on his cheeks and the judgement from his own conscience, Chan turned to Seokmin with a smile.
“He must be grateful,” Chan said, and Seokmin's face lit up, his smile warming Chan's heart in ways he’d forgotten could be possible.
“I hope he’s happy,” Seokmin mumbled, suddenly shy. “I doubt he would remember me, but I hope this is enough to touch him at all.”
“It is,” Chan breathed out, forgetting who he was for a second. He cleared his throat, gathering himself again. “It has to be.”
Seokmin gave him another grin, this one smaller but still just as kind. “Will you come back to the saviour of the Sun, then?”
Chan sweeped his eyes across the room once more, the emotion within the walls almost palpable to him. “I don't know. But I will come back to you, Seokmin. Please wait for me.”