A long, long time ago, way before any of the current divinities were known to man, a kind man named Zenon had just lost his family in a terrible earthquake. He tried his best to save his wife and his only daughter, but unfortunately, there was nothing he could do as they lost their lives under the rubble of the temple they were in. Miraculously, though, Zenon survived without any kind of injury, not a single broken bone, not even wounds or scratches: it was as if nothing had happened to him, and yet, he had seen the roof fall on his entire family and on his own body.
Unable to find peace because of survivor’s guilt, Zenon kept living his days in an utter state of despair, barely eating, not setting foot outside nor seeing anyone if not for his younger sister, who went living with him out of compassion for his poor brother, since he was one of the few people that didn’t lose their houses. Her entire family moved there too since their house got destroyed by the earthquake, and Zenon decided to give them his house since it would otherwise become empty when his time would eventually come. He kept begging her to let him be alone in his room, thinking he would only bring misfortune to her life and her family, but she loved her brother too much and tried every day to let him be part of her family’s daily life, in fear that if left alone he could take his own life. However, he had lost every interest in anything he loved before, including woodworking, which was how he got his fortune so far.

He never got over the incident, but with time he started softening up to his kid nephews. The boy went to school, but the girl wasn’t allowed to go by the school rules and instead learned housekeeping from her mother. The boy loved school, so every time he came back home he would teach his sister everything he had learned that day. Zenon went to school too when he was a kid and used to read quite often when he wasn’t busy with his job, so he watched over the boy’s lessons, sometimes teaching the kids things that weren’t taught at school, and one of those evenings they used to spend together would be the turning point of his life.
That day the boy came back to school to teach everything back to his sister, they had a lesson about ancient myths. Of course, nothing the kid said was new to Zenon, who was particularly interested in mythology, but sometimes you need to hear the right story at the right time to get a push in the right direction, and that story was the myth of Prometheus and the creation of humanity from clay.
Something happened to Zenon at that moment, as he rushed to his workshop and started working harder than ever. He would sleep in his lab and only stop working when he remembered (or was forcefully reminded) to eat, every day, every night, incessantly, restlessly, as he was fighting for his life. He got the best wood he could find, and took maniacal care of his tools like he never did before to make sure that they’d always stay sharp. It took him a whole month to finish working with the wood, but there was still one thing he wanted, and for which he had to look around until he found exactly what he was looking for and pay a non-trivial sum of money; however, his woodworking skills and his money were all he had left. His sister was wealthy enough thanks to her refined weaving skills and her husband’s business in the production of purpura pigments, so they didn’t depend on Zenon’s money at all.
He traveled all around the peninsula of Attica until he found what he wanted by the third time he stopped in Athens: two beautiful, identically cut amethyst gems, way more beautiful and refined than those held by the drunkards in his village¹, and of the deepest purple he had ever seen. He had always loved the color of those gems and thought that it was a waste to give them away to people who only wore them thinking it’d help them chug down more wine.

When he went back to the house he didn’t even stop to greet his sister or the kids, the only thing on his mind was getting back to work right away: he had to find a way to set the gems in the wood, something he never had the occasion to do before. He experimented with animal glue and small pebbles until he was happy with the result, then moved back on to the main piece. Thanks to the skills he honed with years of meticulous work, he made the holes as small, tight, and flawlessly shaped as he could so that the gems would fit perfectly, and used just enough glue to make sure it wouldn’t spill. He went through the pain of having to wait for the glue to dry, and then he finally stood back to admire his masterpiece: the doll was complete.
It looked strikingly lifelike, with perfect proportions, expertly engraved details, and beautiful features. If one wanted to try harder to make it look like a real person, they’d only need to put clothes and hair on it, besides maybe some paint to make the wood look more like skin. The amethyst gems were in place of the iris, giving her a deep and intense stare, which at the same time contrasted and complemented the soft features of the face. It was the doll of a thin girl, that looked a bit like Zenon: it resembled her daughter Irene. He rushed inside to call his sister, the kids, everyone who was there at that moment and show them his creation. He kept saying that he was close to bringing her back, that his sorrows would finally be taken away, but it was clear to everyone that Zenon had started turning his immense sorrow into some kind of delusion.
Every day he would spend his time in the workshop, eating, reading, talking to the doll, he even asked the kids to have their lessons there, but no sign of life ever came from the doll. The family was a bit worried, but it was also true that the doll gave some hope back to Zenon and made him start living a normal life again: he was now accepting new job requests, he went outside more often and talked with people, and helped those who were in need like the kind man he had always been. The people knew that the doll had no chance to come to life, and yet from time to time they would stop at the workshop to thank it for giving Zenon a reason to keep living.

However, the weeks became months, and the doll still wasn’t moving in any way. Zenon was losing hope again and slowly descended back into depression. He lost any appetite and did nothing but sit in front of the doll, hoping to see any sign of life. He would pray to the gods, talk to the doll, and hug it hoping that some of his vital energy would somewhat move inside the doll, but nothing would happen. And so one day he hit rock bottom, as all that was left to him was to cry. He cried and cried until his tears ran dry, and then he would scream, cursing the gods, cursing his own life. His sister and kids tried to take him away from his doll, but he wouldn’t budge, and they had to give up. It was then that something finally happened. Slowly, but steadily, one of her arms moved and reached his left cheek. He said her name, “Irene…”, and smiled for the first time since that damned day in which his family was taken away from him. Suddenly, all the wounds he never had on that day appeared on his body, every bone that didn’t break suddenly broke, but he felt no pain, nor did he bleed a single drop of blood. With one last tear running down his face, still smiling, Zenon finally exhaled his last breath. That was the day I was born.
The outer layer of the wood that made up my body turned into soft, pale skin, but under that skin there was only the finest wood, not a single bone, no internal organs, not even a beating heart. The family ordered me to stay hidden inside Zenon’s room, and all I could do was obey: I barely had any consciousness, after all. The kids, however, were intrigued by my presence, so they started having their lessons in my presence so that I could learn with them. They taught me how to speak and how to behave properly, and after a while I started working as a servant for the family, mostly helping with tasks inside the house and with the weaving of clothes.
Due to my role inside the house, the day arrived when people noticed my existence. The family had no way to lie about my identity: there was just no way to hide my purple amethyst eyes. The town, however, welcomed me with no issue, everyone was thankful to Zenon for his immense kindness. And so I started meeting new people, learning new words, new things, new feelings. I was aware of my lack of humanity, but I felt like I was getting closer to the people around me.
The years passed by, Zenon’s sister and his husband grew old, and their children became adults and left the house, while my body still looked like the first day. The parents died, and the boy moved into the house, so I served him too, while the girl was in a completely different part of the country. The town started losing its population due to children moving away and people losing their houses to fires and other incidents. More years went by, Zenon’s nephew’s children left too, and he too grew old with his wife and died. I was there to watch him close his eyes and say the final goodbye. I served three generations of Zenon’s family, took part in the daily lives of people in this town, and finally found myself without anyone by my side. Maybe I could’ve tried moving somewhere else, but the risk was too high: people might’ve found out that I’m not human, and who knows what they would have done to me. I had nowhere else to go. My first tears came from my eyes, I didn’t want to be alone, I was gifted my life from Zenon who also gave me his daughter’s name, and I didn’t want to be away from people. At that moment my body started glowing, and I found myself surrounded by an endless void if not for some figures made of light that stood before me. A deep, almost terrifying voice came from all around, with no distinct direction.
“Oh anomaly, artifact of a man who was blessed by the deities, this place needs you, and this place can provide you what you seek. Are you willing to reshape this realm of nothingness to provide souls the warmth they need, and to learn what it means to be human yourself?”
This was my chance to find a place to be. I replied with no hesitation. “Please, make good use of me!”
And thus, what is now the café was born.

“So this is my story, hope it wasn’t too boring!” - of course, I told him a simpler version of the story, he’s still a six-years-old.
He’s drying his tears, “it’s such a good story! I’m so sorry for Zenon!”
I give him a big smile, “I’m sure he was reeeally happy when he saw me move, he had a big smile!”
He blows his nose and sniffles for a bit before speaking. “But you know, miss Irene, even if you’re not made of meat, I think you’re a person just like me and my mommy!”
Kids are very honest, but I still wonder if he truly means it. “I look human to you? Really?”
He nods, “really! You’re kind and gentle like my mommy, and your chocolate and cake were veeery tasty! And you told me a beautiful story! And… and… and you’re very beautiful, miss Irene!”
Now he’s really making me cry, he’s so precious! I stroke his head, “I’m very thankful for your kind words, they really mean a lot to me. You’re a good kid, Milo.”
He gives me a large smile, and I give one to him too. “This cake won’t hurt your tummy, do you want some more?”
“Yes please!”

It’s uncommon for gods to come to the café, but they check up on me from time to time. They don’t have names, not even faces, but somehow I can distinguish them from each other, so I gave them nicknames: this one is Cocoa. They take human-like shapes here to make me feel more comfortable around them, otherwise they’re no different from blobs of lights.

Rather than inside the cafe, we sit on a bench right outside, looking towards the endless flowery meadow and clear skies that surround it. “I was told by a kid that I’m as human as his mother. It made me so happy.”
The god seems to agree, although it speaks in its usual monotone voice. “I think you should stop thinking of yourself as something inhuman, you earned the right to think of yourself as a full-fledged person. The only inhuman things left in this world are gods like me.”
That is very true, these gods may be omniscient about the events in the world of the living and basically omnipotent, but they barely differ from machines who only work to regulate the cycle of life in the world of the living. Gods that can talk and think like this one are quite a rare exception and work on the more complex tasks: Cocoa, for example, looks over the process of reincarnation and ether purification. “How ironic, gods like you are granted limitless power, yet you can only live to serve living souls, without the luxury of feeling anything.”
“This is why we gave the living their land divinities, after all.”
“Like those who turned Zenon into a divine messenger, right? Hmm, that Shigure, everyone seems to love her. I wish I could meet her, although she’s probably not the one that Zenon met.”
I stretch my arms and get back up. “I wonder if even gods like you can become more human like it happened to me, even if it takes them thousands of years.”
Cocoa stands up too. “If we ever get one more of us that we don’t need for management, we’ll send it to you so you can have fun trying.” After speaking this last sentence, it leaves walking through the meadow.
“Tch, damn Cocoa. ‘Have fun trying’. It’s not like I think of you guys as toys.”
And with that, I go back inside my café, waiting for a new client and a new story.

Licensed under Yozakura BY-NC-SA-NoAI 1.0