mxnogatari-a:
『 物語。』- Life
Note: I hadn’t meant to, but I’d drawn off of the concept in Okami where the lack of faith for Amaterasu made her weak in her fight against Yami. When she got the faith of the people she was fighting for, she was strengthened and able to defeat Yami. This in turn ties into my belief regarding the gods anyway, though I still hadn’t meant for it to mirror the concept in Okami.
Spirits or gods will lose power and begin to die when the people no longer believe in them. When there is no one who will pray to them, think of them, have faith in them, they die, for what reason is there to exist if no one believes in you? When your lifeforce is centered around the idea of love and praise, prayer and offerings, and there is none extended to you, how can you continue existing? You can’t, not unless there is someone who believes in you. This is what will eventually kill Tsubasa.
—
The reason Tsubasa is slowly fading into nothing, weakening as time goes on, is entirely due to the fact that there are none who believe in him, none who even know he ‘once’ existed, none who come to worship him in this modern age. Centuries ago, he thrived on the love, faith, and praise of the villagers he watched over, but when they’d died and he failed to protect them, they lost their faith in him as quickly as they did their lives. In mere minutes, he lost them all, his heart hammering against his chest as he felt the strength they’d given him leave him. It only worsened as word spread of his incompetence among other spirits, the respect and devotion of minor spirits robbing him of more of his strength.
He needed faith. He needed prayer. He needed devotion. He needed praise. He needed love. But there was none left for him and in his heart, he knew that, lost in a sea of his own despair. As time went on, he found himself too weak to go beyond the village, let alone the shrine, so he stayed, digging through mud and rock to find bodies of children and their mothers. They did not deserve to rest without proper burial. His heart was heavy and he couldn’t stop the tears - he’d loved each and every one of them with all that he was. Was this how the gods felt when they couldn’t save their people? Was this how it was? To know all their names, their hopes, their dreams, their families, to answer their prayers, and utterly fail to save them when they needed you most?
He buried them in their burial grounds, marking every grave with stones with their names etched in them, and when he was finished, he cleared away the dirt and rock and mud that had their homes destroyed. He didn’t stop. Days went by, but he didn’t stop. He swept away the dirt inside the damaged buildings and repaired them in any way he could, picking up the toys the children could no longer play with, putting everything back in its place out of respect for the villagers he couldn’t save.
And then, he was too weak to leave the shrine.
Over the centuries, his sadness and despair was locked away, replaced by the anger and hatred he had for the god that caused all this. He was no longer tender or welcoming, kind or willing to listen, thinking only of the day Sonata would crumble. He blamed himself for trusting him, but Sonata’d come with the intensions of dealing a death blow - and he did. Stragglers every now and then wandered into the shrine, human mostly, and only to them did he extend any kindness. It was not them he was angry with. They were but children in his eyes and he could not turn them away, so he allowed them to stay for a night in his shrine. He never once revealed himself to them; his senses had not yet dulled. Perhaps they knew he was there, for he was able to keep going.
As time inches steadily forth, he grows weaker and weaker and his anger is doing him no favors as more and more wander into his shrine. His unkindness, his impersonability, his sharp tongue, none are doing anything to keep anyone willing to believe in him. Perhaps that is for the best. He will only fail them again and in turn, break his spirit. He will only fail to protect them like he did before…and lose them all again. He could not risk it. He couldn’t risk them and he couldn’t risk himself. One mistake and he’s…gone.