"Hm? What's this?"
"…"
"A return gift? An incense burner. You shouldn't have."
"…"
"…"
"…?"
"Oh, it's not that I don't appreciate the thought, I love it. I really do. It's just that… Maybe you should give it to someone else besides me."
"…"
"I mean no disrespect. It's just that I cannot properly make use of it. It is a thoughtful gift from someone like you, but… you already know that I have given up my sense of smell. The peace this scent would've given me will never come to me."
"…"
"That is why I am asking that you give this to someone more deserving than me. I'm sure whoever it is, they'll be able to fully realize the vision of that delicate and profound land this smoke will give them."
"…"
---
The shepherd stood from his prayer for the day. His third one, to be precise. He dusted his robe and looked to his flock. They grazed upon the green that grew before him. He ran his finger through the coat of one of them. They baa'd under the touch.
He picked up his cane and stamped the earth. He led them to another pasture to eat.
His ears caught the rumbling of a vehicle in the distance. A caravan of weathered cars and trucks heading towards his village.
The roaring of engines was mixed with the cries of the caged.
He turned away and ignored it all he could. He made an excuse for his deaf ears. His sheep needed watching. That is what he told himself. He is a devout believer of Allah. That is what he convinced himself of. He did not want his dreams to be tarnished by the thought of being complicit to the slaughtering.
He had no hand in the blood spilt by those labelled as infidels.
It was not his choice to call those who manifested the devil's magic infidels.
It was his choice to live in fear of those who did.
The grip on his cane weakened. He can hear the engines no longer.
He continued his work.
Leading his flock from being astray.
---
"Did you hear?" His neighbor said to him after salah.
The shepherd did not.
"The leader was found beheaded in his chambers last night. No one could find the culprit yet."
How could that be? He is supposed to be the strongest among them.
"There's been accusations recently, but it's just rumors I've heard. The seat is said to be filled by his second-in-command."
He is just as cruel.
"No one else defied him. I hear he is planning on culling the loyalists."
That is madness.
"It is the truth, brother. Let us pray for a peaceful morning."
The shepherd did, as he erased all thoughts of what must be happening within the monastery in the mountains.
---
The shepherd peeked from his bedroom window to see the explosions in the distance.
"How goes it?" His wife said from under the table with their children in arms.
The schism is not yet over after the second's sudden death. Too many coveted the seat and elected to wipe all opposition. It was tonight that the tension boiled over.
"Come down from there, my love. We do not wish to lose you." She pleaded.
He obeyed. As he was a devout believer of Allah and a loving husband at that.
The candles were snuffed. The windows were barred. Only moonlight slipped through the cracks. The only sounds that echoed in the night were those of the power hungry and zealous, along with silent prayers.
---
"You will come with us." The zealot did not ask nicely.
The shepherd looked to his cowering family. He steeled himself before the fanatics. And wordlessly went with them.
For he was a devout follower of Allah.
He saw his neighbors peeping through their windows. He saw the prayers they sent his way. He saw himself in their eyes.
One of them prodded a barrel into his side. He was flanked by two of them in the back seat. He thought of a prayer to himself. That is all he could do.
He made not a whimper on the ride to the monastery.
---
The cheers of the believers before him were deafening.
Murderers. Killers. Executioners. All in Allah's name. All in the new leader's name.
All in his name now.
A proxy. A substitute. A puppet. That is all he was. He has seen what has killed the many leaders before him, all of whom held short terms.
He prayed his term will be longer than their days and weeks.
The dust from the bullet-ridden ceiling were caught in his eyes.
Or was it just his fearful tears?
---
It was a cell than an office. The furniture that perpetuated bloody massacres and worthless excess were before him. A desk. A computer. Cabinets and shelves. Papers and such. Incense, a shrine, a prayer mat. Some accessories were due to his asking. His guards begrudgingly praised his devotion when they gave them.
Mere days felt like months when his life held in the balance. Any moment could be his last. He felt his age rapidly fly out the window before him. He was to never leave the room with it.
Only to show his face to acolytes and believers.
Few people came to visit him. The powerful in charge using him. His guards who held no ill will. His family once, when he asked.
He was a figurehead to them. He could do nothing but pray. And if he was to be killed like those before him, they will find another.
And so, he saw no other outlet for his fear than the pages filled with the words given by Jibreel.
Every day, he would dedicate himself to the beliefs he dedicated his life to.
And every night, he would pray to see the next one, hoping for this madness to end.
---
Come morning there was hardly a stir that he recognized. Not a word from the door. No checking of him. No condescending laughter.
His hand shook before the door handle. The worst came to him.
He decided to make peace with it and opened the passage out.
Blood.
Or rather, the lack there of.
All over the monastery were headless corpses. Long since gone cold. Their neck stumps burned and cauterized. They were those who cared not for the holy doctrine and cared only for the authority that came with them.
He held back his screams. They would do nothing to ease his horror.
He found the survivors, no. The shepherd thought of them as a flock. The acolytes and disciples. Spared from that fate.
Panicked muttering came. What happened? What will they do? What can they do? Are they safe?
Pairs of eyes turned to him, a wordless expectation from the supposed leader he was painted to be. The one who was said to order everything that happened. He who now apparently ordered the execution of these false believers.
Those were not his words. They have stuffed them in his throat.
The same throat swallowed his fear as he realized the power he now wielded.
Power that he wanted to reject.
Then, he stood before the lost and confused and spoke.
It was by Allah's will that the false believers are to die.
A lie, he did not know, but he saw a flock that needed guidance.
And he was a shepherd.
He decreed with a powerful voice that came from the bottom of his doubts that blood shall no longer be spilled in Allah's name.
And the flock agreed without question.
They listened when he said the dead are to be buried and mourned for.
They listened when he said it was time for prayer.
They listened when he said to spread the word to the other sects.
They listened when he said to spare the infidels.
They listened when he said to prepare for the worst of times.
They listened, in part of fearing that they are next and in part of their shepherd's words.
And the flock grew and grew as they grazed the grass.
And as the world drowned in Judi's waters and burned in Sinai's fire, they held to their faith.
And never once did it fail them.
And never once did the shepherd noticed the additional incense burner in his office, burning a dim blue flame within and fleeting scent that showed a land of peace.
--
"Hm? You got a different feeling on you. So you gave it to someone? That's great. I hope they'll enjoy it."
"…"
"Well, I'm sure if it's someone picked by you, they must've worked hard to deserve it."
"…"
"Er, besides me. Eheheh…"
"…"
"A prayer? Sure. It's the least I can do for you. Now, which direction is the qibla..?"
"…"
"Of course, you would know. You've never missed a single one. Would you start it?"
"ٱللَّٰهُ أَكْبَرُ"
---
AN: Plenty of stories goes on in Earth Bet. Not just Taylor. 196.9 million square miles of 8 billion or so humans. It is not just the struggles of Parahumans that occupy it as depicted in Worm, but also of the common man, of their lives, of their beliefs. Keep in mind of your fellows and see the world in a different perspective. Hopefully, it is brighter and more hopeful than before.
