Hypnos did not immediately answer Aergia's question. Of course he knew that living beings resisted sleep.
A starving beast would resist, a creature in battle would resist, and living beings sensing danger were especially resistant to falling asleep.
Over endless years, these things had long become a routine part of exercising his authority.
Yet he had never wondered “why.” Or rather, there was simply no need for him to ponder it.
Sleep was his authority. If the resistance was weak, he used a little less power; if the resistance was strong, he used a little more. No matter the process, the result would never change.
Still, Hypnos was quite considerate toward his first—and currently only—subordinate deity. Since Aergia wanted to see, it was no trouble for him.
Hypnos raised his hand. The bouquet of poppies he perpetually held in his palm swayed gently, and a wisp of nearly imperceptible pollen drifted from the stamens.
“Do not resist.”
The moment his voice fell, Aergia felt her consciousness lighten slightly.
She did not lose awareness of her body; rather, an impossibly fine thread of her consciousness was drawn outward by a soft yet irresistible force, landing inside that microscopic grain of poppy pollen.
In the next instant, heaven and earth abruptly receded. For the first time, she departed the Temple of Sleep from an entirely different perspective.
There was no road, no flying, and no spatial crossing.
The grain of pollen bearing the divine power of sleep seemed as though it were already omnipresent; in merely a brief daze, the obsidian dome of the Underworld vanished, replaced by the vast, primeval expanse of the earth above, untouched by future civilizations.
Ancient forests stretched to the horizon in the darkness of night, with trees so thick several people could not encircle them spreading their tall canopies. Mountain ranges resembled giant beasts sprawling across the earth, and rivers surged through yet-unnamed canyons.
Night descended from above, while the poppy pollen, emitting a faint divine glow, drifted to distant reaches upon invisible wind currents.
Only at this moment did Aergia truly realize that although Hypnos usually appeared to merely lie sleeping on that stone couch, his power had long spread across the entire world with his every breath.
He had no need to leave the temple at all; so long as he slept, sleep itself would descend.
When the first strand of divine power dropped into the forest, a beast lowering its head to chew on tender leaves did not even have time to make a second move.
One moment, it was chewing. The next, the spark in its eyes suddenly went dark, its limbs lost support, and its entire body collapsed heavily into the tall grass.
Aergia's consciousness paused for a moment.
Then, another beast fell. Next came a cub in a tree hollow, a reptile lying on a rock, and a herd still drinking by the riverbank.
There was no gradual heavying of eyelids, no slowing of movement, no progressive blurring of thoughts.
Once Hypnos's authority over sleep arrived, they were simply switched directly from a state of “wakefulness” to “slumber.”
Clean, direct, without any transition.
Aergia remained silent for a long time.
Had she not been able to clearly feel those living creatures' steady breathing, she would have found it difficult to even connect the scene before her with her understanding of “falling asleep.”
Is this sleep? This seems more like... being knocked unconscious, doesn't it?
Just as this slightly ridiculous thought surfaced, a sudden, violent commotion erupted in the distance.
A creature far larger than an ordinary beast abruptly raised its head.
The instant the divine power of sleep touched its consciousness, its muscles tightened, its pupils contracted, and a low, uneasy growl rumbled from deep within its throat.
The power that should have been enough to plunge nearby living beings into sleep in an instant actually suffered a brief pause on this creature.
It was resisting—and resisting with extreme violence. A few breaths later, as the divine power belonging to Hypnos deepened slightly, the alertness in the creature's eyes was forcefully extinguished, and its massive body crashed to the ground.
Even after that thread of consciousness returned to the temple alongside the poppy pollen, the sight she had just witnessed continued to echo repeatedly in Aergia's mind.
Why did different living beings exhibit such stark differences when facing sleep?
And another question: why was there no “before falling asleep” in this world's sleep?
A single observation was not enough to reach a conclusion. In the years that followed, whenever Hypnos permitted it, Aergia would split off a thread of her consciousness to follow the divine power of sleep onto the earth.
She was no longer merely watching; she began intentionally comparing her observations.
Creatures that had just finished a long hunt usually resisted very little.
Living beings resting in their lairs where the surrounding environment was sufficiently safe also tended to fall asleep quickly.
Conversely, individuals that were energetic and actively moving were more prone to visible struggle when the divine power of sleep touched them.
A judgment that fit common sense extremely well gradually surfaced in her mind.
Fatigue... The more exhausted the body, the easier it accepts sleep.
This conclusion even perfectly aligned with her experience from her previous life.
When physical strength was depleted, even the strongest will found it difficult to resist sleep; whereas when one was full of energy, even lying in bed might not yield actual sleep.
Yet this seemingly reasonable judgment was quickly shattered.
It was a chase occurring at the edge of a mountain range, where a primeval creature covered in wounds was fleeing for its life.
It had lost track of how long it had been running. Its hind legs trembled visibly, each step heavier than the last, and the white mist exhaled from its snout rapidly dissipated into the night. Behind it, an even larger predator refused to give up the chase.
Judging strictly by physical condition, it was undoubtedly exhausted to the absolute limit.
According to the pattern Aergia had previously observed, this should have been the type of creature most susceptible to sleep.
Yet when Hypnos's power descended, it erupted with a resistance she had never seen before.
That body on the brink of its limit even stumbled under the oppression of the authority over sleep.
Its eyelids had nearly closed, but in the next instant, they snapped open again. It shook its head wildly, digging its sharp claws deep into the ground to force itself to stay awake through pain.
Because death was still closing in from behind. It could not sleep. If it fell asleep, it would die.
Aergia's consciousness hovered in midair as a long-forgotten sense of familiarity surged unbidden from the depths of her memory.
The laboratory, the computer screens glowing through the night, the experimental data piling over the desks. And that feeling of eyes aching from sleepiness, yet still telling oneself over and over again, “Just one more page,” “Sleep after processing this set of data.”
She was exhausted, of course, knowing better than anyone that she should rest, yet Su Mian back then simply refused to stop.
It wasn't that her body didn't want to sleep; it was that her consciousness was still commanding her body to continue.
Aergia suddenly understood: fatigue could only explain why a living being needed rest, but it could not explain why it was willing to relinquish wakefulness.
Whether the physical body was approaching its limit and whether consciousness was still maintaining the command to “continue” were two entirely different matters.
The fleeing creature was still running for its life. Its body had long ceased wanting to continue, yet its consciousness was screaming—continue.
Keep running, keep watching, keep listening, keep alert, never stop.
Aergia's consciousness trembled faintly, and she turned her gaze back onto herself.
Sloth, indolence, inaction.
What if she looked at it from another angle? A living being maintained wakefulness because it constantly issued the command to “continue” to itself.
Then what Sloth could truly weaken was perhaps never limited to physical action alone.
It could also make a consciousness—no longer so set on continuing.
The moment this thought emerged, Aergia suddenly felt the godhead of Sloth within her body vibrate softly.
Exceedingly faint, yet so distinct it was impossible to ignore.
“Lord Hypnos, I would like to ask you to help me conduct an experiment.”
When Hypnos opened his eyes once more, he saw Aergia standing before the stone couch with an earnest expression.
“What is an 'experiment'?”
“Uh... doing certain things to test an idea in one's mind.”
It had slipped out too smoothly; she had nearly forgotten that the concept of an “experiment” did not exist in this era at all.
Aergia did not beat around the bush and briefly explained what she had observed during this time.
“I discovered that fatigue is not the true reason that determines whether a living being resists sleep. What truly affects them may be whether consciousness itself is still insisting on maintaining wakefulness.”
She paused for a moment.
“My divine portfolio can weaken a living creature's will to continue acting. If this effect can apply not only to the physical body but also influence consciousness, then... perhaps it can make those beings who originally resisted sleep no longer so stubborn about maintaining wakefulness.”
Rate on N.U.
