There is a faint flare of light.

A sleeping teenage boy appears in the park, wrapped in a blanket, in the shadow of one of the benches.

The god's mind is bewildered. A second ago he was at home answering prayers, and now - is he in a different world?

Well. The real question is, what are the people of this world praying for?

A lot of things, given the whole world to look over.

A man prays that the good weather will hold until harvest time. A little boy asks for candy. An old woman wishes she was young again. A different, nervous, young woman hopes the Science and Technology Committee will approve her invention.

The weather can have a little luck, the boy can have his candy, the old woman can have her youth - he's not sure he understands about the Science and Technology Committee, maybe best to leave that until he's been through a bunch more prayers and understands the world better - what else?

A man prays for forgiveness of his sins, which are fairly petty as sins go. A sailor in a storm prays that the ship will make it through. A fox(?) wishes she was human again.

Luck for the sailor, humanity (and clothes) for the currently-a-fox, next?

A rich-looking couple are both praying for help having a child. Some more little kids want candy, or a pet. A group of fur-dressed people are collectively praying for luck and productivity at the new steel mill they're opening. A nurse hopes that her half a dozen burn victims recover well enough to be moved soon. A little girl deeply wants to be magic when she grows up, like those cool Witches she sees in books and posters.

Fertility, candy, candy, adorable magic kitten, luck, complete healing for the burn victims, and—all right, what is a witch, and can he make this little girl grow up to be one?

A witch is a lucky one-in-a-few-hundred female human who spontaneously develops magic at about the same time they start to get their fertility. They can fly, they are stronger and tougher, they can generate shields and use blast attacks (though the last thing is particularly tiring). And each witch gets one unique trait to add to these common ones.

He can make this little girl into a witch, sure. Making a boy into one would likely mess something up, though.

Well, there, the girl is now a witch. What else are people praying for?

That nurse from earlier has decided to pray for the healing of everyone in this hospital. There's more praying-for-forgiveness, people asking for help with a dozen small things that probably deserve a dash of luck and no more, and-

Surprising how he missed this category for so long, given how common it is now that he's looking for them...

People praying for revenge against the Neuroi. Praying for the strength to keep fighting them another day, or luck to come out unscathed. Praying that they'll decide to go away, or choose a different place to attack. Praying for their dead friends or family that were killed by the Neuroi. Praying that god have mercy on them and take away the Neuroi sent as torment. Praying to escape Venice before the repeated attacks finally destroy it.

When he investigates, the Neuroi are... Weird. They are iridescent black and red flying things that make regular, almost scheduled, attacks on anything or anyone human. If the Neuroi are alive, are people, they don't pray.

He heals everyone in the hospital. He can do that.

...

He doesn't have to investigate for very long to realize that he would prefer the Neuroi to be elsewhere. He grabs onto one of the prayers to get rid of them, and he looks at the history of the world to see - did they come from anywhere? Somewhere he might send them back to?

The little ones came from the big one, generating them like a factory. The big one came from another star, vast distances away.

Well, then, all of the Neuroi can go right back to their star.

Someone nudges the park's newest resident awake, speaking in polite Gallian tones.

"Huh?"

He sits up and blinks, looking around.

"...Where the fuck am I?"

"Ah, vous- English is not knowing. You are, eh... I find English, okay? Okay. Here you waiting, yes?"

...sure.

"Yeah, okay," he says, nodding. "I'll wait."

"Okay."

He jogs off and returns with a police officer of some sort.

"Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to Cevi-chez. Are you a refugee?"

"...Mostly I'm confused," he says. "I have no idea where I am or how I got here."

Maybe it's magic, maybe he's finally broken his streak. What a thought. The first time anything magic ever happens to him, and it teleports him to the other side of the world.

"I would not know how you got here if you don't remember yourself. Are you in any pain, could you be injured?"

"No, I'm fine, except for the whole 'mysteriously lost in a foreign country' thing. Guess maybe I'm a refugee after all," he says wryly.

"Hm. In that case, I should perhaps send you to the Mâcon resettlement center. They'll know how to help you much better than I would."

"Sure, okay. Thanks."

"My sympathies for being lost. Would you like to have a meal on the government's coin down at our station? You can wait there while I arrange transport. Should be quick enough, some couriers around these parts will ferry people for us sometimes."

He smiles. "Yeah, that sounds great."

"Alright. We've probably got a set of clothes for you, even. You keep that blanket wound up until we get there, though. Follow me, if you please."

He laughs. He follows. He remains thoroughly blanketed.

The town that the constable walks him through is fairly lively. Though it shows almost no sign of the light of technology - the most technically advanced thing he sees is a clock tower, or possibly the oil lantern outside that one shop.

...Yeah, he is definitely getting a not-in-Kansas-anymore feeling, here.

The woman in robes who flies across the street riding a broom, just above the close-built brick houses halfway there probably doesn't help.

There are flying brooms back home too, but... yeah, there's something about it that doesn't feel quite right.

"Well, here we are. I'll get Kerrian to fetch you a snack and a shirt. We have beds if you like, it's just that they're in jail cells. I'd leave the door unlocked." He chuckles.

He laughs. "Thanks. I'm not that tired yet."

He gets a snack and a shirt. The policeman has to go back to work, but this secretary knows English, some. And she soon tells him that someone will come pick him up in about three hours.

He eats the snack. He wears the shirt. He thanks the secretary for the information and sits quietly.

This is a police station, but apparently crime is pretty slow around these parts. One person comes in to deliver a lost wallet, and that's about all the activity it sees.

Huh. Good for them.

The person who comes to deliver him to the big city is a middle-aged woman in what look like special flying clothes, with a large construction that's not really a broom in function anymore, just aesthetic. She has middling to poor English.

...Yeah, the brooms seem to be a thing here in a way not characteristic of the magic he's familiar with. Well, okay then. He can be carried around on a flying broom if necessary.

She flies at a relatively sedate pace, high over French countryside. It takes about an hour and a half to arrive at the big city.

There are improbably towering storm clouds visible past the horizon to the east. It must be hundreds of miles off, but that's a big storm.

Wow. Yep. Storm: very big. He's not sure how to ask the courier what the deal is, though, so he keeps quiet about it.

She drops him off at a big, recently built-looking compound. Some buildings still under construction, the finished ones' bricks are still bright red, there's a wide open yard with hundreds of tents set up inside it.

A very fit-looking woman dressed in some kind of uniform with a shiny stylized wing emblem on one side and a nametag reading 'Sabella Carlotta' comes out to meet him. "Welcome to the refugee center. Wherever you came from, it's safe here."

"Good to know," he says, smiling at her.

"Let's get you processed, then. Any idea where you might have fled from? Where you want to end up?"

"Not really," he says. "On either count."

"Hm. Well, we have space for you either way. Useful skills? We try to find people jobs."

"Dunno what's useful, but I'm pretty good at learning new things."

"A lot of things are useful. And there's always factory work, hauling, laundry, or similar if you don't have any specialized skills." She produces paperwork and starts filling it out. "You can sit down if you like. What's your full name?"

Not like she'll know any different. He picks something off the top of his head.

"Valentine Theodore Everett."

She writes this down. "Family?"

He shakes his head.

She doesn't question it. "And you've already said you don't know your country of origin. Shall I just put today down for your date of displacement?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. Here's some informational material - basically, the UDF is obligated to provide for your most basic material needs. Food, water, warmth. We are not obligated to give you much beyond that, though we try to do so especially to those who are cooperative and helpful as an incentive, and you can be detained or kicked out if you engage in criminal activity."

"Got it. I'll do my best on the 'cooperative and helpful' front."

"Great! I'll have to hand you off to Kevin now, he'll assign you a tent and a meal line, alright?"

"Sure, thanks!"

Kevin is a lot less cheerful, and a lot less buff than Sabella. He looks sort of - worn down. "Hey... New arrival. I'm Kevin. Well... let's go see the supply office and get your tent."

"All right," he says agreeably.

They go to the supply office. There's a line.

Mr. Everett is given two sets of very plain clothes, one pressed tin cup/bowl combo, half a bar of soap, twenty one meal tickets, a thin pillow, and a cheap cloth-and-wooden-sticks tent.

Kevin shows him to an empty spot about two tents wide, marked off by disturbed dirt. At least it has grass growing, only somewhat anemically. "Well, here you go. You probably want to get to the job office some time tomorrow... And I should probably show you the washup and the meal lines."

"Yeah, sounds good."

He is going to be so helpful and cooperative. These people look like they need it.

Kevin shows him the washup which contains toilets, sinks, and showers in reasonable privacy from each other. Hot water status: An hour a day. There is always a line. The meal line is very efficient and lets you choose between two or three options a day, for example, beans and rice versus seasoned bread with nuts on the side.

"You could go to the job office now if you like. I'm headed back that way."

...

There's no magic here. No sign of anyone having prayed for anything. It wouldn't take many prayers to improve this place considerably.

He'd better not bring it up until he knows more.

"Thanks, I'd like that. Might as well get started as soon as possible."

"Okay."

Kevin is just kind of boring, probably. Quiet and subdued.

...This guy in the job office is not quiet and subdued.

"No, I want to hear you say it! You will be the best damn woodcutter in your entire section."

"I... Sure."

"Say it, say it! Get excited. You're strong, you've got a good swing, and you know how to split logs without making splinters. Wood is handy, people need it! Take pride even in little things."

"I guess..."

"Saaaaaay iiiiiit!"

"I'm- I'm going to be the best woodcutter in my section."

"Great! Now, take this form to the office on your right. They'll introduce you to the schedules and everything else and get you your axe!"

"...Does everyone get to be the best woodcutter in their section?" he wonders.

"It helps that the sections are kind of small! And not everyone is best at woodcutting. Hello, Kevin, newcomer, I'm Sauhol Jorgensen."

"Valentine Everett! Nice to meet you!"

"Likewise. Now, I'm assuming you're looking for something to do if you managed to get Kevin to bring you here?"

Kevin is now wandering off somewhere.

"Yep! What kind of stuff to do is there?"

"There's a demand for just about everything, to be honest. Physical labor like woodcutting or doing laundry. Trade skills like sewing, cooking, plumbing, carpentry, candlemaking, couriers, smiths, butchers, chemists. if you can read and write quickly you can be a clerk - we have few enough of those - factories and labs have places for clever newcomers sometimes. All sorts."

"I'm all right at sewing, I can read and write pretty fast but I don't know how fast I'd need to be..."

"If you've been doing it enough to form the opinion that you might be fast, you probably are."

"Guess I'll be a clerk, then."

"Well, let me talk about what they do so you're sure."

Clerks deal with inventories, schedules, and so on. Coordinating people, distributing supplies, communicating with the UDF about developments in the Neuroi War...

"If I try it and find out I can't stand dealing with inventories and schedules, I can always come back and try sewing instead, right?"

"We'll try to get you sorted in a job that suits you until one sticks, but it disrupts things a fair bit so we try to keep that to a minimum, get it right on the first try. But don't worry you'll be stuck doing something you hate, or without a job entirely."

"I'll see how I take to clerking, since you're apparently in need of those."

"We're in need of good clerks. bit of a difference."

"Then I'll be the best clerk."

"Well, let's just see! Take this to the office on the right, they'll give you a couple of quick tests and if they like you a time and place to show up tomorrow."

"Sure!"

He goes to the office on the right.

The office to the right contains someone with a very serious-looking face.

"Think you'll make a good clerk, eh? Hold on..." She produces a few piles of paper. "Here's a little test I made up. The left pile is inventory, the middle is recipes, the right is kitchen schedule and consumption estimates. I want you to figure out why we have less potatoes than we ought to, and correct it. That's the kind of thing a great clerk can do for us. But if you can just read and take diction that's better than nothing."

"All right," he says, and he sits down with the piles of paper and starts reading. He wasn't kidding about reading fast.

The numbers just don't add up, unless one of the cooks made a substitution, or someone's stealing potatoes, or some other reason that about a hundred pounds of the things just disappeared.

Well, where'd they disappear from? If they went missing all at once, that suggests a single theft. If they're vanishing a little at a time, that suggests either a habitual petty thief or something going on in the kitchen.

It seems like one particular kitchen is consistently using slightly more potatoes than the rest.

...Actually they're consistently using slightly more of everything than the rest.

Huh. He smiles at the page.

"Looks like these guys are making more food than they're supposed to," he says.

She looks up from some paperwork. "And you figured it out in something like 15 minutes. Good. Normally the next thing you do would be to go figure out why they're making more food and fix it, but in this case it's a problem we had a while ago and already fixed. They were using the measuring scales wrong."

"Sounds like I'll make an all-right clerk, then."

"Indeed. You can get a better room after a week of working in a camp-necessary position, and of course you get money too." She names a number that means nothing to him. "I'll let the administration office know we have a new clerk for them, get you your job card, and you can show up tomorrow morning."

"Great! Thanks!"

This place, at least, has a fairly minimal amount of paperwork overhead. Too much to do to file constant reports about it.

So he has a job lined up; what now?

Meet his new neighbors? Find out more about how this place works, either the camp specifically or the area in general? Sleep?

Hmm. He's a little tired, but he thinks he'll go for option B: Reconnaissance.

What does he recon?

How about the organization of the camp?

Each section of about 100 people has one camp staff assigned to it, they try to see to it that everyone's needs are filled and help people get to the job office and mediate disputes between people and so on. Their goal is to have most people who arrive out to somewhere farther away from a war zone, and hopefully with permanent housing and jobs lined up for them, within a few weeks. 

Well, that's very efficient of them.

What's the bigger picture? What are all these refugees seeking refuge from? He's not going to ask outright, it seems to be one of those things everybody knows, but it's possible to piece together what everybody knows if you listen real close while they don't bother explaining it to each other.

The Neuroi. They make the giant storm. They fly and explode things. Witches fight them. If you see one and don't see a Witch nearby or have cannons or something you will probably die.

Well that's... good to know. Okay. Neuroi: bad news.

This world definitely doesn't have a god.

People pray anyway, some of them. They're pretty clearly praying to a distant and mysterious figure that never actually does anything directly.

Some time near sunset, there is a loud announcement - loudspeakers? Almost the first sign of electricity here - that anyone who was issued tickets for train 613 should come to the gate now.

Well, he doesn't have a ticket for train 613. And he's kind of tired. He decides to go to sleep.

His tent and the meager supply of stuff is undisturbed. Someone is cooking and singing to her small child two tents over at a small camp fire.

He curls up and sleeps.

And the god wakes. How's the world doing—? What urgent prayers are there?

A lot of people need food, or water, or healing, or shelter. A lot of people have recently and slightly less recently dead relatives.

People feel strongly about all sorts of things. Someone in a hastily-built town dearly wishes he had a giant canvas and lots of paint, so he can make the place a bit prettier. A teenage girl dearly wants to undo her actions so her friend is fixed and she doesn't go to jail. An engineer overseeing a dam and staring at an approaching flood mutters prayers in between shouted instructions.

The highest levels of UDF command want to know what the fuck happened to the Neuroi and will they come back. At least one of them is, in fact, praying for divine inspiration on the matter.

He picks up someone's prayer for food and water, and finds all the refugee centers and devastated towns and so forth and gives all of them their very own cornucopias and ever-flowing fountains of clean water, each one unique in design.

He picks up someone's prayer for healing, and finds all the hospitals and fixes everything he can fix.

He picks up the engineer's prayer and strengthens the dam and removes enough water from the flood to calm it down.

He looks at the teenage girl's prayer - what did she do?

She used her Witch magic to turn her friend into a boy. The friend wanted it and wants to stay that way, but their parents are freaking the hell out, and both teenagers are moderately to severely panicked.

How about the friend gets the magical power to change between current and previous forms at will, that seems like a reasonable quick patch on that situation.

The person praying for divine inspiration regarding what happened to the Neuroi can have a note, appearing in front of them as a scroll tied with a glowing rainbow ribbon:

I'm a god. I'm not always awake, but when I am, I answer prayers. I came to this world and heard the prayers of people affected by the Neuroi, so I answered them.

And it seems important to find out, at this point - what are the Neuroi up to, back at their distant star?

A sizable number of them are heading toward Earth at faster than light speeds. The rest are talking to each other using radio waves. A lot of talking - arguing about what to do now that something unexpected has happened.

He finds the nearest broadly applicable prayer, someone who doesn't know the Neuroi are gone yet and wishes they would be—

The ones who are heading toward Earth at faster-than-light speeds are now heading away from Earth, their positions and trajectories mirrored around their point of origin so it's as though they were travelling in exactly the opposite direction all along.

They stop immediately.

UDF guy is asking what exactly he did to the Neuroi, whether he could please appear credibly Divine proof of this on various sectors of government so nobody panics.

He grabs onto that request and answers it thusly:

A note that says I sent them back where they came from.

Three lovely crystal balls on ornate floating stands, one showing the center of the Neuroi storm, one showing the Neuroi homeworld, one showing the current location of the big Neuroi that was on Earth until recently. All of them are live feeds, all of them can change angle and zoom in and out in response to the will of the viewer.

And then he unravels the Neuroi storm. Goodbye, Neuroi storm.

The storm was unraveling on its own eventually, but weather patterns have inertia and it would have spilled into everything else.

The Neuroi have started to... Consume their homeworld? Huge amounts of matter are being converted into many, many, many of the small and stupid drone brand of Neuroi. From the planet, its star, the other planets and moons in the system.

...That's weird but okay. You do you, Neuroi, as long as you're not attacking any civilizations.

The people of Earth have a wide variety of prayers. The cornucopias are - stunning. A fair number of people seem to be catching on that praying for your desires is, in fact, a thing. There are a lot of people asking him to confirm their religion, or feed them a new one, or smite the blasphemers over thataway. Little girls - and older women - wanting to be Witches is pretty common. Little boys wishing for magic is a bit less common, but happens, sometimes with a 'but don't make me a girl!' attached. 

Of the more unique things... A musician wants his hands to stop shaking all the time. A Witch wants out of her magical oath so she can amuse herself cursing people semi-randomly again. A butcher wants to be rich. An inventor hopes her experiment goes well. A pickpocket wants to find interesting targets. A schoolboy wants help understanding math. A middle-aged woman wants these refugees to go back home. A sculptor wishes his statue hadn't broken.

Many of the people praying for religious answers get candy or flowers or pretty jewelry or bonsai trees, as the whim takes him, all tied up with shimmering rainbow ribbons. He makes people be Witches when they want to be Witches, except he's not sure how to manage it with the boys, so he leaves those alone for now.

The musician can have a cure. The inventor can have a little luck. The pickpocket can have a little luck too, why not. He can't help the schoolboy that easily, and he doesn't have much interest in helping the middle-aged woman, but he can totally fix that statue right up.

This man would like the blasted remains of his house in Eastern Karlsland restored. This girl wants to have blonde hair instead of red. A mother wants her child to stop acting out and misbehaving. A physicist wants an explanation of how the hell these cornucopias work. A different physicist wants an accurate and manipulable diorama of the solar system. That guy from the UDF would like to know if the god has any opinions about the government, and also if the Neuroi's homeworld's behavior is something to worry about. Someone wants to be able to see 'impossible colors'. A baker wants to know what he's even supposed to do now that a lot of people have free food on demand. A steam-powered fishing boat owner wants a cornucopia that will do coal and lubricant and other industrial things. The former Duchess of Celndary wants to reclaim her manor from the UDF. A young Witch wants her magic taken away so she can't accidentally or angrily use it on someone (she can control blood).

A lot of people want eternal youth. A lot of people want resurrections, and one person is requested more often than anyone else. The Unity Mother, a true hero in the public's eye. She died seventeen years ago to a Neuroi.

Sure, Teah can resurrect a house, they're much easier than people.

Hair colour change: done.

Misbehaving child: given rainbow-ribboned candy.

Physicist with questions: also given rainbow-ribboned candy.

Physicist who wants to spy on the solar system: sure, here you go.

Impossible colours: how about infrared and ultraviolet?

Baker: can have his very own small portable cornucopia that provides baking ingredients on request, with a shining rainbow ribbon tied in a bow around it.

Annnnd a couple of people he can't help, and - he gives the young Witch the ability to turn her power on and off at will -

Eternal youth is an interesting question but he doesn't have an answer to it yet so he leaves it for now.

His policy on resurrections is normally 'no', but enough people want this person that it's worth doing. He grabs onto one of the relevant prayers and looks into the past to investigate the Unity Mother. What's her deal? Where would be an appropriate place to bring her back?

The Unity Mother is Samantha Vale. She was the person who got everyone to work together after the first few panic-filled months when the Neuroi first attacked. Aside from putting herself in danger to protect people and trying to inspire other Witches to do the same, she was the very image of bravery and virtue. She personally got a dozen major nations to sign on to creating the United Defense Force, and deposed three world leaders that would have made things difficult and bloody. She created the policy that capital crimes could be resolved by making a magical oath instead of death. And that's on top of all her direct acts of valor, kindness, and tactical brilliance.

There are other heroes of the Neuroi War, but the Unity Mother is by far the most famous of them. She was rather worn down and depressed by the time she finally bit it though...

The UDF headquarters in London would be a reasonable place to do it.

Hmm...

If she was depressed when she died, he'd rather bring her back somewhere less public. He picks a spot near London without any people around, and he resurrects Samantha Vale and gives her a rainbow-ribboned scroll:

I'm a god. I answer prayers. A lot of people prayed for me to bring you back, so here you are.

"...Well. God. I hope you've taken care of the Neuroi?"

This is just barely prayer-like enough that a voice out of nowhere can answer, "Yep!"

"Okay. Thank you."

And she takes a deep breath and breaks down crying.

There sure are a lot of prayers, aren't they? They continue to mostly be along the lines of rebuilding and resettling.

He rebuilds things and hands out candy and cornucopias, and keeps an eye on his resurrectee although he won't be able to do much for her without a relevant prayer to catch.

His resurrectee has torn bits of her hair out. She's... Decompressing.

Eventually she asks if the god might change her face and hair so she is not recognized, and not to tell people she is resurrected. "I'm done. I did my work. I don't want to be praised, it needed doing, but now I am done."

...Also, is he watching the Neuroi?

He gives her the ability to change her appearance at will. Seems nicer than trying to pick something for her.

And yes, he's paying a little bit of attention to the Neuroi, what are they up to?

The Unity Mother flies off thankfully.

Some of them have left their homeworld scattering in all directions but 'toward Earth'. They continue to consume the system and produce immense quantities of tiny drones. The planets are pretty much gone. The star will take a while.

The Neuroi are weird. But none of them are praying to him, so he can't help them with the weird things they are doing, even if he wanted to, which he is not at all sure he does. He grants more prayers.

Days pass. People the world over grieve and start to rebuild.

Weeks pass. Old tensions are starting to flare up without the Neuroi there to present a bigger threat. Political arguments erupt. Violence, in some places.

The Neuroi are now consuming some two hundred and twenty stars, producing innumerable tiny drones. There are no more of the big, actually smart ones.

Valentine makes an excellent clerk. He keeps quiet about his knowledge of the suddenly appearing deity. Tries praying a few times, even though it has never, ever worked for him.

The nameless god keeps an eye on the Neuroi in case they start bothering anyone. He gently discourages violence. He grants prayers. This world is going to be a lot nicer than it used to be.

The Neuroi have caught on to the idea of the god. They do something sufficiently close to praying that he can pick it up - though their minds are truly alien. It doesn't really come in words.

The biggest feature of their 'prayers' are thaty are afraid of the end state of the universe: Where even stars and black holes fade to nothingness. They explain themselves, sort of. They were driving the humans to use this strange witch magic creatively. Productively. They're glad, for an alien version of glad, that it's no longer necessary what with a God around.

They ask the god not to exterminate them. They want Neuroi-specced cornucopias that create mass from nothing. They want to return to the state they were in several million years ago, which amounts to 'not 'insane even by alien standards''.

...huh. Okay, sure. The Neuroi can have some stuff. If they're not going to bother anybody with it then why not, after all.