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Grisha could not help but smile as he looked down into the small, round eyes that were so strikingly similar to his own. His vessel resurrection plan Himself Son, was currently inhabiting a body that appeared to be no more than five to seven years of age. With His limpid, golden eyes mirroring Grisha’s own bluish-golden gaze, His locks of bright, spun-gold hair, and the soft white robes draped over His small frame, the child looked as though He had stepped straight out of the stained-glass windows or archaic Bible illustrations that Grisha’s grandmother had once adored so deeply.
Although, as a naturally born mythical creature and a king of angels at that, it was entirely unnecessary for Adam to have been given the frail form of a human child—especially considering the fact that his intellect and consciousness already far more closely resembled the complex mind of a fully grown being than that of a naive toddler. Nevertheless, Grisha, yielding to an increasingly rare fit of lingering humanity and a small, latent wish of a man from a long-gone era (who once dreamt of family and fatherhood), had made the conscious decision to let Adam grow and develop more naturally. He hoped that the gradual process would supplement and improve the child's humanity.
"Today we'll be practicing story writing," Grisha told His son warmly. In a motion shockingly similar to that of human children of similar physical age, Adam reflexively seemed to copy that expression and smiled back at Him, warming Grisha's heart further.
"The primary aim of this particular exercise is for you to write me a detailed script of events that could plausibly occur within a quiet, small town," Grisha explained. As He spoke, He adopted a tone that was similar to the ones used by teachers during lectures, even going so far as to clasp His hands behind His back and pace around the room. "I want You to write a few descriptive passages about the mundane daily life of the people living there. Focus a more on their lifestyle as a community, rather than them as individuals for now, and how exactly they all interact with each other. Make sure to add some necessary conflicts and unscrupulous events when needed. Then, I want You to figure out a way to solve everyone's grievances in a manner that is most probable. The narrative should be highly coherent, and it needs to make logical sense in terms of narrative pacing, character development, and any sort of world-building you have added. Tell Me, can You do that for Me, Adam?"
The child, sitting at His little desk (similar to the ones that Grisha used to use as a boy), nodded enthusiastically.
Grisha envisioned a pen and paper into existence and handed it to Adam. Adam observed the new objects that had been placed in His hand before, seemingly, coming to the realization on how to use them and starting to furiously scribble on the page without even having to be coached on how to use it. (Perhaps from some imprint of memories that had managed to transfer when He created Adam? Hmm, this was something that Grisha needed to test more.)
Grisha was not sure how long Adam took to write His story—time being something that He had long since stopped keeping any real track on, mostly using His omnipotence to figure it out when He needed to. But He did know that the sun seemed to be making its way down westward, slowly, through the sky. As Adam wrote, Grisha silently observed His face. The child's normally blank face scrunched in concentration, His tongue poking out slightly in an alarmingly cute manner. He paused every once in a while when He seemed to have gotten stuck in a particular segment, but otherwise, He mostly looked like He had a decent plan for His narrative.
Interestingly, unlike Grisha's own chicken-scratch-like handwriting, Adam seemed to use a pretty Lucida-like font, making his scripts resemble imitations of fairytales that Grisha used to see when scrolling the internet. Perhaps a remnant from that? Or perhaps this was Oroborus' influence shining through—Adam did enjoy spending time with Grisha's angel of fate. So engrossed was He in His contemplations that He didn't realize that Adam had finished his writings and was silently staring at Grisha with His big, round eyes.
Meeting Grisha's now focused gaze and grinning like the excited child that He really wasn't, Adam brandished His paper in front of Grisha's face. Laughing slightly at His Son's enthusiasm, He took the sheet and gave the child a small pat on His head in approval before starting to read what was written.
It took a great effort to maintain His smile as He read through the script. It was, to be completely honest, bad. Adam seemed to have a really warped idea on what exactly would cause conflicts among humans and the exact scale of the conflict that certain actions would result in.
For that first time in a very, very long time, Grisha has to physically stop himself from raising His eyebrows in horror as He read through the completely nonsensical account of a bunch of people who had apparently been completely friendly before that morning devolve into screaming matches and, sometimes, even outright murder over small, petty reasons—kinda like some sort of Detective Conan episode on steroids. Grisha was almost impressed despite Himself. And then, in lieu of a resolution, Adam seemed to have just chucked an asteroid at the town, killed everyone, and called it a day, ending the story by calling everything that occurred a "reasonable development."
"Child," Grisha couldn't help but lampoon in his head, "I don't think that you even know what exactly reasonable development means."
If it were literally anyone else, Grisha would've unleashed a critique so scathing it would've left the author a crumpled, sobbing mess. But looking into His Son’s huge, hopeful eyes—which practically screamed, Praise Me, praise Me—He felt all of His resolve melt away.
The problem, He realized, was that Adam had no real idea on how exactly humans behaved. The only beings that He had been exposed to since His creation have been Grisha and His king of Angels, and all of Them behaved in manners that only vaguely resembled those of humans. If Adam were to really understand what it was to be an author, then He would have to learn about humanity-influenced behaviors, and not just divinity-based ones.
The question now was: how exactly do you teach a born mythical creature about humanity and how human society works? As Grisha contemplated this issue, His gaze turned to Adam, who seemed to have gotten bored of waiting for Grisha to say something and had started doodling on the margins of the extra sheets of paper He had left. The doodles were clumsy and disproportionate but had a certain charm to them, like that of the drawings of a small kid who was still learning fine motor skills, which gave them a lovable, childlike feel.
Childlike, hmmmm.
Grisha snapped His fingers in realization. He was looking at it all wrong! The problem was not to teach a king of angels to be human, no. The problem was to teach a child about human society and values.
Crouching down, He met Adam's limpid, searching gaze, which had been trained on Him since His finger snap. Grisha smiled at Him kindly and, once again, the child smiled back in a copy-cat manner.
"The script You've written is good," He said—only a half-lie, for it was a pretty decent first attempt. The words used and the actions depicted were well-written. If you looked at it in a manner purely focused on grammar and literature, then it was a genuine masterpiece. Adam's smile stretched wider, causing Grisha's heart to almost melt at how adorable it was, but He persisted. "But," He said, drawing out the word. Adam lost His smile and narrowed His eyes in question. "You seem to be lacking some basic context on how exactly stories mean to proceed. So, we are going to try something slightly different."
With a wave of His hand, He vanished the desk and papers that He had envisioned for Adam and, instead, envisioned a small couch, big enough for an adult and child to sit on comfortably. He picked up Adam and dropped Him on it before taking His own seat next to Him. In His hand, He held a book titled Grimm's Fairytales.
"I will be reading some pre-epoch children's literature to you," Grisha said, letting Adam lean His little head against His arm. "We can start with this for now, but I will be showing you tales from other cultures, too. Then, we can analyze what exactly the story is trying to portray and how exactly certain events are properly foreshadowed. After you get a hang of that, we will try writing some of these stories into existence. Is that alright with you?"
Adam nodded enthusiastically, His eyes already fixed on the cover of the book and gleaming with interest and delight.
Clearing his throat for no reason other than habit, Grisha started reading:
"The wife of a rich man fell sick, and when she felt that her end was drawing near, she called her only daughter to her bedside—"
Adam silently stared at the sheet of paper in front of Him. Though He had long since outgrown the need to manifest His scripts in the physical plane, there was still a sort of comfort to be found in the motion. At the back of His consciousness of self, He could feel His Father's divinity pulsating, permeating in His bones and slowly assimilating into His being. At some point in the near future, the consciousness that called Itself Adam would be overtaken by the will of the Ancient Sun God—a reasonable and altogether necessary development.
Nodding to Himself slightly, He held a pen in His hand. Under the comforting weight of childhood memories long gone and a beloved divinity enveloping His being like an embrace, Adam put His pen to paper and started writing:
"One upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, in a land of myth and a time of magic—"