The wind was cold, not the kind that chilled the skin, but the kind that seeped into the soul. I stood at the edge of the ruined battlefield, where stone met silence and all things bled regret. The last remnants of Erebus had scattered like dust in the wind, and I, Alfia, remained—unwanted, untouched by victory.
My body ached, each breath shallow. The disease was crawling again. It was always crawling. I had made peace with it, I thought. I had accepted my death… until the light appeared.
A sudden glow. No, not just light—a circle. Intricate runes spun midair, shimmering symbols spiraled in golden arcs, drawn by invisible hands. Time itself hesitated.
I didn't flinch. I welcomed it.
If this was the end, at least it was a new one.
But from the center of the circle… he appeared.
A man, tall—almost annoyingly tall. Hair like dark gold with a greenish tint, and eyes a strange gray-blue that shimmered like the sky before a storm. He wore… gods, what was that outfit? Black shirt, gray blazer, jeans, and polished leather shoes? Did he think he was going to a mortal wedding?
His gaze locked with mine, and for a moment, I felt something heavy press down on the world. Divine Aura.
A god.
But not one I knew.
"Ah," he said, voice smooth like velvet, but dissonant, like someone unused to using it. "This one's alive."
He blinked, looked around at the ruins, at me, and tilted his head. "...This is new."
I narrowed my eyes. "You're not from around here."
He chuckled. "I get that a lot."
His aura… it was off. Too thick. Too real. New gods always forgot to dim it. The Guild would hate this.
I exhaled slowly. "You're a god."
"Guilty," he raised a hand in mock surrender. "Though I swear I didn't mean to intrude. I was aiming for… somewhere with less dying."
I raised an eyebrow. "This is Orario."
He stared. "Huh. That explains the Dungeon vibes. I thought it was just indigestion."
I blinked. What?
He stepped forward, eyes scanning me, and his playful tone fell into something heavier. "You're sick."
It wasn't a question.
I folded my arms. "It's chronic."
He nodded, solemn. "I can feel it. Your life force... it's strained. Like it's burning at both ends."
"Is that divine insight or poetic nonsense?"
"Little of both," he replied with a grin.
I should've walked away. I didn't.
He tilted his head again, studying me. "You're strong. Powerful. But broken. A paradox."
"Are you here to mock me, or…?"
"No," he said simply. "I'm… bored. And curious. And…" His voice dropped. "I think I can help."
I laughed once, bitter. "You think I haven't tried everything?"
"You haven't tried me."
That stopped me.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out what looked like a chunk of dull crystal. "I need a magical medium. This world's weird. Götter get rules slapped on them like stickers. I can't use my full powers. Not here. Not yet."
He glanced at me, then at the pouch at my hip. "You got monster crystals?"
I stiffened. "Why?"
"I can use them. Crush them into dust, I touch the powder, I can work magic. Not much. But enough."
"…And in return?"
He smiled. Not cruel. Not kind. Just... strange.
"In return, I'll try to fix you. As a test. Something fun."
For the first time in months, I hesitated. Something inside me, something buried under all the bitterness and resignation, twitched.
A god. A mad, half-anime-dressed god, appearing out of nowhere, offering a miracle.
Maybe I was hallucinating. Maybe this was death.
But I reached into my pouch.
And I gave him a crystal.
He caught the crystal in his palm and held it up to the dim light, squinting as if inspecting a rare jewel. Then he grinned.
"Nice quality. Mid-tier, but for a first attempt? Perfect."
He placed it in his other hand, conjuring from thin air—literally—a small silver bowl and a tiny wooden pestle.
I blinked. "Where did you get—"
"Shhh, the cooking god told me to always prep like a pro."
"You talked to Demeter?"
"No, like, a cooking god. From another world." He began grinding the crystal with the pestle like he was preparing herbs for soup. "Don't overthink it."
I stared at the ridiculous sight: a god squatting in the dirt, crushing a monster crystal like a kitchen witch making salad dressing.
He looked up. "Could you maybe... not stand there judging me silently? It ruins the vibe."
"I'm deciding whether I've lost my mind or not."
"Mind's still intact, I promise. Mine, on the other hand, comes and goes."
The crushed dust shimmered in the bowl—glowing faintly violet. He dipped two fingers into the powder, his expression sharpening. The moment he made contact, a subtle current pulsed through the air, and then—
His entire body glitched.
No, not glitched—he flickered like a bad animation frame, and then suddenly—
He was Chibi.
A tiny, doll-sized version of himself, huge eyes, sparkling as if stars had been shoved inside them. His voice was a high-pitched squeak.
"I HAVE OBTAINED POWER!!"
A bright red quest marker appeared above his head, blinking obnoxiously with a "ting" sound effect that echoed like a bell.
I gaped.
"What in the absolute—"
"Behold!" he squeaked, throwing his tiny arms up. "Anime logic, baby!"
I was speechless. This divine being, this mysterious stranger who claimed to want to heal me, had just transformed into some... parody of himself.
He flickered again and returned to normal, wiping his hands on his coat like nothing happened.
"Don't mind that," he said casually. "Side effect of using magic in your world. I call it... stress relief."
"Stress... what?" I managed.
"You seem serious. I'm not a fan of serious. So I balance it out. Yin and Yang. Tragedy and... glitter explosions."
I didn't know whether to laugh or stab him.
He knelt in front of me, holding his now glowing fingers toward my chest. "I'm going to use just enough energy to stabilize your condition. Not a full cure. But you'll feel better. Deal?"
I nodded slowly.
"Good. Try not to explode."
"Wait, what—"
His hand touched my shoulder.
Warmth.
Not fire, not magic—not in the way I knew it. It was deeper. Older. Like being submerged in light.
I gasped.
The pain that had lived in my bones, the breathlessness that followed every step, the subtle tremor I had trained myself to hide—all of it dulled. Not gone. But dulled.
The world sharpened.
I exhaled a breath I didn't know I had been holding for years.
He stepped back, the glow fading from his fingers.
"There," he said. "That's the most I can do without breaking your world's rules. You'll feel better for a while. Maybe a few weeks. Maybe a couple months, depending on how reckless you are."
I looked at my hands. "This... this feels like before the Leviathan battle."
He smiled—an actual, soft smile. "That's a pretty strong compliment."
I turned to him. "Who are you really?"
He stood up straighter. "Nad," he said. "A god. Sort of."
"Sort of?"
"I wasn't born in this world. I wasn't even supposed to appear in a living world. Most of the last nine places I visited were dead rocks floating through space. This is the first place I found... people."
I stared. "So you're lost?"
"No," he replied, then hesitated. "Well, yes. But also, no. I was bored."
I raised an eyebrow.
"I get... trapped in places. Until I finish a purpose. That's how these circles work. They only release me when I've made something better."
"And you think I'm that purpose?"
He shrugged, then gave me a lazy grin. "Maybe. You're interesting. A puzzle wrapped in tragedy."
My voice was quiet. "I've hurt people."
"You didn't kill anyone. I felt that."
I paused.
He nodded. "You just played the villain to inspire the next generation. Honestly? That's the most godlike thing I've heard all day."
I snorted. "You don't seem very godlike yourself."
"Give me five crystals and a stage. I'll be the most dramatic divine being you've ever seen."
I almost smiled. Almost.
He looked up at the sky — that empty, gray-blue dome without sun or stars — and sighed like a man who'd been chasing shadows for centuries.
"You know, I've seen dead planets with more laughter than some gods carry in their hearts." His voice lost the lightness for a moment. "I used to laugh a lot too. Then I ran out of people to share it with."
I didn't answer. Something about his tone... it tugged.
"Alfia," he said suddenly, and my name sounded unfamiliar in his mouth — reverent, like a spell. "Why did you really do it? Erebus. The disguise. The terror?"
I clenched my fists, but I didn't lie. What would be the point?
"I wanted to shake them. The complacent ones. The blind ones. The ones who would walk into death without ever seeing what they fought for. If they hated me, they'd remember me. And maybe, they'd become stronger for it."
He nodded. "That's the kind of logic only a bleeding heart uses."
"I never claimed to be good."
"But you wanted to be useful."
I didn't respond.
A long silence passed between us. Then he clapped his hands, brushing off the dust of reality.
"Alright. Time to get you a bit more functional. You got more crystals?"
I hesitated. Then reached into the leather pouch tied beneath my belt. I'd gathered them instinctively. A habit from battles that had long become routine. I held out the remaining ones—five in total.
He grinned like a kid at a candy shop. "Oooh, jackpot. Let's make this fun."
He snapped his fingers, and a small magic circle appeared in the dirt before us, glowing faint blue with faintly pulsing glyphs. Not a Danmachi-style formation — something older. Sharper. Geometric lines that felt almost... alien.
I took a step back, instinctively wary. "That's not magic from our world."
"Correct," he said, crouching next to it. "It's mine."
He placed the crystals inside the circle, then turned to me with a mischievous glint. "Step inside."
I narrowed my eyes. "Will I regret it?"
"Probably," he replied brightly. "But it'll be spectacular."
I sighed and stepped forward.
The moment my foot crossed into the circle, the air snapped — not hot, not cold, but pressure, like diving into a deep sea trench. The symbols ignited with sudden light, and before I could speak, my whole body was wrapped in that strange warmth again.
Only this time, it wasn't just warmth. It was motion.
My hair floated. My skin tingled. I could feel my heartbeat stabilizing. My breathing evened.
It felt like... hope.
And then—because of course—he snapped his fingers again, and the glowing circle erupted into a confetti explosion of pink cherry blossoms and sparkles.
I stumbled backward.
"What the hell was that?!"
"Aesthetics!" he declared, both arms thrown wide. "You can't heal the soul without flair, Alfia."
"Do you sparkle after every healing ritual?"
"Only when I'm trying to impress a beautiful woman."
I gave him a flat look. "How many women have you healed?"
"...you're the first," he muttered, scratching his cheek. "So technically, one hundred percent success rate."
I couldn't help it. I laughed. Just a small, broken sound — the first in what felt like an eternity. It startled both of us.
He blinked. "Whoa. Was that a laugh?"
"Barely," I said.
"I'm counting it."
And then, as if fate wanted to remind me of reality, the familiar ache in my chest returned. Subtler. But still there.
My smile faded.
He noticed instantly.
"Told you," he said, softer now. "This world has rules. And I'm still learning how far I can stretch them."
I looked up at him. "But you can stretch them more if you have a place. And more crystals."
He nodded. "A home. A foundation. A tiny corner of the world where my magic doesn't get filtered through all the divine red tape."
"And you want to build that?"
"With you," he said without hesitation.
I stared at him.
"I want to help," he continued, voice low. "But I need your help too. I can't do this alone. This world isn't mine. I need a guide. Someone who understands it. Someone strong. Someone who... needs healing as much as I do."
I felt the words sink into me. Not magic. Not charm. Just... sincerity.
"I have coin," I said slowly. "And reputation. Enough to buy land, even near the old district. If you're truly a god, the Guild will register you."
He blinked. "You're offering to back me?"
"I'm not joining out of loyalty. This isn't a pledge. I need you. And you need me."
"Fair."
"And if you sparkle like that again, I will leave."
He nodded solemnly. "Got it. Fewer sparkles. More existential mystique."
"Good."
"...unless it's raining. Then I can add a dramatic cape flap."
I pinched the bridge of my nose.
By the time we reached the edge of the city, the clouds overhead had shifted just slightly, allowing a thin wash of light to filter through. It was still overcast, still gray, but there was a strange calm in it now. The kind of silence that settled after something important had been said.
Nad — or whatever name he used before stepping into this world — walked beside me, his expression calm but thoughtful. Every so often, he would glance at the people around us: vendors yelling, adventurers marching past, children darting through narrow alleys. Each time, there was a flicker of something in his eyes.
Longing. Curiosity. Maybe even sadness.
He slowed as we neared the main guild building. "You said I need to register?"
I nodded. "The Guild tracks every god in Orario. You can't form a Familia without them recognizing your presence. Your aura will already have tipped them off. You won't surprise them."
He tapped his chin, then grinned. "You'd think gods would be better at stealth."
"You sparkle. That's the opposite of stealth."
"Details."
We entered the Guild together, and as expected, the moment we passed the threshold, several adventurers turned their heads. Not because of me — most of them still wouldn't meet my eyes. But because of him. He wasn't wearing divine robes or a mantle, but something in the way he moved made people shift out of his way.
The receptionist at the front desk — a half-elf woman I recognized vaguely — stared at him, her hand tightening around the pen she'd been holding.
"C-Can I help you?"
"Yes!" he said cheerfully. "I'm a god. Newly arrived. Just popped in this morning, actually."
She blinked rapidly. "What… what domain?"
He opened his mouth, paused, then looked at me.
I arched a brow. "You didn't think about a domain?"
"I was busy saving someone's life and building dramatic sparkles."
I rolled my eyes. "He's a god of magic."
"Oh, I like that," he said. "Mystery. Discovery. Fluffy spell circles. Let's go with that."
The woman stared at us both as if we were speaking another language. Which, to be fair, we might have been.
"I'll need your name," she said finally.
"Nad," he said.
Just "Nad."
Short. Strange. But fitting.
She scribbled it down, then glanced at me again — and I knew exactly what that look meant. A flicker of panic. Fear.
"You're… Alfia?"
I met her gaze. "Yes."
She paled. "You're… associated with Erebus. You're on the list of—"
"She's not who you think she is," Nad interrupted gently. "Not anymore."
"She—"
"I will take her as my Familia member," he said, voice calm but steady. "She's left that group behind."
"She… still carries a mark. We'll have to confirm that."
"Then call a god you trust," I said quietly. "Have them perform the truth-sense. I won't resist."
The room shifted. Several people nearby — adventurers, lower Guild staff — had clearly been listening. Whispers began.
"She's serious," Nad added, folding his arms. "She's stronger than most here. But she's not lying. She never wanted blood."
There was a long pause. Then the receptionist slowly nodded and walked off, disappearing into the back.
He turned to me. "You handled that better than I expected."
"I'm not here to make friends. I just want this to work."
He smiled faintly. "You're better at politics than me."
I tilted my head. "Didn't you say you were from a dead world?"
He shrugged. "There wasn't much left to politic."
We stood in silence after that. He started to hum — something melodic and strange, not a tune I recognized, but oddly comforting.
I studied him. His clothes were simple, but there was something timeless in his posture. He stood like someone who didn't need to pretend to belong.
"You said you'd been to nine dead worlds," I said quietly. "What did you find there?"
"Dust. Bones. Echoes of things people wanted to forget." His voice dipped. "But there's always one last thing left behind."
"What?"
He glanced at me, eyes oddly sharp. "Loneliness."
The air felt heavier then.
But he smiled again, quick and bright. "Now I've got you, though. So maybe this time, I'll build something instead of watching it crumble."