Noah didn't move at first.
He lay flat on his stomach, cheek pressed into the wet ground, half-suffocated by the heavy mix of mud and ash. His lungs pulled in ragged, desperate air. Only now—now that the voices were gone and the danger had passed—did he feel how shallow his breathing had been. Panic had wrapped around his ribs like iron bands, and he hadn't even noticed.
He pushed himself up slowly, joints aching, clothes stuck to his skin in sticky patches of sweat and grime. The high grass around him hissed in the growing wind, brushing over his shoulders like a thousand tiny fingers.
He dared a glance back—down the slope, across the blackened forest where the flames still danced. And he saw it again.
The elk. Burning.
It had charged blindly, a beast on fire with no place to run. That image burned brighter than the fire itself: flesh curling, eyes wide with terror, hooves stumbling through grass and ash. It had tried to live. And it had died screaming.
Noah exhaled, chest tightening. He clenched his fists. Not from anger—just to stop his hands from shaking.
He looked around. Slowly. Finally.
Now that the fear was ebbing, he could think. Try to orient himself. He remembered the voices of the soldiers—their cruel words, the direction they came from, the slope they climbed. That had to mean the Menari village lay opposite.
If he could just go further up into the highlands…
He dragged his feet forward. Every step pulled at his sore calves, his blistered heels. His body itched—filthy, bruised, raw. His shirt clung to his back in tattered strips. The Menari had gifted him this outfit, and it was barely holding together.
He looked up.
Dark clouds now curled along the sky's edge. The air had shifted. The smoke was thinning. Wind tugged at the grass and made it dance.
And beneath it—faint, but sharp—he smelled rain.
"Oh come on," he muttered. "Please don't fucking rain. Not now."
He trudged forward, reaching the top of the highlands.
From there, he paused. Stood in the open wind. Tried to get his bearings.
Nothing looked familiar.
No ancient trees, no silver lake, no sacred shrine. Just stone and hill and wind and distant smoke.
Noah stared for a long moment. Then tilted his head back and groaned to the sky:
"Fuck my directional sense. I can't even find my way through a goddamn mall, and now I'm supposed to navigate the world's most haunted mountain range? Sure. Makes sense."
He let his hands drop to his sides and laughed—short, bitter.
"I'm such a fucking loser."
He didn't sit. If he sat, he might not get back up again.
So instead, he stood there a moment longer, trying to collect what little scraps of strength he had left. Then he muttered, "Fuck it. I've had so much luck surviving the past—I don't even know—months? Might as well gamble that I'll find my way back too."
He picked a direction. South-ish? West? Who knew. But it was around the mountain, skirting the charred edge of the forest. That was good enough.
And so he walked.
The high grass swayed around his legs, whispering in the wind. Cold air nipped at his skin. The scent of rain grew stronger. And despite it all—despite the burns, the dirt, the hollow ache in his limbs—he found a sliver of strange comfort in the stillness.
For the first time in what felt like forever, no one was screaming. No gods. No cults. No Pillars of Fire.
Just Noah.
Alone.
The quiet wasn't peace, exactly—but it was space. Room to breathe. Room to think. And he liked that. Missed that.
Yes, he already missed Abel. And Cassian. Their voices. Their presence. But part of him was grateful to be alone for a while. To process.
As he walked, he let the rhythm of it guide him. The wind. The grass. The smell of the mountains.
And then, of course—
Rain.
It started soft. A misting. Then a slow, steady pour. Cold and clean, washing through his hair, down his neck, soaking into every inch of fabric.
He didn't run. Didn't flinch.
"Of course," he said aloud. "Fucking of course."
Still, the water ran dark off his skin—rinsing off ash, soot, dried blood. He could feel the dirt sliding away.
But he could also feel the cold biting deeper.
At least he wasn't choking on smoke anymore.
He kept walking. And as the fire dimmed behind him, so did the light. The sky was nearly black now, heavy with clouds.
He thought about Lada.
His voice. His offer.
Help the Menari, and you can ascend to the third tier of divinity.
He hadn't even accepted yet—and already, it was eating at him.
He wasn't ready. Probably never would be.
Because if that was the cost of godhood—giving up his humanity, absorbing souls like they were snacks—then what the hell was the point?
He remembered the golden Zorya. The way it had burned. The screams in his head. The guilt.
He couldn't become numb to that. Couldn't imagine a world where he would.
He grit his teeth.
"Don't think about that shit," he snapped to no one. "You're not even strong enough to win a fight. Start there."
And he did.
He focused on walking. On surviving. On making it to the other side of the forest.
One step at a time.
Toward the village.
Toward answers.
Toward whatever came next.
The rain worsened.
What had started as a steady drizzle was now a torrential downpour, turning the earth to slush and soaking Noah to the bone. His shirt clung to his skin like a wet rag. His boots squelched with every step. Wind howled between the ridges, sharp as blades, driving water into his eyes and mouth.
He stumbled, slipped, caught himself on shaking hands. His teeth chattered violently.
"I'm going to die up here," he muttered. "Like some pathetic footnote. Froze to death on a mountain. Real fucking glorious."
Panic crawled up his throat. This wasn't just cold—it was dangerous. The kind of chill that turned into fever, or worse. He scanned the hillsides, desperate for any kind of cover. Nothing but endless grass and jagged stone.
Then—
A flicker.
He stopped.
Not fire. Not lightning.
Light. Pale and constant. A faint glow along the ground.
Noah squinted through the curtain of rain, rubbing at his eyes. A flower. No—several. Small, delicate blooms nestled in the high grass, their petals shimmering faintly like they drank moonlight. They weren't there before. He was sure of it.
He turned in a slow circle.
More of them. Forming a path.
A line of soft, glowing blossoms stretched ahead, winding gently between rocks and dips in the terrain. As if someone had scattered them on purpose.
"Lada," he whispered.
His throat tightened.
It stung—needing help like this. Being guided. Saved. Again. He clenched his jaw, trying to shove down the shame. He hated this feeling. Hated how small it made him. He was supposed to be a god, wasn't he? A divine candidate. Whatever the hell that meant anymore.
And yet here he was, soaked and shivering, too weak to even survive a fucking storm without a dead boy guiding his steps from beyond.
But pride didn't warm skin. It didn't keep you alive.
So he followed.
Every step forward was a battle. The wind roared louder the higher he climbed, dragging the breath from his lungs. His fingers had gone numb. His legs trembled. But the flowers didn't fade. They remained, glowing steadily like stars fallen to earth.
Finally, just as his vision began to blur and the edges of the world dimmed—he saw it.
A shadow in the hillside.
A cave.
A mouth in the rock, just wide enough to promise shelter.
Noah nearly wept. He stumbled toward it, collapsing just inside the entrance with a gasp. The rain still hissed outside, but here the wind couldn't reach him.
Still, he was soaked. Freezing. His body wouldn't stop shivering. His limbs shook too violently to think straight.
He needed heat.
He conjured a kinetic card—let it hover in the air like a soft lantern, its glowing edges casting faint light along the cavern wall. Then he moved deeper into the cave, cautious and slow.
The air changed.
Got warmer.
Steam. Humidity. The faint sound of water trickling, bubbling.
His steps quickened.
And then he saw it: a pool, nestled in the stone. The surface glistened with mist, heat radiating from it like a breath. A natural hot spring.
Noah blinked.
"...No fucking way."
He reached down, dipped his fingers.
Warm. Blissfully, blessedly warm.
He laughed—an incredulous, shaky laugh that bordered on hysterical.
"I am the main character," he declared to the cave. "That's the only explanation."
He tore off his soaked clothes, stripping them down to rags and tossing them aside before carefully lowering them into the pool to soak the grime free. Then he slid into the spring himself.
Heat wrapped around him like a lover's arms.
His skin tingled. Muscles unclenched. For the first time in what felt like hours, he wasn't in pain.
Noah leaned back against the rock, eyes fluttering shut. Steam curled around his face. His mind buzzed with exhaustion—but for once, it wasn't fear driving it.
He didn't know what tomorrow would bring. But for tonight, at least, he would survive.