Kyle woke to the smell of roasted tubers and fresh bread.
Which was strange, considering he hadn't cooked anything.
His eyes cracked open. Sunlight filtered through the canopy in warm, golden rays, like the world was trying to look holy on purpose.
Just beyond his sacred perimeter of broken twigs, a circle that did absolutely nothing sat a woven basket.
Inside: warm bread, charred roots, and a note written in painfully swirly ink.
Great Ember-Bringer,
We apologize for frightening you.
Please accept our humble offering.
May your path be smooth, and your meals never burnt.
Kyle stared.
"They found me again…"
He took a bite of the bread.
Still warm. Soft inside. Buttery.
He hated how good it was.
"This is how cults get you," he muttered.
He didn't run.
Not yet.
He paced.
He shouted at trees.
Kicked a log.
Ate more bread.
Then, against his better judgment, turned around.
They were back.
Dozens of villagers.
Kneeling.
Silent as ghosts.
Some held plates of food. Others carried banners. One man held a live chicken like a newborn child. Someone was playing a flute with more faith than skill.
Kyle froze mid-bite.
"You people have serious issues."
The crowd bowed lower.
He ran a hand down his face. "Let me guess. You want me to return to the village."
An elder stepped forward, voice reverent. "Only if you will it, Great One."
Kyle turned to leave.
FWUMP.
A net slammed over him.
He hit the ground with a grunt, limbs tangled.
"Sorry!" someone squeaked from the trees. "The prophecy said if you resisted, we had to use the Net of Humble Correction!"
He thrashed. "YOU NAMED THE NET?!"
The world tilted. He was hoisted, still wrapped like a cursed burrito and gently placed onto a wooden cart pulled by two chickens.
Two chickens who looked far too smug for their kind.
He groaned. "This is not how gods are supposed to travel."
The Sacred Chicken appeared beside the cart, radiant as ever, and let out a single judgmental chirp.
"Don't you look at me like that."
The cart rolled forward.
Back toward the village.
They passed beneath cloth banners painted with fire and feathers. Children tossed petals into the air like blessings. Chickens scattered like confetti.
Someone banged a drum with all the rhythmic grace of a goat falling down stairs.
Kyle lay flat in the net, staring up at the drifting clouds.
Thinking.
About the instant noodles.
About the couch.
About how forty-three worlds of war, gods, and impossible quests had
somehow led him… to this.
Wrapped in rope.
Being hauled like sacred produce.
By poultry.
"I hate this world."
The elder riding beside him smiled kindly. "We love you too, Great One."
Kyle didn't even flinch. "I wasn't talking to you."
Still, somewhere deep inside, past the frustration and the dried tuber stuck in his teeth, a little part of him stirred.
A familiar part.
This again, huh?
He closed his eyes.
Maybe, just maybe…
He could burn the whole village down and try again tomorrow.
***
Kyle tried to sleep.
He really did.
But even through rustling leaves, the distant howls of forest creatures, and the dying crackle of his campfire, he could hear it.
Chanting.
It started as a murmur. Whispered recitations. Then something altogether more reverent.
"Oh Ember-Bringer… Keeper of Warmth… Roaster of Flesh…"
Kyle opened one eye and stared at the darkened canopy.
"Seriously?"
He turned his head.
A dozen villagers knelt in a neat half-circle around the fire, heads bowed, eyes closed, arms raised like he was headlining a cult-themed music festival.
Torches flickered behind them, casting reverent, unsettling light across the clearing.
Kyle sat up slowly, dizzy. "What in the name of burnt rabbit…"
One figure stepped forward.
She looked twenty, maybe. Her eyes were bright, her walk dramatic like she thought she was in a stage play. Her cloak looked like it had lost a fight with a scarecrow, and her hair was a tangled mess of twigs, as if she'd headbutted a bush and called it a crown.
She approached with solemn gravity, then collapsed to her knees in front of him gasping like his fish dinner had changed her life.
Hands clasped. Eyes trembling.
"P-please, Great One," she whispered. "Allow me to serve you. I shall be your vessel."
"You wanna what now?"
"My name is Lina. Lina Heartfelt, daughter of no one. You've blessed us with flame. Let me be your first Apostle."
He blinked.
"I haven't said a word since dinner."
"Exactly," she breathed. "Even your silence teaches us restraint."
Kyle opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then gave up.
Nothing he said would help.
He'd seen weird systems and strange blue fire, but this? This was cult theater. And the curtain had already gone up.
"Please," Lina said, bowing lower. "Allow me the honor of preparing a ritual meal in your name."
"I can cook. It's fine. Really."
She looked offended. "You can't seriously believe a divine being should do human work. That's like… against cosmic law!"
So now Kyle sat on a damp log, chewing dry rootbread, while Lina incinerated a perfectly good rabbit over a half-collapsed spit like she was making an offering to a smoke demon.
The rabbit blackened. Fast.
She beamed. "Your digestion is sacred. The meat becomes one with the god."
Kyle choked slightly. "Can you not describe my dinner like I'm about to give birth to a black rabbit?"
Lina glowed with pride. "A lesson in modesty. Of course."
Somewhere behind her, a man scribbled furiously on bark-paper with a bundle of reeds.
"The Ember teaches us to eat humbly, without praise. He consumes in silence… and so shall we."
Kyle buried his face in his hands.
He wanted to die.
Or reincarnate.
Preferably into a world with logic and zero villagers.
Then it got worse.
Lina stood and raised her arms.
"Brothers, sisters… hear me!" All eyes turned. "The Flame God has accepted nourishment. The Ember burns. Hope has returned!"
The crowd erupted in cheers. One guy sobbed. Someone else threw flower petals that should not have existed in this season.
Kyle stood, arms raised in surrender. "Okay, hold on. Stop. I'm not a god. I'm not even a demi-god. I'm just trying to eat quietly."
Lina turned to the crowd.
"He denies his title! A test of faith!"
Gasps of collective enlightenment.
"He's so merciful!"
"Truly, a god unlike those who pretend!"
Kyle stared in horror. "No, no, no. Not mercy. It's called common sense."
They didn't listen. Obviously.
Lina knelt again. "We must not waste this moment. We must build the First Hearth."
A burly man stepped forward, clutching a log like a relic. "Do you mean… a temple?"
"Yes," Lina said gravely. "A monument to his first flame."
Kyle's soul tried to eject from his body.
"No temple. No shrine. No cult. I'm not a god, okay? I'm just some guy who lit a fish on fire!"
She nodded solemnly. "As you command. The Ember tests our humility with denial."
Someone in the back shouted, "His denial is a gift!"
Kyle wheezed. "I will light myself on fire, I swear to—"
[ System Notification ]
[ Divine Recognition Level Increased: 4 ]
[ Title Unlocked: First Flame of the Forgotten ]
[ +1000 Faith Points ]
"WHAT THE HELL IS A FAITH POINT?!"
Lina bowed deeper. "We thank you for accepting our devotion."
Kyle's eye twitched.
Before he could scream, another ping.
[ System Suggestion: Begin your first Divine Mission? ]
[ YES ] [ NO ]
He glared at the interface. "You know what? Shove it. Shove it into a fire."
The options flickered.
[ Blessed Flame Ignition: STARTED ]
"That wasn't even a yes!"
Lina gasped. "A revelation! He speaks in tongues!"
Another guy nodded solemnly. "It has begun."
Kyle was now convinced this was a multiversal prank. A candid reality show sponsored by every god he'd ever insulted.
He turned and stormed off, muttering darkly. "I just wanted to eat in peace…"
Lina followed, notebook in hand.
First Teaching, Verse 1: The Flame desires solitude, but walks among us regardless. We must not disturb his digestion.
***
By morning, they'd built the outline of a shrine.
Sticks. Ashes. And an unsettling number of polished stones shaped like eggs.
In the center stood a small wooden effigy of Kyle, stick-fork in hand looking like a cursed mascot for a barbecue restaurant run by ghosts.
Lina woke him with a bowl of something she proudly called blessing porridge.
It tasted like regret and old cabbage.
He forced a smile. "Thanks."
She gasped. "He smiles at suffering! A god of compassion!"
More scribbling.
Verse 2:He who smiles through pain teaches us endurance.
Kyle didn't even fight it anymore.
Later, they led him through the forest to their village.
Or what was left of it.
A dozen houses stood in quiet ruin. Roofs half-collapsed. Fields brittle and brown. Smoke curled from a single chimney like it was doing its best to pretend everything was fine.
Kyle paused. "What happened here?"
Lina's expression darkened.
"The Winter Maw," she said. "A beast of cold. It devoured our fires. We lost three families. The rest… fled. Only the faithful remain."
Kyle looked around at the handful of villagers, tired, thin, hopeful in that way that made his chest tighten.
For a long moment, it didn't feel funny anymore.
Still, he coughed awkwardly. "Okay, but... you do realize I just summoned a fireball by accident, right? I'm not actually divine."
Lina didn't answer.
She just looked at him. Quiet. Steady. Believing.
Kyle groaned and turned away.
"I swear," he muttered, "if that thing shows up and you expect me to exorcise it with a fish fork, I don't even know what I'm gonna do—"
Ding!
A glowing prompt blinked to life.
[ New Quest: Deliver Flame unto the Cold Maw ]
Reward: Flame Shape Lv1 + 3000 WP
[ ACCEPT ] [ IGNORE ]
Kyle narrowed his eyes. "Ignore."
The system blinked.
[ Command not recognized. ]
[ Quest Accepted. ]
He screamed into the forest.
"AAAAARRRGGHHH!!!"