The morning came slow and pale.
Gray light seeped through the frost-lined window, casting weak, watery shadows across the modest interior of Clyde's home. Ayuna stirred from his place by the still-warm hearth, blinking away sleep that had only half-claimed him. He'd sat upright in the old chair all night, cloak drawn tight, eyes occasionally fluttering closed—but his mind hadn't stopped once.
He was in a new world. One where gods were cursed, feared, or forgotten.
And here he was, playing priest to a god that didn't even exist outside his system interface. At least, not yet.
He breathed out slowly, watching the mist curl from his lips in the lingering chill.
Clyde moved in the other room, audible only through the groan of old wooden planks. When he emerged, he looked freshly washed and more alert, a bandage neatly wrapped around his previously injured leg.
"You didn't sleep," Clyde said, not a question.
"A little," Ayuna lied gently. "But I've rested. The hearth was kind."
Clyde looked at him a moment, then shrugged on a fur-lined coat. "We'll head out soon. I promised Old Tannet the pelt. He's the only one who'll buy it clean and fair."
Ayuna nodded. "I'll come with you."
He stood and followed, but even as he walked, his mind kept spinning. Strategy. Cover. Persona. In his old world, Ayuna had always been good at pretending—not because he was a liar, but because he was a writer. It was the only thing he had, the one thing he chose for himself after his mother died and no one expected much of him. He'd spent years crafting people who didn't exist, building lives from scratch, giving them flaws, purpose, charm. That's what writing was: slipping into skin that wasn't yours until it felt real. So now, when survival meant becoming someone else—a priest, a miracle worker—he didn't panic. He outlined. He adapted. He played the role.
Now? He was Ramiris—a priest.
A role he'd given himself.
In a world like this, performance wasn't just survival—it was identity.
They stepped out into the biting wind, their boots crunching over packed snow. Clyde hauled the wolf's body behind him on a sled—rigged quickly from wood and rope just an hour earlier. The beast looked smaller now in the light, its fur stiff and dried from the night, but its fangs still glinted. Ayuna's gaze lingered on it. Death made things quiet. But this creature had fought to live, to kill.
'This world doesn't fear killing. It respects it,' he thought. 'Even the children… they weren't scared. They were impressed.'
The village had woken. Wisps of smoke floated from chimneys, and people walked about in layers of thick clothing, some carrying bundles of wood or buckets of water. Most spared Clyde a nod. A few paused to glance at Ayuna, still hooded, still silent.
Ayuna kept his head low.
'Mystery is armor.'
And armor was necessary here—especially when being connected to the divine could still get you killed.
Ayuna knew his presence stood out. This village was small. Strangers weren't common. And though he kept his face hidden, his gait, his silence, and the mere fact that he walked beside Clyde drew eyes.
They didn't know what he was.
Not yet.
A narrow path led them down to the edge of the village, to a stone building half-covered in ivy and reinforced with old iron bands. Smoke spilled from the chimney in thick rolls. A wooden sign above the door simply read: TANNET.
Clyde didn't knock. He simply pulled the door open and grunted, "It's me."
The heat hit them like a slap.
Inside was chaos—organized, loud, familiar. Furs of all kinds hung from hooks and racks. Bones, claws, teeth—all processed and sorted. And there, hunched over a worktable with a knife in one hand and a hunk of leather in the other, was Old Tannet.
The man turned slowly, his eyes sunken and pale with age, but sharp.
"Clyde. Still breathing, I see."
"Barely," Clyde replied. "Got a wolf for you. Big bastard."
Old Tannet approached with surprising agility, eyeing the pelt. His hands ran over the fur, lifting the foreleg, examining the cut across the neck.
"Clean kill. Not bad," he muttered. "Bit stiff. Sat in the cold too long."
Clyde shrugged. "Didn't have much choice."
Tannet's eyes flicked to Ayuna. "And what's this? New partner?"
Ayuna hesitated—but only for a breath.
This was his test. He needed to see how much pressure the role could handle. Who might become useful. Who might become dangerous. The risk had to be taken at some point, and Tannet, according to Clyde, had a reputation.
He inclined his head. "A wandering priest."
Tannet's smile faltered.
For a heartbeat, the air changed.
"You ought not say things like that too loud," the old man muttered, not unkindly but firm. He glanced toward the door, then lowered his voice. "Folks hear 'priest' and start thinking about firewood and stakes."
Ayuna's expression didn't change. But inside, he noted the tension. Marked it. Catalogued it.
'So even a careful one like Tannet won't say more. That's useful.'
"Of course," he said smoothly. "Only among friends."
The rest of the transaction passed with quiet negotiation.
Tannet grunted and returned to the wolf. "I'll give thirty for it."
"Forty," Clyde said flatly.
Tannet squinted. "Thirty-five, and I toss in a strip of jerky."
"Done."
Coins clinked into Clyde's hand a moment later. Ayuna watched the exchange quietly, mind turning.
'They bargain with blood. But they do it without cruelty. Just… as life.'
Outside again, they walked for a while in silence, the wind low and the snow crunching beneath their boots.
Ayuna waited until they were well away from the shop and any wandering ears before speaking. His voice was soft, almost casual:
"Was it wise, what I said in there? About being a priest?"
Clyde didn't answer immediately. His pace didn't slow.
Then, "You did it on purpose."
Ayuna gave a faint smile. "I did."
"Why?"
"I needed to know how far I could speak," Ayuna said. "And who would hear without shouting."
Clyde exhaled through his nose, a vague sound of understanding.
"You're lucky," he muttered. "Tannet's quiet. Like me. Doesn't scream about firewood and curses."
Ayuna nodded. "Then I guessed right."
He bit off a piece of jerky Clyde handed him. It was tough and rich, and it made him remember something simple. A moment from home. Not divine, not terrifying. Just normal.
'Gas station jerky on the way to a writer's retreat. I hated that weekend. Too many fake smiles. But the view of the mountain… that I liked.'
They walked in silence again. But Ayuna's mind was working. Writing had taught him the layers of people. The masks. The lies. He could fake being divine because he'd written the divine. And this was just another story.
He waited until they were nearly back to the house before asking, "That man, Tannet—he seemed… comfortable with hunters. Is he the only tradesman here?"
Clyde didn't hesitate. "Pretty much. Everyone else just keeps to themselves. Tannet works fast, doesn't cheat much. He's been here longer than most."
Ayuna nodded as if he already suspected it.
"What kingdom are we in again?" he asked more directly.
"Belreth. You really do wander far, huh?"
"Far enough that the names blur."
"Mm."
He had to keep going.
"You mentioned yesterday… you've trained a bit. Is that common?"
Clyde tilted his head. "You mean the Body Path? It's not rare, but most folks never go far. Takes years. Painful work. First level's already more than most can handle."
Ayuna kept his tone light. "And yet you held your ground against a wolf."
Clyde shrugged. "I'm stubborn. And lucky you came along."
He didn't press further, and Ayuna didn't ask. But inside, he stored the words away like puzzle pieces. Body Path. First Level. Kingdom of Belreth. A village that still feared the gods. A world that respected survival more than worship.
As they returned to Clyde's home, the fire still warm and the shadows long, Ayuna sat back in the chair once more.
Outside, the wind whispered. And inside, Ayuna planned.
He needed a base of operations. Allies. Control of the narrative.
In his world, you used press releases and hashtags.
Here, he'd need whispers. Symbols. Miracles.
If he were to rise as a god in this world— He would need more than faith. He would need power, understanding, and most of all...
People.
One believer wasn't enough.
But it would be the start.