The next morning, Nolen woke to the soft glow of dawn filtering through the thick canopy outside the Shrine of the Hollow Flame. The air smelled faintly of smoke and wet earth, and the distant chorus of strange birds sounded like an otherworldly boy band audition.
He sat up slowly, muscles stiff and sore. The cultists were already awake, bustling quietly around the shrine. Every time one of them passed him, they bowed — some slightly, some with their foreheads pressed to the floor.
Nolen rubbed his temples. Great. Still their god.
A soft knock tapped politely at the carved wooden door. The veiled figure from before entered, carrying a small ornate cup.
"Divine One, please partake. It is a blessing of endurance."
Nolen eyed the cup suspiciously. "Does it taste like bitterness and disappointment?"
The figure smiled beneath their veil. "Only if you believe it."
He took a sip. Warm, spiced, and surprisingly sweet — like mint, honey, and something vaguely floral. Not terrible. Definitely not coffee.
"Thanks," he muttered.
"Today, the Council of Flame wishes to receive you," the figure said. "They seek to witness the steps of your awakening."
Nolen sighed. "Great. Do I have to shine or float or something?"
"The Divine needs only to be present. The miracle is your breath alone."
"Right," he muttered. "Breathing. I'm great at that."
They walked through winding halls etched with ancient scripture and glowing moss. Mural after mural lined the walls, each more dramatic than the last. One in particular caught his eye.
A silver-haired elf knelt on one knee, head bowed, arms outstretched toward a human figure cloaked in radiant light. Around them, flames danced across a ruined battlefield, and hundreds of others watched in silent awe. The elf's name was carved in goldleaf below: Elyon of the Shining Light.
"Who's that?" Nolen asked.
The figure beside him bowed slightly. "Elyon. The last elf to bear the Spark. He walked beside the Skyborn during the Age of Flame."
Nolen tilted his head. "Wow. He's kinda pretty. Like, suspiciously pretty. Wait—is that a guy?"
"Yes," the figure said calmly.
Nolen gave a lopsided grin. "Trap confirmed."
At the shrine's central chamber, six masked elders knelt within a circle of softly glowing runes. As Nolen entered, they prostrated themselves fully, touching heads to the floor.
"O Ash-born," one murmured, "your presence scorches away the shadow of doubt."
Another lifted their head slightly. "We have waited since the flames first dimmed. We welcome your return."
Nolen stepped forward slowly, feeling like he was about to trip on his own shoelaces and accidentally start a religion.
"So, uh... I'm Nolen. I guess you all know that."
A long silence followed.
He cleared his throat. "Sooo... What happens if I'm not your god?"
The youngest of the six looked up, eyes bright with zeal. "Then this world is cursed, and must be cleansed in flame."
Nolen blinked. "...Right. That was a joke."
The acolyte nodded solemnly. "Of course. Ha ha."
The others didn't move.
Nolen gave a weak smile. "Okay. Definitely not saying that again."
After a moment, the Ash-Keeper stepped forward.
"We wish to observe a demonstration. Nothing grand. A simple gesture of your will."
"You want me to show off?"
They bowed again. "We live for your grace."
He sighed. "Alright, but just saying — you're all real easy to impress."
They led him out into a small courtyard under the trees. A few training dummies stood beside cracked statues and moss-covered altars. One dummy in particular looked like it was held together with rope, spit, and prayer.
Nolen stared at it. The "dummy" was just two splintery boards nailed together and stuffed with uneven straw. It swayed in the breeze like it was apologizing for existing.
This cult is broke, he thought. That thing looks like it cost two copper coins and a prayer. If I sneeze near it, it's going down.
He stepped forward and tapped it with a single finger.
It split clean down the middle like it owed him money.
The courtyard went dead silent.
Then came the gasps.
"He controls his wrath!"
"He shows restraint!"
"He humbles the form but spares the soul!"
Nolen blinked at his hand. "Oh come on. That thing was held together with chewing gum."
Behind the praise, he heard murmurs — pure, unshakable faith.
They truly believed.
And that was probably the funniest thing he'd seen all week.
As the sun drifted higher in the sky, Nolen sat quietly under the arch of twisted roots, watching golden insects buzz around glowing vines.
He turned to one of the nearby attendants. "Hey. Is it cool if I, y'know... step outside for a bit?"
The figure paused. "Of course, Divine One. You are free to walk the land."
That was too easy, Nolen thought. Either they trust me completely or they have no idea what they're doing.
A few minutes later, as he made his way down a mossy stone path leading out of the shrine, something small darted into his peripheral vision.
A girl stood there — maybe four and a half feet tall, barefoot, with round cheeks, large golden eyes, and messy black hair tied into uneven pigtails. She wore a tunic that was slightly too big for her and had a lazy wooden sword strapped to her back like it meant something.
Her tail — long, scaled, and glossy black — curled lightly behind her. Tiny, decorative horns peeked out from beneath her hair.
"Heya," she said, beaming. "I'm Kael. They said I gotta go with you so you don't explode or get kidnapped or... combust. Or something."
Nolen blinked. "Wait, they sent... you?"
She nodded proudly.
"You're... what, twelve?"
"I'm seven thousand," she said without hesitation.
He stared.
"I age slow," she added. "Also, I'm a dragon."
Nolen snorted. "Right. A dragon. Of course."
Kael tilted her head. "Don't believe me?"
"You're like a kid playing pretend," Nolen muttered, already walking. "Stay close, alright? I don't want a mob of forest squirrels to steal the sacred child or something."
Kael skipped beside him without a care. "You talk weird for a god."
"You talk weird for a dragon."
She grinned. "Thanks."
Great, he thought. They paired me with someone who probably eats chalk and calls rocks friends.