White.
Not the clean kind, not the kind of linen or snow, but the kind that swallows everything.
A weightless, radiant blankness that hummed—not loud, but total.
And then—
"Get up."
A voice. Young. Male. Teasing. Sharp like a pebble skipping water.
"Come on. You're not gonna cry from a little light, are you? Weakling."
Poke.
Noah groaned. The sensation of fingers jabbing into his ribs stirred a familiar, reluctant irritation.
"Seriously? You just got here. It's boring if you sleep through it. C'mon!"
He blinked. Light again, but thinner now. Bearable. It filtered like mist, parting as his eyes adjusted.
He sat up, rubbing his temple—and then stopped cold.
A boy knelt beside him.
Maybe fourteen. Slender but not fragile. Blue eyes bright as cracked sapphires in the dark. His black hair fell in slightly messy waves, brushed back by a simple silver circlet. His clothing shimmered white with old embroidery—moons within moons, crescents layered in constellations, stars blooming across the hems.
A Menari noble's robes. But older. Ancient.
The boy watched him with a small smile. Not cruel, but not kind either. Curious. Amused.
"Took you long enough," he said.
Noah's breath caught in his throat. "Who the fuck—where—what is this?"
He pushed himself up, heart hammering. Only then did he take in the world around them.
It wasn't a room. Not even a temple.
It was a field.
An endless, dew-drenched meadow stretched in all directions, silvery-green and soft beneath his palms. The grass was thick and velvet-like, dotted with pale blue flowers that opened even in the night.
The sky above wasn't sky at all—it was space. Deep and endless, littered with stars that pulsed like heartbeats. They weren't still; they moved, dancing slowly across a sea of velvet black. A wind stirred the grass, cold and comforting, smelling faintly of smoke and lavender.
And behind the boy—
The Moon.
Not the small disc Noah had stared at through city windows. Not even the high arc he saw over the Menari village. This was a giant. A celestial crescent that filled half the sky, its edges bleeding white-blue light that bathed everything in soft luminescence. It pulsed gently with power.
It was beautiful. Terrifying. Otherworldly.
"You're dreaming," the boy said matter-of-factly, stretching out on the grass with his hands behind his head. "Or you're not. Depends on how you define things."
Noah didn't move. His voice was dry. "Are you going to start speaking in riddles, too? Is this some—some fate thing again? Tarot bullshit? God test?"
The boy laughed, rolling onto his side to face him again.
"God test? Nah. Not yet. You're not ready for those."
Noah's hands clenched.
"Then what is this? Why am I here? Who are you?"
The boy's expression turned unreadable. Not sad, not joyful. Just… still.
"This is where he sleeps," the boy said quietly. "Where I sleep, too."
Noah turned in a slow circle, staring at the impossible stars, the quiet flowers, the way gravity barely seemed to care about anything here.
His voice was hoarse when he finally said it:
"Is this... his domain? The Moon God's?"
The boy stood and brushed off his robes. He looked Noah dead in the eye and said, simply, "Yes. I'm Lada. Well, in a sense."
Noah flinched. The name struck a chord—Lada. He remembered now. The Helios soldiers had mentioned it, spat it like a curse.
"You're... you're him," he breathed.
Lada tilted his head, smile fading into something gentler. "I'm Lada, yes. But not all of me. Just the part that stayed behind—the part that wanted to protect them, even after the rest faded. The part they buried, but couldn't kill."
Noah's mouth went dry. He remembered the name—Lada—how the Helios soldiers had said it with disgust, like spitting out a ghost.
"So why am I here?" he asked quietly.
Lada looked at him, calm and ancient despite his youth. "Because I brought you. To talk."
Before Noah could answer, the boy spun around and hopped a few paces forward. A table—one that hadn't been there before—stood under the pale moonlight, with two carved wooden chairs and a porcelain teapot steaming softly. Lada waved a hand casually.
"Come on. You want tea? It's good. I made it up. No real leaves here, so it tastes like nothing."
Noah followed, still glancing around. Every inch of this place felt unreal. The ground wet with dew. The cold breeze that didn't sting. The stars that pulsed like veins.
He sat down cautiously.
Lada poured for both of them, then leaned back with a hum. "The moment you set foot in the forest, I knew."
Noah blinked. "What?"
"You had divine essence on you. Not fully awakened, but there. And not one of those crazy tyrant types either." He grinned. "I was glad it wasn't that mirror girl. She creeps me out."
Noah stared. "You've… been watching me?"
"Sort of. I can only really sense people who enter this domain. Most of the other divine candidates—well, they're already tucked into their own little kingdoms. Gods with thrones. Domains. Power."
Lada sipped his tea.
"But you. You're different. You haven't reached third ascendancy, have you? Still mortal. That's weird. It's been so long."
Noah stiffened.
Lada raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Did I hit something?"
Noah exhaled sharply. "I was in a cave. Underground. Something… about it. Time didn't move right. Everyone's saying it's been a hundred years. For me? It's been a few months."
Lada looked intrigued. Then, a little sad.
"That sounds lonely," he said. Then grinned again. "But maybe a blessing too. Some of us lost everything by aging too fast."
Noah gave him a look. "It doesn't feel like a blessing. Everyone out there's already built cities and religions. I don't even know what the fuck I'm supposed to do."
Lada tilted his head. "So you do want to ascend?"
"I didn't," Noah muttered. "Not at first. But now… I'm scared. What if they come for me? It's still a competition, right?"
Lada laughed, a bright, youthful sound. "Ah, the old man didn't tell you anything, did he?"
Noah froze. "Old man?"
Lada smirked. "Tall guy. Pale. Always hiding in shadows. Gave you your powers?"
Noah nodded slowly. "Yeah. Him."
"He doesn't like people knowing who he is. He likes being… mysterious. Typical."
He leaned forward now, serious for the first time.
"But that's not why I brought you here. I wanted to make you an offer. First, though—what's your domain? And do you even know what your third ascension requires?"
Noah hesitated. "Fate. That's my domain."
Lada blinked. "That's rare."
"The old man said it's hard to figure out the triggers. One of his failed candidates told me it's like… 'fate must decide when I'm ready.' Whatever the hell that means."
Lada nodded slowly. "Well, that tracks. But there might be a way for you to ascend anyway. Without fulfilling that condition."
Noah stiffened. "How?"
"Only if you're ready," Lada said, more gently now. "It wouldn't be easy. It would mean giving up being mortal. Really giving it up. Even if you're not fully divine yet—you'd be stepping over that line."
Noah went quiet.
"What exactly do you mean by that?" he asked.
Lada looked up at the moon. And when he spoke again, his voice was lower, calmer.
"I'm not the whole god. I'm… the part of him that still wanted to protect our people. The wish, the memory, the will. A shard of Zorya, nothing more."
He looked back at Noah, blue eyes steady.
"But I still remember how it felt—to be scared of being forgotten. To want someone to carry the light forward. That's why I brought you here. To ask if you're willing to do something few others have done. To ascend… not by force or fear. But by choice."
Noah didn't answer right away. The stars above them shifted. The tea between them cooled.
The silence stretched long between them.
Noah, still stunned by everything he'd heard, leaned forward with his hands on his knees. "You didn't really answer. What does it mean to lose your mortality?"
The boy—Lada, or at least the piece that remained of him—fell quiet. His expression dimmed, and for a moment he looked not like a god or even a child, but like something hollow trying to remember how to be full.
"I can't remember all of it," he said slowly. "Because like I said, I'm only a part of him. Just a shard. Just the part that still wants to protect the Menari. But... I remember the feelings."
He shifted, curling his legs underneath him as he stared off into the glowing forest.
"Losing your mortality starts with the small things. Like not being able to make friends—not the real kind. Because the moment you become immortal is the moment you realize that no matter how many times you make friends, or fall in love, or find family... it's never until the end. Not for you. And eventually, that hurts. Over and over. Every century. Every goodbye. Some gods just... stop. They become statues, really. Surrounded by the faithful, but alone. Because the pain of losing people isn't for everyone."
His eyes flicked to Noah.
"Lada didn't do that. He never stopped loving his people. Never stopped walking among them, laughing with them, treating them like kin. That made him more human than most gods. But it also meant he never reached the fourth ascendancy. Because the higher you go... the more you lose. And at third? You can still feel human. You can still choose. But past that?"
He shook his head, hair catching silver light.
"You start looking at mortals like pieces. Like food, sometimes. Or pawns on a little game board. You don't mean to. But the truth is... when you finally learn what you need to do to ascend further—what it really takes—everything else starts to blur. Even Lada... he planned, he made moves, not for himself, but to protect his people. But even that... takes something away from you. The idea that every life matters just as much as yours. That belief starts to rot."
Noah's throat tightened.
"How long does it take?" he asked.
"Depends," the boy murmured. "Some? Months. Others? Years. Lada? Centuries. And even then, he never truly gave in. That's probably why he died before he could reach the fourth."
Lada smiled faintly, a sad, crooked thing. "That's the cost. That's how you lose your humanity. Not all at once. Just... little by little."
He looked down.
"And the really gruesome stuff? I can't tell you. Not just because I don't know it all, but because I'm not allowed. We're not supposed to tell those who haven't reached the third tier. If I say too much, if I break that rule... I'll disappear. And you'd come with me. So—sorry. That's all I can give you."
Noah said nothing.
He couldn't.
Because in his head, unbidden, came not the image of Abel's face, or Cassian's laughter, or even the moments they had shared in quiet safety.
What he saw were the corpses.
The cultists. The Saint. The fire and blood in the Womb. The decisions he'd made—the ones he'd justified. How easy would it be, someday, to forget what it cost? How easy would it be to look back and see it all as necessary?
And then Abel. Cassian. Would they age? Would he watch them wrinkle and slow and die while he remained like this? Would he hold them while they took their last breaths, only to keep living, unchanging, unfeeling, immortal?
Noah felt sick.
"Hey," Lada said gently, pulling him out of the spiral. "We don't have much time. I'm... just a flicker. A spark. I only still exist because of this forest. These people. Their faith. And... I wanted to offer you something."
Noah blinked.
"Offer me...?"
"My divinity," Lada said simply.
Noah straightened in shock. "Wait—what? What do you mean by your divinity?"
Lada gave a small shrug. "I'm dead, Noah. I've been dead a long time. This is just a leftover, a piece of me that didn't want to let go. But I've been watching. And when I saw what you did for the Menari, how you defended them... I thought: if anyone should carry my spark forward, maybe it's you."
"And you'd just give it to me?"
"If you expel the legions of Helios. If you destroy the camp, the pillar, the soldiers—all of it. Then I'll perform the ritual. You'll reach the threshold. It'll... bend the rules a little. But it'll get you your third ascendancy."
Noah stared. "And what then? You think they won't come back? I'm not planning to stay here forever. I don't want to rule."
Lada nodded solemnly. "I know. But I won't last much longer. Faith fades, always. And when it's gone... so am I. Maybe five centuries left. Maybe less. And the Menari will be alone. So I want to help them. One last time. I'm only still here because I want to protect them. That's all that's left of me. So if you can help me do that... then I can help you."
Noah was silent again, lips tight, thoughts racing.
"Hey," Lada said softly, grinning now. "You don't have to decide now. Even if I didn't offer the power, I think you'd help us anyway. You and your friends. Or should I say... lovers?"
Noah flushed.
Lada giggled. "Thought so. Look, when the fighting's done, when the dust settles—come back. Find my grave. We'll talk again. Then you can choose."
He turned, staring up at the sky as the moonlight brightened. A slow glow spilled across the forest floor.
"Ah," he said. "Looks like our time's up. Go on, then. Your people need you. My people need you."
He waved.
"Until later. Bye-bye."
And then the light swallowed Noah whole.
White.
Only white.