Noah stumbled as his boots hit the ground—if it could even be called that—back in his original dimension. His knees buckled, and he caught himself against the wall of a tall shelf. Familiar. Cold. Grounded.
The library.
But it wasn't the same. The worn warmth of the space he used to frequent—the quiet corners, the dust-mote light spilling through windows—had changed. The windows were now sealed with reinforced glass. Shelves had been reorganized, thinned out in places. Some sections were gone entirely, replaced by digital terminals and emergency supply caches. The scent of old paper and wooden shelves had been replaced with antiseptic and sterilized air.
Noah steadied himself with the hovering scythe, its curved edge glinting faintly in the library's sterile lighting. He looked around, noting the absence of people. It felt... abandoned, but not desolate—repurposed, as if it had become a shelter or command center.
He walked slowly toward the entrance. The door—now reinforced with metal and glass—hissed softly as it opened. Sunlight bathed his face. It was bright, strong, almost too clean. The sky was a rich blue, unmarred by smoke or ash. The air carried a strange, artificial scent—like filtered purity.
And the city outside?
Intact. Altered. But whole.
Towering structures still reached toward the sky, though many had undergone renovations—defensive plating, solar arrays, emergency warning systems. Monorails zipped through the air, sleek and silent. People moved with purpose but not fear, their steps brisk, their eyes alert. Drones hovered above the streets like silent sentinels, their lights blinking in rhythmic pulses.
Noah blinked at the contrast. He had expected ruin. Chaos. Instead, there was rebuilding. There was structure. There was... order.
A massive public display hovered above the street, projecting live feeds and updates. One feed showed a young woman with calm eyes and a halo of golden light behind her. She stood in front of a pristine hospital, surrounded by nurses and patients.
"Amara Qalib, bearer of the Crescent Repository, has completed restoration efforts in Zone 12," the anchor said. "Her healing relics have saved over ten thousand lives since the Breach."
Another feed transitioned to a lush forest, alive with impossible colors—trees with sapphire leaves, flowers that shimmered in the air like jellyfish.
"Jaya Ananda leads restoration of ecological zones using the Kamadhenu Amulet. Terraforming continues peacefully."
Then a crystalline tower appeared on screen, floating slightly above a foundation of light. A man stood atop its highest platform, arms outstretched.
"Elijah Mordechai has shared another philosophical address on balance and the metaphysical order. His relics maintain continental stability, shielding local space-time from residual distortions."
Noah stood frozen. These people—they were like him. Bearers. Chosen. Active.
They were already helping. Already needed. Already understood what they were meant to do.
Another montage flickered onto the screen, this time of combat footage. Blurred, shadowy beasts rampaged through villages and mountains. Their bodies seethed with inky darkness, as if composed of void itself. They tore through structures and landscape alike with brute force.
One video showed a mountain village reduced to rubble and reducing the mountain to a a parking lot. A massive beast—its limbs like spires, its head crowned with tendrils—roared as it leveled stone and earth. Then, a bearer arrived. Clad in light and scripture, he wielded an ancient scroll and staff that pulsed with divine energy. The battle was brutal. Explosions of sacred light rocked the terrain. The bearer was injured but relentless, eventually striking down the monster with a final invocation that tore it apart at the soul.
"As you can see here," the anchor continued, "the bearer of the Otzar Chokmah, Elijah Mordechai fought valiantly against the Incursion-class entity. His relics draw strength from the Jewish faith—channeling divine wisdom as both shield and weapon."
Noah took a step back. These weren't simple skirmishes. These were wars against nightmares incarnate. These bearers seem to carry around a relic that represents their respective faith or belief.
He turned away, unsure of what to feel—envy, awe, fear? But then, the display blared a sharp tone. Breaking news.
His eyes snapped back to the screen.
"...we interrupt this broadcast for an emergency alert. A new Incursion has appeared. Coordinates match—Sector 8, New Oriel District."
Noah's heart froze. That was his city. The camera panned shakily across a city street he knew intimately—shops, a park bench, a fountain he'd sat by just last year. Now, smoke billowed from crushed buildings, and a monster loomed.
It was massive—easily seven stories tall. Its form was grotesque, skeletal limbs fused with shadow and ruin. A single glowing eye stared from what could barely be called a face. It shrieked, and glass shattered for blocks.
Panic spread. Civilians fled in every direction. Emergency drones deployed barriers, shielding streets and shepherding people to safety, but they wouldn't last. They never did.
Noah felt the pulse of the Lantern against his side, and the silent thrum of the scythe floating beside him. The relics knew. They stirred.
He took a breath.
Maybe this was his chance.
Not to be a savior. Not even to be seen.
But to help. To try. To prove—if only to himself—that he could fill the role of a bearer.
The scythe spun once in the air beside him, then steadied, as if acknowledging his resolve. The lantern pulsed faintly at his side, responding to his decision.
Noah adjusted his grip on the scythe. He stepped forward, then ran.
Toward the monster. Toward his city. Toward the weight of what it meant to carry light in the darkness.