The wind had stilled.
The heat of battle, the chaos of conviction, and the weight of regret had all evaporated into silence. The Dungeon — deep, eternal, and breathing with faint pulses of blue light — seemed to hold its breath.
Alfia stood at the precipice of one of the deeper levels. Not the deepest. Just deep enough that no one would find her too quickly. She looked outward, as if beyond the crumbling ledge there might be something more than cold stone and the abyss below. There wasn't.
Her body trembled, though not from fear.
The disease clawed at her again — a sickness even the finest healers had failed to diagnose, let alone treat. Her magic was strained. Her heart, heavier than her wounds, beat with the weight of choices long past. Her fingertips brushed the edge of her cloak, soaked in sweat and blood, as she took one final breath.
This was it. There would be no dramatic final battle. No triumphant last stand. Only the quiet dignity of falling — alone, unremembered, a villain in a story she'd never fully written.
She stepped forward.
And the air... shifted.
A low hum filled the space — not from the Dungeon, not from her. Something... foreign. Something ancient. The very mana around her twisted, like threads being unwoven and rewoven in real time.
Alfia froze mid-step.
Before her, just a few meters away, the stone ground rippled like water. A perfect circle, etched in glowing lines of green and silver, bloomed on the floor. A magical circle — but not one from any spellbook she had ever seen. The symbols were foreign, elegant, and utterly nonsensical.
The light intensified, and then — without thunder, without wind — he appeared.
A man.
No... a god.
Alfia stepped back instinctively, her weary body tensing. She had felt divine auras before — faint glows that clung to gods like perfume. This one was no different. Gentle. Subtle. But unmistakable.
He was tall. Broad-shouldered. His clothes looked strange — like formal wear mashed with something... relaxed. Modern. His dark-blond hair had a faint greenish tint under the magical glow, and his eyes — gray-blue, like a sky before a storm — flickered faintly with something behind them. Power. Curiosity. Sadness?
He blinked, looked around, and smiled faintly.
"Oh," he said, in perfect Koine. "A living world this time. That's rare."
Alfia didn't speak. Not yet. Her gaze sharpened, scanning the circle, his posture, everything. She didn't recognize him. And that unsettled her more than anything.
The man— no, the god— tilted his head and looked directly at her. His voice dropped, curious.
"You were going to jump."
Still no answer.
He stepped forward, slowly, as if trying not to startle her. The circle behind him faded without a sound.
"You're sick," he said matter-of-factly. "You've given up. And still, you're strong."
Alfia narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"
That made him grin. It was the kind of grin that came just before either a joke... or something profoundly annoying.
"Name's Nad. New in town."
"You're a god," she said quietly. Not a question.
"I am," he replied, tone suddenly more thoughtful. "Or I became one. Depends who you ask."
She looked away, uneasy. "This isn't your world."
"Nope," he said cheerfully. "But I got bored. Teleportation circles, you know? You don't always land where you plan to. The last nine were dead rocks. This is a nice change."
"...You just appear," she murmured, "in the middle of this... now?"
"Bit of a habit," he said. "Though I'll admit, this moment was especially well-timed."
Alfia hesitated, then asked, "Why are you talking to me?"
Nad looked at her for a long second. Then, with a strange sort of honesty in his voice, he said:
"Because you're interesting. Strong. Broken. Beautiful. And because you're clearly planning something dramatic, and I thought I might interrupt before it gets too final."
Alfia blinked — not out of offense, but disbelief.
"You don't even know me."
"I don't have to," Nad said. Then his voice softened. "But I can tell you're sick. I can feel it."
A pause.
"I might be able to help."
Alfia didn't answer right away.
She was too busy studying him — his casual posture, the ease with which he stood in the Dungeon like it was a marketplace. Her instincts told her to be cautious. Gods didn't appear for no reason. They didn't offer things without cost.
But the offer...
"…You can help me?" Her voice was hushed, as if speaking too loud might break whatever fragile moment this was.
Nad raised an eyebrow. "I can try. But I'd need a few things. Your world's got rules, and I can feel them poking at me already." He tapped his own chest lightly, as if testing for divine constraints.
"You're restricted."
"Oh yeah," he nodded. "No miracles, no bending reality in half — at least not out there." He gestured vaguely toward the upper world. "But down here… the rules are softer. Looser. Still, I'd need something magical. A conduit."
Alfia looked at him, then slowly reached into a pouch at her side. Her fingers trembled slightly. She pulled out a small, crystalline shard — faintly glowing blue, a monster drop.
"Monster cores," she said. "We use them for energy… magic."
Nad's eyes lit up. "Perfect. That's exactly the kind of thing I need."
He stepped closer, now only a few feet away. The pressure around him wasn't heavy — not like other gods Alfia had met. It was light, like mist in morning air. Subtle. Almost comforting.
"May I?" he asked, motioning toward the crystal.
She hesitated, then handed it to him. Their fingers brushed for the briefest moment. His skin was warm.
He turned the crystal over in his hand, then tapped it once. A faint shimmer passed through the air, and for a second, the crystal pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
"Yup," he said. "This'll work. Though powdered would be better."
Alfia raised an eyebrow. "Powdered?"
"Finer particles, more contact, easier to infuse. I'll need you to crush a few of them — and I'll need to touch the powder directly."
There was a long silence.
Then — to Nad's surprise — she let out a soft breath and sat down against the wall.
"…Why do you care?"
That stopped him. The grin softened. He didn't look away.
"Because I was bored," he said simply. "And now I'm not."
Alfia snorted faintly. "You're strange."
"Flattering," he replied, deadpan.
And then — unexpectedly — her eyes glistened. The usual cold sharpness in her voice was dulled. She blinked hard.
No one had offered her help in years. Not without agenda. Not without fear. Not without knowing who she was.
And here was this… god. This absurd, smiling anomaly… just appearing out of nowhere and offering healing like it was a handshake.
"I've tried everything," she whispered. "Potions, divine blessings… forbidden rituals. Nothing worked. Nothing."
"I'm not everything," Nad said quietly.
She looked up, surprised.
"I'm something else."
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then she reached into her pouch again, pulled out three more crystals, and crushed them carefully between her gloved palms. The powder shimmered with faint blue-green sparks. She handed it to him — and for a second, their hands touched again, longer this time.
He pressed his palm into the glowing powder and closed his eyes.
A shimmer spread out from his hand. It wasn't showy — not yet. Just a quiet, warm radiance that pulsed into the air.
Alfia stiffened.
The pain in her chest — ever-present, like a dull knife — loosened. Her lungs felt fuller. Her limbs lighter. She gasped, as if surfacing from deep water.
"…It's fading," she said, breathless.
Nad cracked one eye open, gave a mock-sly smile. "Told you. Temporary fix, though. We'll need more later. A proper setup."
"You're really doing it," she whispered. Her voice broke slightly. "You're really healing me."
"Just a patch job," he said. "Like sticking a leaf over a crack in a dam."
She laughed softly — a dry, worn laugh — and shook her head.
"You're a strange god."
Nad placed the rest of the powder back in her palm and dusted his hands off theatrically. "Correction: playful, clever, and devastatingly handsome god."
Alfia gave him a flat look.
Nad, unaffected, put one hand to his chest and bowed dramatically. "Also modest."
She sighed, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
Nad's tone shifted, just slightly, growing lighter. "You're too serious. It messes with the balance."
She narrowed her eyes. "Balance?"
"Yep. Yin and yang. Drama and comedy. Grit and giggles." His grin widened. "If you're gonna brood, I'll have to clown. Cosmic law."
"That's… not how that works."
"It is now."
He snapped his fingers — and with a sudden pop, a tiny version of himself appeared above his shoulder in chibi form, spinning in circles and throwing sparkles.
Alfia blinked. "What was that?"
"Anime logic," Nad said proudly. "Also magic. Also you should smile more."
She gave him a long, tired stare.
And he met it with the kind of grin only someone truly committed to being an idiot could wear.
"…You're really not from around here."
"Nope. But I'm starting to like it."