The god stared down at the scene and tried, sincerely, to understand it.

  Jumping straight into a fucking mana pool.

  He turned the moment over in his mind, replaying it from every angle. Two humans. No magic signatures. No wards. No hesitation. Just a synchronized leap into a reservoir of compressed arcane energy.

  Nothing about it made sense.

  He sighed.

  Fine. If mortals were determined to defy reason, he would interrogate one directly.

  Space folded in on itself, and the god reappeared in the crystal cavern, boots touching stone beside the still, softly glowing pool. He glanced at the lake once more, then snapped his fingers.

  One of the twins popped back into existence next to him.

  Screaming.

  * * *

  For a fraction of a millisecond, Mason was pain.

  Every nerve fired at once as his body was torn apart and reassembled faster than thought, faster than fear. Then the sensation vanished entirely.

  As soon as he had lungs again, he screamed.

  Then stopped.

  The absence of pain registered first. The absence of drowning came a close second.

  “Miri?”

  He spun, heart hammering, eyes wild as he searched the cavern. Crystals. Stone. The lake. Still there. Water sloshing against the rock.

  And a man stood nearby, hands clasped in front of him like he was waiting on a train.

  The man was tall and slender, his hair hovering in that ambiguous space between blond and brown that Miri would absolutely know the name of. His eyes, though—

  His eyes were weird as shit.

  The irises were the palest brown Mason had ever seen, and within the pupils tiny points of light swirled, slow and endless, like stars caught in a whirlpool. He wore long white robes splattered with brown stains along the sleeve, and held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand.

  The impression he gave off was of infinite weight being politely contained.

  The man spoke first.

  “You,” he said, pointing at Mason, “just jumped into a primordial mana reservoir.”

  Mason blinked. “Okay.”

  “And ceased to exist.”

  “…Less okay.”

  “You dissolved,” the man continued, warming to the explanation despite himself. “Unmade at a metaphysical level. Body, soul, potential futures.” He flicked his fingers. “Just—bwoop! Gone.”

  Mason’s gaze snapped past him to the lake.

  “Miri.”

  He said her name softly, like it might still be within reach.

  The man hesitated.

  “Yes,” he said. “Her too.”

  Mason’s breath hitched. He bent forward, hands braced on his thighs, as if the ground might tilt without warning. For several long seconds he didn’t speak.

  “Then why am I alive?” he asked hoarsely.

  The man blinked.

  “You’re not alive,” the man said. “You’re restored. Temporarily.”

  Mason laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Great. So we’re both dead, but I get a partial refund?”

  “I pulled you back,” the god said. “I wanted to know what kind of person sees a lake of mana and thinks, yes, let’s dive in.”

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Mason shook his head. “If anyone should be standing here, it’s her. She’s stronger. Braver. She doesn’t hesitate.”

  “She jumps into unknown liquids without checking if they violate the laws of reality,” the god said.

  Mason almost smiled. It faded immediately.

  “She shouldn’t be alone,” he said quietly. “She’s going to wake up somewhere and think I left her.”

  The cavern seemed to still.

  The god’s attention turned inward, vast and searching.

  “She has already awakened,” he said. “And she believes herself alone.”

  Mason’s chest tightened. He nodded once, like bracing for impact.

  “Then I don’t care why you brought me back,” he said. “Bring her back too. Or send me to her. Or send us both to nothing. But don’t leave her thinking she lost me.”

  The god studied him for a long moment.

  “You are very calm,” he said finally, “for someone who has just learned he died.”

  Mason swallowed. “I don’t get to fall apart first. That was always her job.”

  “She’s safe,” the god said. “For now. A pocket dimension.”

  Mason exhaled shakily. “Okay.”

  He straightened, forcing himself to focus. “Okay. So. We’re dead.”

  “Yes.”

  “Because the lake wasn’t water.”

  “Correct.”

  “It was mana.” Mason frowned. “Like magic fuel.”

  The god paused. “You know what mana is.”

  “I play video games,” Mason said. “And read fantasy. Also I’m not an idiot.”

  “Hm.” The god folded his arms. “Still. Your planet is aggressively low magic.”

  “Low,” Mason echoed. “But not zero.”

  “Technically.”

  “So we jumped into something our bodies had never been exposed to, at a concentration meant for… what. Gods? Dragons?”

  “Billions of years of compressed ambient mana,” the god said. “On a world where it should circulate freely, not stagnate. Your species evolved without tolerance. Without channels. When the mana hit you, it had nowhere to go.”

  Mason nodded slowly. “Mana poisoning.”

  “Mana annihilation.”

  “Right.”

  A beat.

  “Did it hurt her?” Mason asked quietly.

  “It was fast,” the god said after a pause. “There was no suffering.”

  Mason closed his eyes. Relief flickered across his face, brief and unguarded.

  When he opened them again, his gaze was steady.

  “So what do I do,” Mason said quietly, “to get back to Miri.”

  The god studied him for a long moment. Not weighing power. Not potential. Something subtler.

  “You don’t,” he said at last.

  Mason’s jaw tightened. “Try again.”

  “She can be restored,” the god continued. “Rebuilt to survive mana exposure. Changed enough to thrive in a new world. But you…” He shook his head. “Your body was already failing. Even without the lake, you had months at best without magical healing.”

  Mason nodded. “Cancer.”

  “You hid it.”

  “She would’ve burned her life down trying to save me,” Mason said. “She always does that.”

  “And now,” the god said gently, “she won’t have to.”

  Mason exhaled slowly. He stared at the cave floor, at the faint reflections of crystal light in the stone.

  “She’s going to wake up,” he said. “Confused. Angry. Blaming herself. She always thinks if she’d just been faster or smarter or less reckless, she could’ve fixed it.”

  The god didn’t interrupt.

  “She’s brave,” Mason continued. “But she’s terrible at stopping. She doesn’t know when to rest. Or when something’s bait instead of treasure.” His voice wavered. “That’s usually where I come in.”

  The words settled between them.

  “You want to stay,” the god said.

  “I want to help her,” Mason replied. “There’s a difference.”

  The god nodded slowly. “Good. Because that difference is why I’m going to do something very stupid.”

  He took a step closer, coffee forgotten.

  “I need a System,” he said. “Not just numbers and rules, but judgment. Restraint. Someone who understands that people aren’t optimal builds. They’re messy. They get attached. They push past their limits and call it courage.”

  Mason looked up.

  “And you think that’s me.”

  “I think,” the god said, “that you are the kind of person who notices when someone is about to destroy themselves for the sake of others.”

  Mason swallowed.

  “You didn’t tell her you were dying,” the god went on. “Not because you were afraid. Because you didn’t want to steal her time.”

  Mason closed his eyes. That landed harder than the death.

  “A System without you,” the god said, “would reward recklessness. Escalation. Endless growth. You would slow it down. Ask if the cost is worth it. Nudge instead of command.”

  “You’re saying I’d be the conscience,” Mason said faintly.

  “I’m saying,” the god replied, “you’d be the part that remembers why the game exists at all.”

  Mason was quiet for a long time.

  “And Miri,” he said finally. “She won’t be alone.”

  “No,” the god said. “She’ll have a guide. A safeguard. A voice that knows her better than anyone alive.”

  Mason laughed softly. “She’s going to argue with it.”

  “I hope so.”

  Mason straightened. The grief was still there, heavy and aching, but something had crystallized around it. Purpose. Direction.

  “She’s fearless,” Mason said. “Which means someone has to be there to keep her from doing something incredibly stupid.”

  He smiled, tired but certain. “That’s usually me. Even now.”

  He met the god’s gaze.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it. Merge me with your System of whatever. But if she tries to solo something suicidal, I reserve the right to be annoying about it.”

  The god laughed, genuine and sharp.

  “Welcome aboard,” he said. “Support class.”