[Leif’s POV — The White Realm—Continuation]

For a heartbeat, she didn’t answer.

Her eyes, green and calm, held mine in a silence that felt too deliberate—like the world itself was waiting for her permission to breathe.

Then she smiled. Slow. Familiar. Terrifying.

"Who am I?" she repeated softly, as if testing the words. "My child, you’ve known me since the day your heart first began to remember."

I frowned. "That’s not an answer."

"It is," she said simply, walking closer—her bare feet never touching the ground. The air shimmered where she moved, and the light bent around her like it wanted to worship her. "You just don’t understand it yet."

"I’m not here for riddles." My voice cracked through the stillness, too loud, too human again. "I want the truth. No more half answers."

She stopped a few steps away. The faint lavender scent curled around me—comforting, but wrong. Like a childhood memory that didn’t belong to me.

"Truth," she murmured. "You say that as if it’s something you can bear."

"I can." My voice didn’t even sound like mine—too thin, too human, echoing off nothing. "Just tell me."

She smiled—that slow, ancient kind of smile that looked gentle but carried centuries of storms behind it.

"I am someone who created this world, child."

I blinked. "Created... this world?"

Her green eyes gleamed with amusement. "Yes."

My stomach dropped. "Wait—created as in—"

"God?" she supplied, chuckling lightly. "Well... that’s what humans decided to call me."

. . .

. . .

So—God. I’m talking to God?

I rubbed my temples. "Do I... bow or something? Kneel? Offer a prayer? Maybe light a candle—?"

She chuckled, the sound warm but almost mocking. "Oh, no, child. I’m merely a god... from another dimension."

. . .

I blinked once. Twice. "I... see."

The realization settled like ice down my spine. So this world—everything—was her creation.And I’d just been talking back to the one who built it.

She tilted her head, amused by my stunned silence. "You’re trying very hard to make sense of this, aren’t you?"

"Yes, because apparently logic left the building the moment I entered yours."

Her eyes glimmered. "You’ve been searching for the reason you’re here, haven’t you? Why did you wake up in that body?"

My heart skipped. "...Yes."

She folded her hands behind her back, her voice softening. "You were brought here for a mission, child. A mission the real owner of that body... failed to complete."

She lifted one delicate finger and pointed directly at me. "The real Leif ThorenVald."

The air tightened.

She continued, "He was the bearer of the Seraph King—the divine vessel chosen to seal the Devil. And he succeeded... but that foolish boy did what no divine ever should."

Her tone turned faintly bitter. "He fell in love with a greedy woman."

I blinked, my throat tightening. "Elowen."

She smiled faintly. "Yes. A mortal woman whose heart was... not as pure as he believed."

I said nothing. The silence stretched between us, heavy and knowing.

"One day," she went on, "he saved her. She was drowning. And in his desperation to keep her alive, his divine seal awakened. But when it did..." She tilted her head, her tone turning pitying. "...a fragment of his power latched onto her soul. From that moment on, she sought to possess what she could never earn."

"An oath," I murmured. "She wanted me—him—to take an oath."

"Yes," the god said softly. "Because the moment you bow, the divine power becomes hers. A blessing and a curse intertwined. The real Leif couldn’t see that until it was too late."

My hands curled into fists. "...So what happened to him?"

She sighed, as if recalling something mildly inconvenient rather than catastrophic. "He hesitated. And when he hesitated, the Devil stirred. His bond fractured. The world began to unravel."

I stared at her, my pulse quickening. "Then why me? Why am I here?"

Her smile returned—too calm for the weight of her words. "Because I had to fix his mistake. I summoned you."

She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"I had to go through many difficulties," she continued cheerfully, "crossed dozens of universes, searched thousands of souls... and then—" she pointed a finger at me, eyes twinkling— "I found you."

I gawked. "So you’re telling me, God went dumpster diving for souls?"

"Oh, don’t look so offended," she scolded, amused. "You were the only one whose soul wasn’t bound by fate or debt. You were... available."

"...Available?"

She nodded cheerfully. "Vacant, unattached, a little bruised but functional. Perfect vessel material."

I blinked. Slowly. "So what—you just yanked me out of my world and downloaded me into someone else’s body like—like installing a new app?!"

She actually laughed . "Oh, child, don’t be so dramatic."

"DRAMATIC?!" I threw my hands up. "You killed the original Leif!"

Her amusement didn’t waver. "Ohoho, ’killed’? Such a harsh word. I didn’t kill him; I simply... extracted his soul and inserted yours in its place."

I blinked at her.Then blinked again.

"Miss God," I said, voice flat, "you just described murder with extra steps."

She wagged a finger. "Nonsense. His body lives, his soul lives—you’re merely borrowing it. Think of it as... divine recycling."

"Divine recycling," I repeated, staring blankly. "So I’m basically the reincarnated equivalent of a secondhand coffee cup."

She smiled, utterly unbothered. "If that helps you cope, yes."

. . .

. . .

She’s unbelievable.

I sighed. "So what about the real Leif? What happened to him?"

Her eyes softened again, though her tone stayed maddeningly casual. "He’s alive, child."

"He’s... alive?"

She nodded gently. "Yes. Resting beneath the seal he forged. Watching through you, in fragments. Waiting for the right moment."

I swallowed hard. "Waiting... for what?"

"For you," she said simply. "For you to finish what he couldn’t. Once the Devil rises again, both your souls will converge—one divine, one human—and end it together."

The weight of it hit like a falling cathedral. "So I’m here to kill the Devil."

She nodded, eyes warm, almost proud. "Yes. You were the perfect soul for the job."

I stared at her for a full three seconds. "...Thank you, I guess? I’ll put that on my résumé later."

But then her voice softened, gentler, almost too gentle. "And when the mission is complete... I will grant you any wish you desire."

"You may also return to your world. Back to where you belong."

For a second, the words almost sounded like mercy. But it didn’t.

Then—

"...What about Alvar?" I asked quietly.

Her smile didn’t falter, but her eyes did. A flicker—brief, almost pitying. "Everyone will forget you, child."

My breath caught. "...What?"

"Once the cycle ends," she said softly, "the memory of you will fade. Every bond, every touch, every tear—they will return to the moment before you arrived. As though nothing ever happened."

My hands curled into fists. "So you’re saying when this is over—when I save this world—he’ll forget I ever existed?"

"Yes," she said. Calmly. Cruelly.

I laughed — a sharp, broken sound that cracked through the silence. "You say that so easily. You talk about erasing people like it’s... nothing."

Her expression didn’t shift. Her eyes held no malice, no pity—just stillness. "That is the price of divine interference, child."

"Price?" My voice trembled, sharp at the edges. "That’s not a price. That’s cruelty."

She tilted her head slightly. "Cruelty and mercy are often the same thing. It depends on who’s left behind to feel it."

My throat burned. "Then why?" I whispered, my words shaking. "Why are gods always cruel?"

She sighed—a soft, patient sound, like she’d heard that question a thousand times before. "Because mortals never understand mercy until it hurts."

Something inside me broke. "Then maybe I don’t want to be divine," I whispered.

Her eyes softened, but her tone did not. "That choice was never yours."

It wasn’t shouted. It didn’t need to be. The words hit harder than any weapon could. Cold. Final. Unforgiving.

For a moment, I just stood there. Frozen. And then—my tears fell.

Slow at first. One. Then another. They hit the white nothingness beneath me and vanished instantly—absorbed into light, like even my grief didn’t deserve to leave a trace here.

All I could do was stand there—hollow, trembling—trying to decide what hurt more: the truth she’d spoken... or how easily she’d said it.

Because that’s what gods do, isn’t it?

They take. They test. They command. And when you break — they call it destiny.

The light around her began to shift, pulsing faintly. "It’s time to go back, child."

Her hand reached out—fingertips glowing white. And then she pushed.

The world shattered.

The ground that wasn’t there gave way, and I fell—through light, through silence, through everything. My scream didn’t echo. My tears didn’t follow. Only the feeling of being unmade.

And her voice—fading, distant, cold—followed me down like a sentence.

"Be brave, my little echo. The cruelest stories always belong to those who love."

White swallowed everything.

And I fell.And fell.And fell—

Until there was nothing left to fall into.