The Messenger

Two months passed.

The village Miko helped rebuild grew — small gardens, steady food, even laughter at night.

But farther east, where the broken city met the bone forest, Naeri's camp rose.

It wasn’t made of wood or glass.

It was made of symbols.

Black flags bearing Kana’s spiral.

Words etched into stone — “ Divinity never dies, only waits. ”

And at the heart of it all, Naeri stood beneath a crumbling satellite tower she called the Spire. She wore white now. Eyes painted with soot. A mirror to Kana, but colder.

She preached:

“ Kana was not defeated. She was dispersed. And her essence waits — in the empty minds of the lost, in the trembling of weak hearts. Miko claimed to destroy her. But what is he, if not her shadow? ”

She had followers — former students, bitter survivors, those who had lost too much and found comfort in order. They called themselves the Faithbound.

And they didn’t just want Kana back.

They wanted Miko punished.

Kawasai watched smoke rise on the horizon.

“ Naeri has built her church, ” they said.

Miko didn’t look away from the seeds in his hand. “ Of course she did. The world hates silence. ”

Sena joined them. “ She’s calling you a false savior now. ”

Miko gave a dry laugh. “ She’s not wrong. I’m no savior. ”

Takamura leaned against a tree nearby. “ Then what are you? ”

Miko looked at the sky.

“ The last mistake the world let survive. ”

That night, a Faithbound scout was caught trying to poison the well.

Sena stopped him.

But it was a warning.

The war of gods was over. The war of ideas had just begun.

They came in ones and twos at first. Wanderers. Survivors. Villagers who had smiled at Sena in the morning… and were gone by nightfall.

Kawasai knew where they went.

The Spire.

Naeri’s temple.

In Miko’s village, people still worked. Still laughed. Still healed.

But there was a tension now.

A subtle fear.

“ Why are people leaving? ” one child asked.

“ Because stories are easier to follow than truth, ” Miko answered.

Sena disagreed. “ No. They’re leaving because she offers something simple. No pain. No choice. Just devotion. ”

Takamura folded his arms. “ She offers control. That’s what people miss. Especially after what we’ve all lost. ”

At the Spire, Naeri’s sermons grew bolder.

She no longer pretended to revive Kana.

She became her voice.

“ Miko is the Wound, ” she said, standing before a crowd in dusklight. “ He broke the world. He buried your goddess. And now he dares offer peace in place of purpose? ”

They cheered. Not out of joy.

Out of need.

Out of hunger for meaning.

They sent a child.

Small, trembling, clutching a scroll with black wax.

Sena took it from their hand.

“ He’s watching, ” the message read. “ Kana watches through me. Your choice is not whether to kneel — but how soon. ”

Miko read it twice, then gave it to Kawasai.

“ Should I answer? ” he asked.

Kawasai stared at the parchment for a long time.

“ If you respond like a god, you prove her right. ”

“ And if I do nothing? ”

“ Then she speaks louder. And people forget who you became. ”

Miko stood the next morning on the village’s center stone and said just five words:

“ We will not kneel again. ”

And for now… it was enough.

But Naeri smiled when she heard.

She had planted her seed.

Soon, she would return — not with sermons.

With fire.