It was the young shaman’s calm determination that, Astraeus or not, there was only one way for a mortal to enter the Spirit Realm that forced the priest to accept the ludicrous proposal. Offering one of the few remaining envoys of such a powerful spiritual clan up as a sacrificial bride? Unthinkable.

But, despite the priest’s reservations and protests, Noah was insistent on walking him through not only the details of the ceremony, but every step and procedure leading up to and following it in exhaustive detail. And, according to the shaman, there wasn’t a second to waste. As soon as they had retrieved the ceremonial materials from the shrine office, they had set off into the woods behind the shrine.

Under the moonlight, the sparseness of the mountain’s forest was more apparent than it was during the day. The lantern held in the priest’s hand was unlit, but he didn’t need it to see ahead. The moonlight shone through every gap in the canopy, illuminating the barren land as he and Noah trekked through the woods.

“I still don’t feel good about this,” the priest said, eyeing the dark lantern in his hand. It seemed like an ordinary, unlit lantern, but the shaman had insisted it was necessary to bring it. “I’m not even sure I believe in the old ways, but we’re desperate. And this, this so-called spirit lantern… is going to lead us to the mountain god?”

“It will lead us to what we call a true altar, where our world connects to your deity’s territory in the Spirit Realm,” Noah explained. “It’s rare that a true altar is outside of the shrine grounds, but it does happen."

“How?”

“Usually when the deity has chosen, for one reason or another, to abandon their relationship with humanity,” Noah said, without giving any indication of his personal feelings on the matter.

“And you really think that this ceremony is going to work?”

“It will,” Noah confirmed. “You don’t get problems like this stemming from anywhere but the Spirit Realm. The problems are too widespread, span too long a period of time, and have been exponentially worsening without any apparent rhyme or reason.”

“You’re absolutely certain?”

“Yes. What’s been described isn’t just an issue with the physical health of the land. It’s extended to all living things, as well as the natural forces acting upon them. And the issues have escalated to the point where even normal people are taking notice,” Noah said. “That’s a symptom of something catastrophically wrong with the Spirit Realm. If I had to guess, whatever is happening there likely has to do with why your deity has withdrawn and his presence and his protection are no longer felt here.”

“But this specifically, this ceremony—is it really going to work?” the priest asked, turning around to face Noah. “Are you one hundred percent certain?”

Noah’s voice was as calm and measured as ever, but there was an unmistakable flicker of irritation in his eyes. “How many ways are you going to ask me that?”

“It’s just…” The priest trailed off, unable to meet Noah’s gaze. “It seems like an extreme measure for something we don’t know will work.”

“Look,” Noah said, unable to mask his exasperation. “I don’t know how many ways you need me to tell you this. You may not believe in the old ways, but I’ve experienced them firsthand.”

“I…” The priest wavered. “All of these old legends, the old ways… even as recently as my father’s generation, we followed them. When I was young, they still did these kinds of ceremonies. The ones where they used to dress virgins in bride’s gowns and tie them to makeshift altars in the woods, as offerings to the mountain god. It was, frankly, barbaric.”

Noah gestured for the priest to speak faster.

“Right, yes—so,” he stammered. “In the morning, they would be gone, never to be seen again. But no matter how many were sacrificed, how many lives were lost, it made no difference. So this ceremony…” The priest wrung his hands together. “Is it even possible for it to be any different? We’ve already lost so many people, I just want to be absolutely certain, Divine One, that this will have the desired effect. I can’t endure more meaningless death, especially not because of a request that I made.”

“Listen, the blood flowing through my veins—rather, the Astraeus Clan’s power—exceeds what all of the sacrificed brides’ spiritual value combined could amount to.” Noah chose his next words carefully. “And, even if those poor brides had any spiritual power left to spare after making it to the Spirit Realm, there would have been too little left to be of any use or value there.”

“I see,” the priest said quietly. “So those measures really were in vain.”

“Right idea, just the wrong means,” Noah said. “Direct intervention in the Spirit Realm is the only way to restore the balance and put a stop to this endless cycle of misfortune and death. There isn’t a substitute for what the Astraeus Clan can offer, in that regard.”

The priest looked doubtful.

“That’s why you looked for someone from the Astraeus Clan, isn’t it?” Noah asked. “We’re the only ones, among all the spiritual clans, who have enough power to intervene directly in the Spirit Realm. No one, not even a god, can turn a blind eye and deaf ear to us. In other words,” Noah said, speaking plainly, “of course this ceremony will work. I wouldn’t throw my life away for nothing.”

The priest’s expression was twisted with conflict.

“Look, you’re doing the right thing. And you did well to find me,” Noah said, offering him what small comfort he could. “Knowledge about the Astraeus Clan is incredibly well guarded. Most priests would never have figured out how to even get a hold of us.”

“But…” the priest said, “Divine One, if this sacrifice—”

“Hey, don’t call it sacrifice. It’s tacky,” Noah said lightly. He wasn’t going to try to bear the weight of the priest’s complex feelings about his own death. “This is my duty. Something that I alone can do. Now, come. Hold the lantern a little higher. I thought I felt something around here.”

The priest’s footsteps slowed as he waited for some sign from the spirit lantern. After a moment of swaying side to side, a blue ember sparked to life in the center of the glass chamber.

“This way.” Noah pointed in the direction the small flame was drawn towards.

The priest nodded and followed. “So, our land… these deaths… if you don’t do this, it won’t stop? Ever?”

“Not on its own,” Noah said matter-of-factly. “If anything, the destruction and loss of life will escalate even faster once everything reaches the inflection point. Silverrun would probably disappear completely.”

“What’s this inflection point?” the priest asked.

Noah glanced at him. “You don’t want to know.”

The priest held the lantern up to eye level, grim-faced as he changed direction and watched the unnatural flame in the heart of the spirit lantern grow brighter. It was leading them toward a crack in the mountain, scarcely visible through the trees. The fissure was scarcely wide enough for two people.

The priest stopped short of the entrance, his face bathed in the radiance of the spirit lantern’s light. It also cast a strange gleam over the white hakama that Noah had exchanged for his earlier one, along with the matching overcoat draped over his arm. Under the supernatural glow, faint threads of phantom silver embroidery in the otherwise ordinary fabric shimmered to life.

As they stepped into the mouth of the cave, the priest voiced the question that had been plaguing his mind from the moment he’d laid eyes on the strange young man. “Divine One… forgive me one last question,” he began, haltingly. “Why is it that you don’t seem… afraid?”

Noah wore an expression that the priest couldn’t quite read—a mixture of wistfulness and grief. It was the bone-deep melancholy of a man who had already experienced a lifetime’s worth of sorrow and, on such a young face, was deeply out of place.

“There are worse fates in this world than simple death,” Noah said as he led the way into the darkness of the cave, steps ahead of the lantern’s glow. “I’m not afraid to die.”

Unbeknownst to the priest, what Noah left unspoken was a single, but important word. One that not even another member of the Astraeus Clan could claim.

Again.

Noah wasn’t afraid to die again.