I was Reborn as a God Candidate in a Dead World

It started with fire.

Not metaphorical fire. Real, actual fire. The kind you make by rubbing stones together, grunting, and looking slightly like a cave-dwelling himbo, which—unfortunately for Noah's sanity—was exactly what Abel looked like now.

He sat cross-legged a few meters away, watching as the prince efficiently stacked kindling and flint like someone who actually enjoyed survival scenarios. His back was perfectly straight. His expression deadpan serious. His black leather pants and loose black shirt clung to his chest a little too well, but who was Noah to complain. Muscles flexed every time he moved.

Noah lounged dramatically on a moss-covered slab of stone, one hand propping up his head.

"Just saying," he began, voice syrupy with sarcasm, "if you wanted to impress me, you could've at least built a jacuzzi instead of a caveman bonfire."

Abel didn't answer. He sparked the flint. A few orange embers flared, then died.

"…Okay," Noah added, "but if I die because your wilderness survival skills suck, I'm haunting you. Shirtless. Moist."

The flint sparked again. This time, it caught.

The fire crackled to life.

"…Damn it," Noah muttered. "That was kind of hot."

A few minutes later, the campfire burned steadily. Abel had skewered chunks of meat from their mystery chest supplies onto thin metal rods and positioned them over the flames. The smell? Criminally good.

Noah sat cross-legged now, slightly less dramatic, slightly more starving.

"So," he said casually, "you always cook shirtless in ancient ruins with strange men? Or is this a me thing?"

Abel glanced at him with all the expression of a dead fish. "I hunted with knights. We cooked outside often."

"Mm-hmm. Sure. Knights. Cooking. Definitely wasn't a sexy cult orgy or anything."

Abel didn't respond. Just turned the meat with focused precision.

Noah rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. I'll bite first—metaphorically."

He leaned back and looked up at the glow of mossy cavern-light above. "Back in my world, I was… nothing special. I mean, I guess I was special. Just not in a fun way. Depressed, sarcastic, broke. You know, average Gen Z experience."

Abel tilted his head. "…Gen Z?"

"Never mind."

Noah ran a hand through his hair. "Anyway, one day I woke up in this white void. Super cliché. Thought I was dead—which I was. Truck. Very original. But then this old god, like, capital-G God, shows up and offers me a second chance."

Abel finally looked at him, really looked. "You met… one of the old gods?"

"Yeah." Noah nodded slowly. "He said the world is broken. Dying. And he needed someone stupid or desperate enough to roll the dice and fix it. Gave me a choice of items. I picked the tarot deck because… well, it reminded me of my grandma."

Abel blinked.

"She was the only real family I had," Noah said, softer now. "She used to give me readings when I was a kid. Showed me how to use the cards. It always felt like magic—even if it wasn't. I guess I held onto that. So when I saw the deck… I chose it. For her."

Abel stared. "…You're a divine candidate."

Noah nodded again.

"You spoke to a god."

"Twice actually. He was kind of a dick, though. Very cryptic. Gave me powers but no clue how to use them. Also might've flirted with me. Can't be sure."

Abel's expression betrayed something close to disbelief. "…You're joking."

"Wish I was."

Noah leaned forward, arms draped loosely over his knees. The firelight danced in his eyes.

"So yeah. That's the story. I'm one of the hundred idiots trying to play god and not die in the process. And my divine item is a shiny little deck of cards."

He smirked.

"Still want to eat with me, or is that too much divine baggage for one campfire?"

Abel was silent for a long time.

Then, finally:

"…You talk too much."

Noah grinned. "And yet you keep listening."

The meat sizzled.

Dinner was almost ready.

The meat was surprisingly good. Tender, juicy, and not poisoned—or at least not immediately poisoned. Noah took another bite and let out an almost indecent moan.

"Okay. I take it back," he said, chewing. "You cooking over a fire? Actually hot. Like, sexually. No notes."

Abel, now halfway through his own skewer, didn't even look up. "You said that five times already."

"Yeah, and I'll say it again. Man grills one time and suddenly I'm ready to give him my eternal devotion."

Abel glanced at him flatly. "Is this how you talk to all the gods?"

"Only the hot ones," Noah said, grinning with grease on his lips.

A few beats of silence passed while they chewed, the fire crackling between them. The heat made the cave feel cozy for once. Almost safe.

Then Noah, voice softer, added, "So… are you gonna tell me anything? About you?"

Abel didn't respond right away. He pulled the last bit of meat off the skewer and tossed the stick into the fire, watching it catch.

Noah raised a brow. "I mean, I just told you I died, met a cryptic deity, and picked a magic tarot deck because of my grandma, who was the only person that ever really gave a shit about me. Your turn."

That earned him a look.

Noah gave a small shrug. "I'm not asking for your royal trauma files. Just… something. So I don't feel like the only emotionally unstable dumbass at this campfire."

Abel let out a quiet breath. "I was the firstborn of House Velmira. Crown prince. Trained to lead. Trained to protect."

"Yikes," Noah muttered. "Sounds exhausting."

"It was," Abel said simply.

Noah blinked. Wasn't expecting him to agree.

"I wanted to end the curse," Abel went on. "Stop the Weavers. I led a rebellion. I thought it would work. We made it all the way to the throne room."

He fell silent for a second, chewing his next words.

"My father was about to give up. To stop. But then… they started the ritual anyway. The Weavers didn't need his will. Just his blood."

Noah stilled.

Abel's voice dropped lower. "Everyone died. The servants, the guards. My sister. And my mother… she stayed alive. Sick. In pain. Forever."

Noah didn't make a joke this time. Didn't even move.

Abel turned his eyes to the fire again. "She was half-awake when I found her. Knew me. Felt everything. And I—"

He hesitated. Then said it.

"I ended it."

For a few seconds, the only sound was the crackle of flame and the soft clink of bone on stone as Noah put his skewer down.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking at Abel—really looking.

"You didn't kill her," he said quietly.

Abel didn't answer, but he was listening.

"You freed her," Noah said. "You ended the nightmare. If she could talk, I think she would've thanked you."

The fire popped. Abel's shoulders tensed just slightly.

"I mean," Noah added, trying to lighten the mood just a little, "it's not like I go around handing out free therapy, so you better appreciate this emotional support moment."

Abel finally glanced at him. A flicker of something softened his expression. Not a smile. But not a frown either.

"…You're strange," he said.

Noah grinned. "You're just figuring that out now?"

And for a moment, under the ghostlight glow of moss and flame, it wasn't a battlefield. It wasn't a cursed castle.

Just two people sharing food and stories.

And maybe—for once—neither of them felt completely alone.

By the time they finished eating, the fire was little more than glowing embers. Abel stood and started gathering the supplies without a word, efficient as always. Noah watched him for a moment before groaning and forcing himself upright.

"Ugh, fine. I'll help. Can't have my only muscle-brained bodyguard doing all the work."

They packed up the cooking gear and leftover supplies into the bag from the chest. The air was cooler now, and the eerie quiet of the training grounds was back. Noah glanced at the black stain where the Black Puppet's corpse had once twitched before dissolving into ash. The silence had weight again.

"Let's move," Abel said, already walking.

"Where to? You gonna show me your royal hot tub now?"

Abel didn't even turn his head. "Servant quarters. Some of them should still be intact."

"Oh, disappointing. I was really hoping for a king-sized bed and rose petals," Noah muttered, dragging his cane after him.

The way back through the castle was quieter than before, but not peaceful. As they descended into lower halls, twisted by time and shadow, the ghosts came. Former servants—maids, stablehands, guards—their forms distorted by centuries of torment. Hollow eyes. Screaming mouths. And claws that sliced through air like razors.

They fought together now. Efficient. Deadly. Abel cut them down in clean, practiced arcs. Noah followed up with explosive cards, keeping their flanks clear. They weren't difficult—just sad.

Noah flinched when one ghost's face passed close enough to see it had once been a teenage girl.

"Shit," he whispered.

They kept moving.

After clearing a few more corridors, they reached a quieter part of the castle—darker, less cursed. Two servant rooms still had beds that weren't entirely rotten and roofs that weren't caved in.

Abel stopped in the doorway of one and gestured. "You take that one."

Noah looked past him at the other door. "Wait. Separate rooms?"

Abel raised an eyebrow.

"I mean," Noah said quickly, "I just thought after all that trauma bonding and dinner by candlelight, we were at least on the level of sharing a bedroll."

Abel stepped into his own room. "If I shared a bed with you, you wouldn't sleep."

Noah blinked. "Wait—what?"

Abel's voice was perfectly even but a little too fast with the reply. "I snore. Loudly."

He shut the door behind him.

Noah stood frozen outside his own room for a full five seconds.

"…Was that a flirt?" he muttered.

Then: "Oh my god, that was a flirt."

His cheeks burned. He rubbed his face with both hands like it would physically erase the red climbing up his ears.

"For fuck's sake," he whispered to himself. "He's hot, he cooks, and he flirts? I'm screwed."

Noah opened his door, stepped in, and slammed it shut behind him.