Flamme's wrist felt strange beneath Izayoi's fingers—as if he were holding a condensed sunbeam that hummed slightly with tension. The mage seemed unable to fully grasp that she had been forcibly dragged back from the brink of oblivion by a mere touch.
"I did not bury this world," she uttered quietly, responding to his last barb. "I merely laid the foundation so that others might build a future upon it."
She gently pulled her hand free. Izayoi did not resist—contact had been established, the anchor cast. Now, she would not vanish until he willed it so.
"Where are we?" he asked curtly.
"In one of the sanctuaries of the Goddess of Creation," Flamme swept her gaze across the dusty hall, a flicker of nostalgia in her eyes. "She departed this earthly realm millennia ago, leaving humanity only her scriptures and... places like this. Hidden within the folds of space, inaccessible to the eyes of mere mortals and even demons."
"A goddess who walked out but left the keys under the doormat?" Izayoi scoffed. "Classic. And you must be the watchdog?"
"I am Flamme," she replied with dignity. "In life, I was known as the Great Mage. I am the one who systematized magic for humanity. But now... I am merely a shadow. An echo of will, sealed within mana, to witness the one who passes through the opened gates. My true body turned to dust so long ago that even the trees that grew upon my grave have already died of old age."
Izayoi nodded, absorbing the information. A dead guide wasn't the most conversational option, but certainly reliable.
"So, the 'appointed hour' has arrived?" he clarified. "Since you're here and I'm standing in front of you, someone clearly pressed the summon button. What the hell am I doing here, Flamme?"
Flamme shook her head. Her white robes swayed, though there was no wind in the tomb.
"I do not know."
Izayoi blinked in surprise.
"You don't know?"
"The will of the Goddess is unfathomable," the mage replied calmly. "I am merely an instrument. I embedded a portion of my essence in this place to meet whoever came through the rift. But as to why you are here... that is a mystery you must solve yourself. My task was solely to ensure you arrived alive."
"Fantastic," Izayoi rolled his eyes, though there was no malice in his voice, only irony. "Divine whims and a complete lack of a mission brief. It seems the management in this world is incompetent on all fronts."
He took a few steps across the hall, the sound of his boots echoing hollowly off the walls. He stopped before the statue, peering into the Goddess's stone face, then spun around to face Flamme.
His posture shifted. The relaxation vanished. His shoulders squared, and his gaze, previously merely curious, became heavy.
"Fine," he said, his voice dropping an octave. "If you don't know the 'why,' then answer me another question. One that interests me far more."
The air around Izayoi began to tremble. This was not magic in the conventional sense of this world. This was pure presence. The pressure of a being whose sheer density of existence exceeded the permissible parameters of reality. The aura he had been suppressing leaked out just slightly, and that was enough to make the dust on the floor shudder and scatter in concentric circles.
Flamme's ghost recoiled. Even being immaterial, she felt the threat—the instinctive fear a rabbit feels before an approaching storm. This youth... he was not merely a "guest." He was an apex predator.
Izayoi took a step toward her. His violet eyes burned like two cold flames.
"This world..." he enunciated every word, imbuing them with the weight of mountains, "...is it interesting?"
The pressure peaked. The walls of the ancient sanctuary, standing for thousands of years, creaked piteously. It seemed space itself was ready to crack if the answer was unsatisfactory.
And then it all ceased.
Izayoi blinked, the pressure vanishing as suddenly as it had appeared. A broad, almost boyish grin spread across his face.
"Well?" he prompted. "Is it worth my time?"
Flamme stared at him with wide eyes. A second ago she saw a monster capable of splitting the heavens, and now before her stood a brash teenager looking for entertainment. In her gaze, clouded by centuries of waiting, a glint appeared. A glint of clarity. She understood. He needed a purpose and a stage.
She straightened up. Her spectral figure seemed to grow taller and more majestic.
"This world," she began in a solemn tone, her voice amplified by magic ringing under the vaults, "is inhabited by monsters that make men tremble in fear. The forests teem with demons whose sole purpose is deception and slaughter."
Izayoi listened, and his grin grew wider.
"There exists a Demon King," Flamme continued, looking straight into his burning eyes. "A being of absolute power whom no one—not heroes, not armies, not even I—has ever managed to defeat in all of history. This world is full of magic yet to be discovered, and divine miracles that defy all logic."
She paused, and a soft, conspiratorial smile bloomed on her spectral face.
"Here, death dogs your every step, and the unknown awaits around every corner. Yes, child of the stars. This world is incredibly interesting."
Izayoi laughed. It was a short, satisfied laugh of a man who had just won the lottery.
"Ha! A Demon King, monsters, and magic?" He punched his fist into his palm. "Sounds like an excellent sandbox. I'm satisfied."
He looked at Flamme, and now there was respect in his gaze.
"Thanks for the pitch, Flamme. You've sold me on this tour."
He released the mental grip that held her in this plane of existence.
"You may go. I'll handle the rest."
Flamme felt a sense of lightness. Her time was up, but now there was no bitterness in her departure. She had fulfilled her purpose—not just opening the door, but ensuring that the one who entered was ready for this world.
She began to dissolve, turning into golden sparks.
"Good luck, traveler," she whispered one last time. "Show this world what humanity is capable of."
The last spark faded, and the tomb plunged into silence. But this silence was no longer dead. In the center of the hall, adjusting his headphones and grinning in anticipation, stood the one who was about to turn the history of this world on its head.