Elian was never a man of faith.
Not in the way others often were — clinging to rites, reciting prayers or memorizing sacred verses.
No, his belief was something simpler, something purer: love.
And so he lived, year after year, quietly weaving goodness into the fabric of the world.
He donated to the orphanage down the street without ever leaving his name.
Spent evenings repairing the broken steps of the church, the mosque, the temple, even though he belonged to none of them.
Organized food drives, helped struggling families, mended what was torn, and soothed what was wounded.
He lived not for reward, nor for the approval of men, nor for some promised paradise — but simply because it was right.
Elian lived alone. His family had long since returned to the dust, and friends had scattered like chaff before the winds of time.
Yet he was never lonely.
Wherever there was kindness, wherever there was need, there he found companionship.
It was in the quietness of such a life, rich not in possessions but in virtue, that his days drew to a close.
The first sign was a persistent cough.
Then the slow, gnawing weakness that gripped his bones.
Doctors came and went, offering treatments, medicines, and words dipped in sorrow.
But Elian met them all with a smile, calm as the ocean at dawn.
He refused to be moved to a hospital.
His modest home, bathed in warm sunlight and memories, was where he chose to remain.
In those last days, even as his strength dwindled, he continued to give.
Crocheted blankets for the poor, even when his hands trembled.
Wrote letters of encouragement to strangers he would never meet.
Whispered blessings over each sunset, thanking the heavens for the day's beauty.
Neighbors would sometimes find him sitting at his window, wrapped in a faded quilt, humming to himself, a peaceful figure against the dying light.
None could fathom how a man so alone could be so full of joy.
It was on such a day, when the setting sun painted the sky in blood and gold, that Elian felt the end nearing.
He lay upon his bed, breath shallow, vision dimmed — yet his heart was full.
And for the first time in his long life, a thought, gentle and humble, rose within him: a prayer.
"I have lived a wonderful life" he said, barely mouthing the words
"I would be glad if I could repay my blessings to you, my Lord."
He expected nothing.
He sought nothing.
But the heavens, that ancient and unsearchable vastness, heard.
The air in the room grew still, as if the very world held its breath.
Then, from the silence, came a voice — not heard with the ears, but known deep within the soul.
"Child of Earth" said the voice, mighty and tender "I have heard your prayer."
Elian, though frail, did not tremble. He gazed upward, tears brimming in his tired eyes.
"Who... are you?" he whispered, though he already knew.
"I AM" said the voice, resonating like the deep toll of a sacred bell.
"The Alpha and the Omega. The Breath that kindles all life. The Flame that shall never be extinguished."
Elian's heart swelled with awe.
He had never needed signs or wonders to believe in good — yet now, face to face with the Infinite, he knew that his small life had not gone unseen.
"You have lived righteously, expecting no reward" the Almighty continued "And so I offer you not a reward, but a mission."
"A mission?" Elian asked, voice trembling not with fear, but with wonder.
"There is a world beyond this one — a realm where chaos reigns, where false gods rule with iron scepters and where wickedness stains the land."
"Will you go, Elian? Will you lend your light to that dark place?"
Elian did not hesitate.
He had lived his life sowing seeds of good wherever he could. How could he now turn away?
"Yes, my Lord." he said, his voice as steady as it had ever been.
"Send me."
A profound stillness filled the room. Then, the voice spoke again, solemn and mighty:
"Know this, my faithful servant: kindness alone will not suffice in that land."
"You must be steadfast as iron, cunning as serpents, and fierce as lions. You will need to take up arms, to stand against the devourers, to fight for the meek and humble. There shall be trials by blood and by fire."
"I understand."
"Then be made ready" said the Almighty.
"I shall clothe you in new flesh, stronger than the old. I shall pour into you a measure of My power. That you may stand where others have fallen."
"Go now, my beloved child — a new dawn awaits you."
The moment the words were spoken, a brilliance unlike any Elian had ever known descended.
His frail body, worn by time, shone like molten gold.
And in an instant — he was no longer there.
Across dimensions unseen to mortal eyes, Elian traveled.
A soul reborn, carried on wings of divine purpose.
He descended like a falling star, a spear of purest light, into a world alien and ancient.
The heavens roared and the earth trembled.
In a lonely quarry surrounded by jagged rocks and dust, a great beam of radiance struck the ground with a thunderous sound.
The very stones cracked and split beneath the holy weight.
From the heart of the light, Elian emerged — not as a frail old man, but as a figure new and glorious. His body was youthful, strong — yet his eyes bore the wisdom of the life he had lived, and the fire of the mission he had accepted.
A simple robe was also materialized with him, the faithful already wearing it.
And in his heart, the words of the Almighty still echoed:
"In the face of darkness, be My light. In the midst of wickedness, be My sword. And in the wasteland of despair, be hope incarnate."
Thus began the second life of Elian — not born of flesh, but born of spirit.
A pilgrim in a world of false gods and fallen kingdoms, he would be the hand of the True One — a beacon to the lost, and a terror to the wicked.
And the heavens watched, and the earth waited.
For a new story had begun.