The Last Believer

“Sigh…”

In the boundless void, a long sigh shattered the enduring silence.
Within a dreamlike space of countless mirrored surfaces, two vast figures floated side by side, gazing ahead.

On the left, Themis turned her emerald eyes toward the ethereal figure in a white dress beside her.
The classic European gown and white fur shawl concealed her divine form, a wide hood gathering her silky chestnut hair.
Beneath the hood, her faintly visible lavender eyes seemed both sorrowful and serene…

Her gaze held a myriad of complex emotions.
In her delicate hand, she held a lantern with a faint flame, surrounded by countless flickering specks like fireflies, whispering as if lamenting or confessing.
Only her sacred, feeble light soothed these lost, wandering souls…

“As expected, you couldn’t resist intervening, Hestia…”

Themis, the Elven Ancestor God, spoke her companion’s divine name—a name alien to the Seraris Continent.
No churches honored her, no followers prayed to her.
Perhaps only fellow gods, like Themis, remembered her name and existence.

“Isn’t this why you awakened me, Themis?”

Hestia’s voice was soft, her radiant face, imbued with sanctity and compassion, carrying a faint trace of pity—whether for the aimless souls or her forgotten self, it was unclear.

“You should be pleased.
I’ve found your last believer, and he happens to be a Descender…”

Themis gazed at Hestia’s fragile form, so faint a breeze might dispel it.
Her usually impassive emerald eyes flickered with rare, complex emotions.

Gods defied the continent’s rules, existing eternally through the power of faith.
Most gods on Seraris had vast followings, their believers supplying faith to ensure immortality, while gods granted blessings to spread their influence.

Barring equal-tier gods, a deity with sufficient faith was immortal.
Conversely, if their last believer perished, the god faced rapid oblivion, fading into history’s river…

“His name is Kant, right?”

Hestia stared at a floating crystal mirror, reflecting Kant’s battle with the Vampire Progenitor.
The white flames that erupted on the battlefield were her doing.

Gods and believers shared a bond of faith, allowing gods to sense their followers’ essence.
At first glance, Hestia felt as if she’d read Kant’s entire life story.

“After all these years, people may have forgotten me entirely.
The Firelight Goddess, once renowned across Seraris, is now just a half-dead soul…”

Hestia spoke softly, her tone neutral, neither sorrowful for her plight nor joyful at finding her last believer.
Her sacred, gentle voice murmured, tinged with self-mockery or reflection.

“Why not meet him?
He’s your believer, after all,” Themis suggested.

Hestia shook her head slowly.

“No.
I’m a useless god now, worth less than a Descender.
If I vanish, he could turn to another god, and his path might not be as dark as mine.”

“Are you giving your last believer to me?
He’s a Descender.
Even if their value means little to you, losing him would mean I can’t save you…”

Themis’s voice grew heavy.
For years, she’d sheltered Hestia in her divine realm; without it, Hestia’s frail state might’ve led to her demise in slumber.

“Creation and destruction are inevitable laws.
This is the cycle, the path I’ve always followed.”

Hestia lifted her lantern slightly, its flickering flame swaying, soothing the countless wandering souls around her.

“Hestia, are we friends?”

Themis sighed, a rare note of helplessness in her divine voice.

“Do gods have the concept of friendship?”

Hestia met Themis’s emerald gaze unflinchingly, her question soft.

“Even if not friends, we’re allies.
Don’t tell me you deny our pact.”

“But you know, Themis, the Firelight’s followers are long gone.
I no longer have the strength to uphold our alliance with you and the elves.”

Hestia lowered her eyes, as if weary.

“As long as the Firelight Goddess exists, our pact holds.”

Themis clung to a past promise, unwilling to let her old friend vanish silently into time’s river.

The Firelight Goddess shouldn’t perish.
The ones who should fall are those damned demons whose cunning and brutality reduced Hestia to this.

“You’ve already turned her into an elf.
No god would refuse more followers, especially a Descender.
With the elves’ prosperity, supporting two Descenders is well within your means…”

Seemingly rested, Hestia opened her eyes, asking softly.

The mighty elven race, led by their powerful Ancestor God—how could such a thriving system uncover a Descender so late?
As a fellow god, Hestia knew the elves had secured their first Descender long ago.

Yet no one knew this Descender’s identity among the elves.

“He’s your believer.
I’m not one for stealing.
Turning him into an elf was merely to honor our alliance.
After all, your last believer is also my descendant.
Is there a closer bond than that?”

For the first time, a smile curved Themis’s lips, a smug glint of a plan succeeding.
Yet her eyes reflected only Hestia’s solitary figure.

“Why go to such lengths?
Clinging to this one believer, I’m merely lingering.
Better to vanish and return my power to this continent…”

Hestia’s words remained bleak.
As a god nearing extinction from lack of faith, she seemed unafraid of her looming demise.

“But are you truly content, Hestia?
You’re a god, the deity of cycles.
If even you give up, who will fulfill your ideals?”

Indeed, even immortal gods had aspirations, desires like mortals, ideals they prayed to achieve.

Was she content?
Her millennia-long ideals had crumbled.
But to vanish like this—was she truly content?
Gazing at the battered figure in the crystal mirror, a spark returned to Hestia’s lavender eyes.

If her last believer was him, perhaps there was still hope.

Under Themis’s watchful gaze, Hestia slowly raised her lantern.
The flickering flame, as if fueled anew, blazed like a spiraling sun, illuminating everything.

“Then as you wish, Themis.”

With her words, an invisible thread extended from the mirrored plane, linking god and mortal.