Even the faintest light in the dark can inspire hope.

I always thought it was a terribly corny line, don't ya think? I mean, a tiny light in a field of dark inspiring hope? Hope like what? Hope that you'll be killed so you don't stay in the dark? Hope that the light is a flame so you're warm for a while longer before being caught?

The light never did anything good for me in my life. The only good that ever came for me was the pitch black, protecting and hiding me from all the terrible things walking in the brightness.

My brothers and sister died in the light, while the love of my life left me within its warm embrace. How the hell could it ever be good?

I never saw a reason to see the light favorably in my prior life and getting killed in my early thirties was the best thing that happened to me. I was spiraling and there wasn't any coming back without spending decades in that scorching illumination. In the dark, I beat and clawed… desperately hoping to become great.

All it got me was a bullet hitting me in the heart while blinded in the light of some homeowner's light.

----------------------------------------

"Voluspa, are you sure of this decision? Outsiders are highly frowned on. After all, the-"

The deep-toned voice is cut short, yet I don't know why. All I remember are those last moments where the comfortable eternal sleep stole me into darkness.

Now? Now all there is around me is fucking light.

"I am," an effeminate source beckons back. Whilst the deeper voice seems uncomfortable, her — I think it's a woman — voice soothes me. Even amidst the blinding sea of brightness, I can feel this woman pacing closer… and the darkness overhead dims that searing brightness until in the light, I see one of the most beautiful women I've met yet. I don't know how tall she is but the mysterious woman's skin is smoother than cream and free of any blemish. Her jawline is soft but carries just enough angle that her maturity can't be mistaken, framing her brilliant golden eyes and blonde hair with a crown-worthy smile.

"Welcome, Outsider."

She reaches out and I instinctively meet her grasp… but unlike the hands I'd known my entire life, my new body is a shadow imitating human form. I sit upright unable to look away from her visage, sneering at the unbearable shine even with her visage soothing its pain.

"Who… are you? Where am I? Why is it so bright?"

A figure strides forward, yet unlike the unmistakable human woman before me, this figure is an entity of pure light. In other words, the source of this damned glare. My sneer turns to him just as hastily as his formless light crosses its arms.

"This one is a being of darkness, just as the legends foretold."

Voluspa ignores him, raising one of her hands to my cheek and turning my gaze back to her.

I hadn't noticed it, but her figure is completely bare. Beyond her curves, however, there's nothing to look at. Voluspa is no more human than the being beside her chastising me; she is merely imitating a form… and I think I'm starting to understand.

"Ya aren't human," I growl cautiously.

"No." Voluspa's answer is short, unintimidated by me, and she continues to smile without a moment wasted. "I am the goddess Voluspa. I represent Life… and behind me is my servant, the god known as Torch, the representative of Light."

Torch doesn't speak again, instead choosing to silently judge me from beyond.

The light around us isn't fading… and if they're deities, then I think this must be some form of the afterlife.

I take a few moments more of looking at her before I avert my gaze. "Am I in hell?"

Voluspa's accompaniment chuckles but she turns to scowl at him, silencing the entity of pure light before facing me again. It's obvious that her servant is a whipped bitch, even if he feigns superiority over me. Even a god can be put in his place. That's somewhat comforting when I let it sink in for a few seconds.

Then the light reminds me how much this all sucks.

"If this isn't hell, then what is it?"

"You have been chosen for a new life. Your old world… none of it matters anymore." 

Voluspa speaks softly, carrying her tone lightly to keep me calm. It's a discussion clearly practiced, again and again, knowing just how unbelievable it is and exactly what the person might expect. The kind of effort someone doesn't put into when they make a prank. My body is made of darkness so that helps sell the story a bit more, so I guess for now I'll believe her.

"So," I grumble. "Ya gonna tell me why?"

Rather than her, it's Torch who speaks next. "We brought you to our world, Votivo, so that you can join us in our war."

"War?" All that dazzling light sours my tone and brings my scowl right back to full status. "You brought me to fight for you? What do you think I am, some good guy who wants to be whipped around at your whim? I don't care if you're a god! Fuck you!"

Torch's body hues orange and heat rolls across the light surrounding us, sapping my strength beneath its pulsing strength. One moment I had felt fine but now I felt that pinch of pain in my prior life, wrenching and grabbing at my chest and shallowing my breath.

Voluspa, however, sets her hands on my shoulders… and that pain goes away.

A goddess indeed.

"Outsider," she states, apologetically gazing at me despite all the light and heat bearing down on her. "Ignore Torch. It was I who brought you here… and it is I who has a task for you. I do not want to send you to war. I merely ask you to look after someone for me until they come of age. If you can do that, then I will send you to what you would call heaven. There, you can live out your days in the darkness… but only after you work for me."

Her offer rattled between my ears and made it impossible to track anything else. Personal heaven? That can be anything I'd desire from women to food to booze. Of course, she knows what I really want, but a place like that would finally let me be happy.

"What is it you need me to do exactly?"

----------------------------------------

After giving me a blindfold to blot out Torch's extremely bright glow, Voluspa stood me up and guided me by hand through wherever we are. It felt like stepping on stones but there wasn't any cold to my steps. Maybe it's because of Torch, but I can't wait to be back in something at least somewhat normal.

Based on what Voluspa told me as we walked, however, things in this world are different. Votivo is akin to a medieval fantasy world that might have been seen in my prior life, with elements of the RPG stuff that I heard about in fantasy games. I don't exactly know what it means but the idea that it's a game at least makes me hopeful that I can become stronger. In Votivo, strength is exactly what's needed in the "war" that Torch mentioned: a battle between gods and demons through mortals.

"So… I'm supposed to defend a kid until they come of age. 'N you say he's about three years old currently?"

"Yes," the goddess answers from the dark, yet I can feel her squeeze my hand. "The child's name is Wick and he's adorable. You-"

"I don't care if he's cute."

My grumbling attitude stops her but I can feel Torch's heat returning. Leaving it at that is probably not a good idea. "I mean… even if he's cute or adorable, that's not important. How old does he need to be for you to be satisfied?"

Despite my attitude from before, my question is met with Voluspa's cheery tone, and her thumb brushing down the side of my hand.

"It's not as simple as that. Wick is… his connection to me will mean he remains young and innocent until he matures. You could say he's special in more ways than just being important and adorable."

That stupid tone of hers sounds like my mom whenever she tried to defend me to all her friends.

"Now, I will say that your task isn't as simple as just holding out. After all, the demons will attempt to hinder you. But because of that, I am going to grant you the systems people in our world use. It may take time to get used to it but you may find this life enjoyable enough that when you finish your task, you'll refuse to move on.

"Pft. Right."

Voluspa releases my hand and places it on my back. With the blindfold on, I don't exactly know why.

"Don't worry, Votif. Even the faintest light in the dark can inspire hope. And hope is the necessity of truly living."

Wait, that was-

Voluspa shoves me and the ground beneath me slips out. The blindfold tears away and I'm left looking at a dark pit. I swing my arms and look over my shoulder just in time to see the two gods looking down on me, Voluspa smiling and Torch once more in his angry shade of orange.

I fell for what felt like hours and it was honestly fucking heaven. Going from all that annoying light into pitch-black? Perfection. Insert the finger-kissing memes here.

The only trouble is that I kept falling. I hadn't any clue why this place kept going on and on but it was merely waiting for the right prompt.

I crossed my arms and legs and the darkness immediately broke. All my momentum was gone instantly and I was left sitting in a wooden chair in some rundown wooden shack. There were a few candles burning on holders nearby, giving just enough illumination to see the beaten-up and old furniture littering the room. A broken cupboard, a nightstand, a stool, and a barrel stuffed full of sticks. The final piece of furniture is a simple bed against the wall.

A woman is curled up on the bed only a few feet from me, her fair skin dirtied and her shoulder-length hair disheveled and covering her face. Although the bed is better off than the rest of the furniture, its stuffed mattress is clearly worn out and the woman's sheets barely fit her. It's honestly a bit reminiscent of how some of my younger days had been with my mother.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

And in her arms, she tightly hugs and keeps a toddler to her less than impressive chest. Both of them are wearing worn-out sacks for clothing but the child at least has pants whilst she only has a dress. A majority of the blanket wraps around the similar-looking kid, but even I can see that he's different; his skin may be fair but the visible parts of his skin are covered in black runic symbols. His hair is short but clearly cut by an unskilled hand, wreathing his head in black. Although I can't see the little one's eyes, I don't need to.

Wick, huh? So you're a kid with it pretty rough?

I turn and look around me… and realize that there's something different from before I fell. I'm not made of black darkness but rather a deep crimson. I'm a perfect match for the candlelight nestled on the chair, just in front of my crotch. You know, it's weird, too; I feel pretty warm and-

Wait. I feel warm? I'm the same color as the candle?

… No, don't tell me…

That goddess… she made me a candle!?

I grit my teeth and reach out… but my hand merely passes through the nearby furniture. I stand up and turn, ferrying the candle up off the chair with me without even needing to hold it. The tiny holder carries it, dancing through the air as if magically possessed so that it can easily move with me.

Great. I'm a ghost. Do I at least have anything cool now that I'mma fucking candle?

Activating system for VORTIF.

Oh. Right. I guess I do get to use this system.

My hand reaches out and taps the strange pop-up hovering in front of me. When it closes, multiple bars leap out into my view. Unlike that thing, though, none of these can be touched. But there's text in the bottom right that says "Hide" and a quick mental reading of it makes all of it vanish. The instant I want it back, it springs right back into view.

Nifty, I guess.

In the top left, I can see a bar of red marked "Health", a bar below it marked "Mana" in blue, and a final bar beneath that completely emptied marked XP. On my right corner, I can see a compass with a mini-map, perfectly detailing the room from the ceiling facing the floor. It also has question marks underneath it but I don't get what those are.

"What… nn… what is that?"

A gravelly voice behind me scares the living candle shit out of me, nearly making me fall over. My candle chasing after me and hovering beside my head nearly tilts over, spilling wax all over the floor.

The woman is still on the bed but her eyes are open now, both of them transfixed on me and her arms clinging tighter around the child. For the first time, I can see her big green eyes and each of them transitions from fear to something the dark brings me: joy. She shifts on the bed and sits up, looking at me… but not at me.

She's looking at the candle.

"You," she vocally cracks, brushing Wick's hair with one hand and pulling the blanket tighter around her. "Are you… a savior sent by Torch? I've waited for so long!"

"Torch? The fucking hothead?"

Even though I'm shouting, she doesn't react… so I guess she doesn't hear me. Next option.

I shake my head and the candle shakes side-to-side. That makes her pale and slide further back, protectively holding her son tighter while a pop-up blinks into view.

You are Votif. You are the servant of Torch and his mistress Voluspa.

Fuck, anything but being associated with that lightbright asshole.

… Fine. I nod instead just to calm the woman down. Making her uncomfortable right now isn't going to help anyone. Keeping her on my side will also convince her to let me guard Wick. Even if I wasn't the best in my prior life, I don't like being trapped as a light for the next few years. Completing this job can't come soon enough.

"So," the woman confusedly mumbles at my nodding. "You… are? I don't understand why you'd say no."

You haven't met your god.

Wick is sat down on the bed and she turns her gaze toward the nearby wall of candles. "Whatever. I'm just… so relieved that someone is finally here to help me with Wick. I prayed so much… but he was born with these marks and everyone thinks he's demon-touched. That never could be the case though, right? I mean… I've raised him as my own as Torch asked but I didn't expect to meet so much resistance."

Wait, back up. Did Torch ask her to raise him?

Ha. Now I get why he's pissed. That dumb god must be angry that Voluspa asked me to help instead of this woman. It'd be like a repairman being unable to fix something so the one who called them calls for another person to do it.

Looking at the child's previous protector, though, I have to admit that he at least has good taste. Although they're living in this squalid condition with so little, her curves and body still look great even while malnourished. Her chest probably looks full and her hips are wide enough to grapple across an entire night. Any man would have loved a girl like her in my old life, especially with how poor she is; someone in her status could become the ideal trophy woman if you fed her and cleaned her up.

Hm. I think I got an idea.

I look at my candle, reaching up and taking it by its candlestick's handle. Although I may be ghostly, my fingers tighten up and clutch it, letting me bring it lower. The candle's flame is warm and annoying but the stick it's burning on seems eternal despite the wax streaming down its side. The cup along the bottom is warm and the wax in it hasn't cooled… so I might as well use it for communication, right?

I tilt it and start stringing out my speech, reading it aloud for my own sanity's sake.

"I… will… protect… Wick. You… too."

The wax on the floor may not be the cleanest way to communicate but the woman reads it well enough. Thankfully, it looks like my writing still applies to this world. Has to be the work of the gods or blind fortune.

"You misspelled protect, candle."

Fuck, now I look like a dumbass.

"That's… a… typo. Haha… I am Vostif."

"A typo…?" The redhead doesn't understand the word but she shakes her head, dismissing the idea with a grin. "Whatever you say. It's nice to meet you Vostif, even if you're a candle."

Yeah, even if I'm a candle it's always nice having a woman around.

She sets a hand on her forehead, tracing three fingers around her face. I don't know what the hell it's supposed to mean but the orderliness of it makes me think it's some sort of salute or greeting.

"I am Cire. I hope we can both get along and raise young Wick well."

Cire? The way she says it makes it sound like Sire. Is she going to sire a few kids for-

A hard knock booms at the door behind me, interrupting my joke and drawing both of our gazes. Cire reaches down and hoists Wick up into her arms, paling and looking to me pleadingly.

"Vostif, we've been getting chased. I'm sorry that I have to ask but… these people will hurt Wick if we don't deal with them."

Initiating Combat Mode. 

The bottom left of my vision pops up a menu but all the elements within my vision are semi-transparent so I can see through them. I'd not had any time to adjust to my current situation but even I can tell that this is automatic.

The entire room floods with a crimson shade of red and I think I get why. My form becomes tangible, the flame of the candle flowing outward and running along my body. Igniting yourself normally would induce fear, yet I feel perfectly rational. The candle might contain my true form but when I manifest, the candle's flame is gone. My hold on the handle won't loosen so I guess I still have to be touching the candle to manifest like this.

"Don't worry," I grumble, hearing my voice rumble as if it were through a mesh filter. "Just keep the kid close. Sooner I can deal with it, sooner I can keep oglin' ya."

Cire scowls in the corner of my vision but it takes me a bit too long to realize what I just said. It wasn't like I chose to say it, either, but it just came out. It better not be some fucking truth-

The door cracks off its hinges, crashing to the floor. Two men enter wielding knives and masks, their attire no different than the traditional slummer; ragged clothes patched up with the possessions of others they pilfered. Neither of them are as tall as I am but their desperation is something I'm familiar with. They're looking for any way to earn money and it's likely that they're just pawns.

"Don't worry, Cire, I'll-"

"Nnn!?"

I turn and see that these two aren't alone.

A tall, broad-shouldered man in black-painted metal armor holds Cire by the chin. His free hand has a knife, aiming it squarely at the woman's throat. Comparing him to the others, he's not some mere desperate hand. Whoever the fucker is, he's a trained killer; the way he holds the knife is steady, unafraid of taking life at the slightest twist of its blade.

"That's enough," he hisses. "Go back into yer candle or I cut the slut's throat."

Go back into my candle?

If I go back or not, they'll still hurt Wick, won't they? Cire isn't worth as much as the boy in her arms. If that kid dies, I'm fucked.

"No."

I raise my free hand, aiming it his way and reading from the only spell I have.

"Flametoss."

… Nothing happens. The man's face might be hidden but I can tell he's looking at me in confusion. Both of the hired goons even momentarily panicked but now even they're confused. But the worst feeling in this is Cire's look of disgust.

"You… you're an Outsider? You don't even know how to use magic, do you!? I can't believe-"

Her voice cuts out as the man cuts her throat, Cire's eyes dulling and her grip on Wick loosening. The woman hardly has time to reach up to the wound before tumbling off the bed and away from the child.

"Kill the candle. I'll take the child."

No. No!

"Wick!" I scream, surging forward even as Cire slams onto the floor. I grab the kid's arm just as the hired thug kicks the bed. It slides out but I lift Wick clear, pulling him into my warm grasp.

But despite my form being made of fire, Wick doesn't burn. The child rests his head against my chest… but I feel him stirring. Both of his eyes open and he looks up at me tiredly, drawing my own look even as I backed away with candle-in-hand and the trio of people closing in around me.

Wick's eyes are golden, filled with questions and uncertainty.

"Cire?" He mumbles.

He's so young but he can say her name. It's not her but me that he sees when waking up… I can't imagine how that feels.

"She's gone," I growl, looking at the trio ahead of me. "These men hurt her, Wick. But I'll keep you safe. Even if they kill me, you'll get away and I-"

Wick turns his gaze to the three… and then to Cire behind them.

After that, I can't fathom what happened. Despite being only three, the child in my arms seemed to understand that this was wrong. When he reached out, I thought it was trying to grab Cire.

The only problem with that idea is that the lines on his body illuminated a bright orange, just like Torch when he was angry. Tears in his eyes steamed and evaporated as heat poured from those markings, Wick clenching his teeth and snarling at the trio of men.

"CIRE!"

His extended hand turned toward the man with the bloodied knife and the man just… he vaporized. One moment he was there and the next his clothing all erupted into flame and the big bastard vanished. None of us in that room understood what was happening but the child turned his eyes toward the slummers and gave them the exact same treatment before they even finished turning to run.

As fast as they had put me on the backfoot, Wick completely destroyed them without a trace.

How the fuck am I supposed to protect this kid from-

"Cire!" Wick cries again, desperately trying to reach out for the woman.

I'm sure as shit not going to stop him. I carry Wick over to Cire, kneeling down and setting the child down beside her. "Wick, she… she's gone. You can't just-"

The kid turns his teary face toward me and points his hand at me. If I had a normal body, I'd have shit myself right then and there. Instead, I felt all the flames on my body retreat and return to the candle in my hold, which I shakily and hastily let go of.

Wick watches the candle float up beside my head before turning his attention back to the throat-cut woman. Even though he's a child, he moves his hand to the wound.

"Cire… Cire…"

Wick's hands glow, warmly rubbing across the wound. His still-glowing markings make the scene otherworldly… but even I can tell what he's doing amidst the mess of blood. This kid isn't just a three year old and there's a lot of things stacking up that make only one conclusion possible. The fact her slit throat seals up and the still woman's eyes slowly regain their consciousness makes it evident he brought her back from the edge of death.

Wick isn't just important to her. This kid… is he Voluspa's son? Or Torch's? This kid is a fucking demigod to heal someone like this, right? I mean… magic exists but a kid this strong?

I turn my attention back to the piles of flaming clothes expecting the shack to be going up in flames, only to find that the clothes are burning without spreading to the wood around them. Cire's cough draws my gaze right back to the pair, witnessing the woman miraculously look at Wick with a weak grin. "My little Wick… I had… the strangest dream."

… Holy shit.