Noax walked until his legs were numb. The Solitude in his heart grew heavy, like a stone of ice.
"Is there no warmth?" Noax cried out.
His voice echoed and faded. But in the fading echo, he saw a spark.
It was a tiny, trembling fire, hovering in the void without wood or oil. It burned on nothing.
Noax ran to it. He cupped it in his hands. It was fragile. A breath could extinguish it.
"What are you?" Noax asked.
"I am Hope," the fire crackled. "I burn because the dark is too big."
"Will you warm me?"
"I can only warm you if you feed me," Hope said. "I eat Despair."
Noax looked at the vast, crushing fog. He felt the despair of being alone. He took that despair and fed it to the flame.
The flame roared to life. It grew from a spark into a Torch.
Holding the Torch of Hope, Noax pushed back the fog. He could see a path beneath his feet. It was a path of broken glass and thorns.
"This is the Road of Existence," Hope warned. "It hurts to walk."
"I will walk," Noax said. "For standing still is death."