The power of religion and religious nations is centered around four titles: Apostles, Avatars, the Pope, and Saints. Each exists to fulfill the will and duty of their respective God.
However, among the four, two stand above the rest—Apostles and Avatars.
Avatars are those who act directly in service of their god or gods, carrying out divine will within the mortal plain. Apostles, however, serve a fundamentally different purpose.
An Apostle is the embodiment of the one they serve—the living vessel of their God. They are the direct link between the divine and the mortal world.
Unlike Avatars, who are many and may gain longevity or even ascend to godhood, there can exist only one Apostle per God. Apostles are mortal beings and can never rise to godhood.
Yet, they bear something wholly unique.
An Apostle can never truly die.
They persist through an endless cycle of death and rebirth—so long as the God they serve continues to exist. At the moment of death, they are reborn as a new being, inheriting the memories of their past lives and those of their God, while still remaining an individual of their own.
"This is according to TRUTH OF SYSTEMS, the book that explains how our very existence functions," he said.
"However, part of this… does not apply to you."
"Uhm… why am I here?"
In an empty white room of infinte expanse as far as the eyes could see, yet remains in an infinitude, was a boy not much older than his late teens, draped in priestly garments. His hair and eyes were a pale, ashen white, contrasting sharply with his chocolate-colored skin. Bewilderment and confusion were plainly etched across his face.
Before him stood a man clad in a Saint's outer garment—though the boy had no idea which god the man served.
"What do you mean?" the Saint asked, now confused by the boy's evident disorientation.
"Let's do a recap," the boy said, rubbing his temple. "About fifteen to thirty minutes ago—yeah, I don't actually know how long it's been—I was in Newt, giving an offering to the Goddess Apothey and the Fairy Deity Apotheise."
He paused, then continued.
"As I was about to leave, the priests and guards surrounded me. Stripped me butt naked." He hugged his shoulders, shivering at the memory. "Ooh—wow. Just thinking about it makes my skin crawl. I will be reporting that violation to the Lord. Though…" he trailed off, a grin creeping onto his face. "The looks from the nuns—haha—"
He coughed sharply, catching himself. "Ahem. Anyway. They stripped me, washed me thoroughly, dressed me in these." He tugged lightly at the priestly robes. "Not gonna lie, I'm starting to like them. Then they rushed me through a transfer gate."
He gestured around the empty room.
"And the next thing I know, I'm here—and you were explaining things I'm pretty sure my ears were never meant to hear."
"Eh…" The Saint's confusion deepened. "You don't know why you're here?"
"Mm-hmm." The boy nodded.
"Then why are you here in the first place—and dressed like that, no less?"
"Beats me." He shrugged. "Like I said, I was booted here."
"That idiot—" The words slipped out before the Saint could stop himself, instantly shattering the pristine, saintly image the boy had of Saints. "Just for fame and prestige, he brought you here without telling you anything?"
"First of all," the boy said flatly, "aren't Saints supposed to be all saintly and stuff? And secondly—yeah."
The Saint stared at him in silence, irritation flickering across his face. Being lumped together with those pompous Saints who earned their titles through political maneuvering was an insult. But this wasn't the time for that.
He exhaled slowly, calming himself. Too much information was missing. This had to be addressed properly.
"…Alright. Let's start again."
He straightened. "I am Samuel Bein—one of the six Saints personally handpicked by the God of Wisdom and Knowledge, Ceres of Chaos and Disorder. But that isn't what matters right now, my friend."
His gaze shifted back to the boy.
"For you—erhm—your name…?"
"Andrew?" The boy replied, brow raised. "Andrew McAndy."
"…You, Andrew McAndy—" Samuel paused. "A strange surname—are an Apostle of a new god."
Andrew just stared at him, utterly perplexed.
"Mama always told me," he began slowly, "that sometimes when we dream, the dream feels so real it borders on reality." He clenched his fist. "And to wake up from dreams like that, a good old punch usually does the trick."
Before Samuel could react, Andrew struck his own temple—hard.
"Ouch! What the hell?!" Blood trickled down as he staggered back. "Why does it hurt so much?!"
Samuel sighed and leaned closer.
"Sometimes," he said calmly, "the best way to make someone see the truth is to give them a beating." His eyes flicked to Andrew's fist. "Seems you've handled that part yourself."
He placed a hand on Andrew's bleeding head and quietly cast a healing spell.
Andrew winced as Samuel's spell closed the wound, warmth spreading across his temple.
"Okay… so this isn't a dream." He rolled his neck once. "Which means you're serious. Which means I'm screwed." He paused, then added casually, "And on a side note—when do I get that?"
Samuel's gaze hardened slightly.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well," Andrew said, gesturing vaguely at himself, "with being chosen and everything, shouldn't I be bursting with it by now? This entire thing feels… anticlimactic." He frowned in thought. "Aren't chosens supposed to have golden light descending upon them? Then some Goddess—with her hunkers leading and very fine, you know what I mean—descends with a grand declaration: Andrew McAndy, I have chosen you to be my herald. Go forth and make all the ladies— hehe he heha…"
"I now see why you chose to give an offering to that specific church," Samuel muttered flatly. "You boobs-lover."
"Hehe he…" Andrew grinned. "The cat was never in the bag."
Samuel decided to ignore that statement entirely. Instead, he focused on something far more important.
"Let me make this clear," he said firmly. "Popes are elected. Saints are elected or chosen. Avatars are chosen." His eyes locked onto Andrew. "But Apostles are born. No one is chosen to be an Apostle—you were born into the role."
"Oh," Andrew blinked. "So this is less opening the door and more—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Samuel's hand, which still rested on Andrew even though the healing had long finished, suddenly tensed.
"Wait a minute…"
Samuel seized Andrew's arm, his expression shifting as he attempted to sense his mana channels.
Nothing.
That wasn't just strange—it was wrong.
Apostles were born as Apostles. Unlike ordinary beings, they weren't born with mana circulating through them. Instead, divine force coursed through their very existence. Even if their god did not yet exist, that force would still reside within them. And the moment their god was born, that dormant divinity would erupt forth.
But Andrew—
Andrew was different.
Even without divine force, all beings possessed mana. Mana was the foundation of life itself, the support that allows life to persist, for those of the Thnētós-Ortalis Plane.
Yet Andrew possessed no mana at all.
None whatsoever.
Samuel slowly looked up at him.
"Andrew," he said carefully, "how are you alive when you have no mana at all?"
Andrew shrugged.
"I don't know," he replied honestly. "That's just how some of the men in my family are."
He glanced down at Samuel's grip, then back up.
"Also," he added, "can you let go? I don't swing that way."
"Dude—" Samuel immediately let go of Andrew's hand. "Seriously, is this the time for that?" He turned away sharply. "And also, I don't swing that way."
He said it firmly, confidently—
Unfortunately, his face betrayed him, heat rushing to his cheeks.
Andrew noticed instantly.
"Whoa," he leaned in just a little, eyes sparkling. "So who's the lucky guy?"
"Enough!" Samuel snapped, raising his voice before Andrew could spiral any further. "That's enough." He exhaled, regaining composure. "Now elaborate on this no mana situation."
"Well," Andrew scratched the back of his head, "it's not that I have no mana exactly. It's just… the mana was traded."
"Traded?" Samuel repeated.
"Yeah. Traded for this physique—and the hair and eyes I've got." He gestured to himself. "Compared to a normal being, I'm ahead in everything."
Samuel stared at him for a moment.
"…Alright," he said slowly. "I'm beginning to understand you now." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Are you the only one like this in your family? I mean—the hair, the eyes, being ahead of everyone, and the tendency to love battle, hunting, and all sorts of… excessive activity."
"Nope," Andrew replied easily. "You understand my family pretty well, actually. My father's the same. So's my grandfather. Great-grandfather too. And plenty of ancestors."
Samuel let out a breath.
"Yep. If it's her, then your characteristics make perfect sense." He paused. "And if I'm not mistaken, your family has been around for aeons—birthing sons like you again and again."
"Eh?"
"Just let me finish."
Samuel straightened, his tone shifting from irritated scholar to composed theologian.
"The word God means two things in the Divine Plane," he began. "One, as we all commonly understand it. And the other is the name of a race—the God Race. Or, to put it more plainly, the Divine Race."
Andrew listened, unusually quiet.
"Because this race was labelled with the title God, their existence gained two meanings." Samuel continued. "That's why gods are introduced with two titles. One represents what they are worshipped for—their job. The other represents their role."
He gestured lightly.
"Take Ceres as an example. They are the God of Chaos and Disorder—but also the God of Wisdom and Knowledge. Wisdom and Knowledge is their job. Chaos and Disorder is their role."
Andrew blinked. "That feels… backwards."
"Exactly. That contradiction applies to every god," Samuel said. "Even newborn ones."
He continued without pause.
"Now, apart from these gods, there are also ascension gods—those who attained Godhood and ascended to the middle planes." His expression darkened slightly. "However, no being has ascended in aeons. And the consequences following such ascensions are… unknown."
Andrew frowned. "And this has something to do with me?"
"Everything."
Samuel turned fully toward him.
"The god you are an Apostle of isn't a newborn god," he said. "She is a god who ascended to godhood."
Andrew's eyes widened.
"Courtesy of Helen, of course," Samuel added calmly.
"…Of course," Andrew echoed, not at all sure what that meant.
"But here's the problem," Samuel went on. "She could have ascended aeons ago—but she didn't." He paused briefly. "The reason isn't relevant right now. We'll skip that part."
Andrew opened his mouth. Closed it.
"It was then," Samuel said, "that your first ancestor was born—destined to be her Apostle. Granted that physique. That body. That exchange."
Andrew's chest tightened.
"But she never ascended," Samuel continued quietly. "So the two never met."
The room felt heavier.
"In simple terms," Samuel said, voice steady, "as long as the one meant to ascend remains in this plane, their Apostles will never be recognised."
Andrew swallowed.
"This," Samuel concluded, "is only my insight. But I'm confident it's accurate."
Silence followed.
Andrew finally broke it.
"…So basically," he said slowly, "I've been born for a job interview that never happened."
Samuel exhaled through his nose.
"…That's one way to put it."
What a bummer." Andrew shrugged almost immediately, the weight of revelation sliding off him in a very Andrew way. "Anyway—can you lend me your terminal? Gotta call home with this news."
"I don't have mine here."
Andrew stared at him. "…Seriously? Who doesn't keep their terminal on them at all times?"
Samuel folded his arms. "And where is yours?"
"You could say," Andrew said casually as he tried to avoid Samuel's gaze, "it's being kept very safely by my mom. Until I'm old enough to have one of my own."
Samuel raised a brow. "You were using it for illicit things, weren't you?"
"I never said anything," Andrew replied smoothly. "You made your own assumptions."
Samuel clicked his tongue. "Heh. This kid…" He waved it off. "Forget contacting them just yet."
Andrew blinked. "Just yet?"
"I originally planned to teach you quite a lot before you ever took office," Samuel continued, pacing slightly. "But that's going to be… difficult, given the circumstances. So I'll do it differently."
"Differently how?"
Samuel stopped and looked straight at him.
"We're heading to the Divine Plane."
Andrew's face froze.
"…Excuse me?"
"To meet that bitch of a Goddess."
"EH—" Andrew immediately recoiled. "Please don't drag me into getting punished by a god!"
"Relax," Samuel said dismissively. "That woman has the face of a god, sure—but her reputation among those who actually know her is… boisterous." He smirked faintly. "You'll see for yourself when we get there."
"I don't like how confident you sound about this."
"Too late."
Before Andrew could take a step back, Samuel grabbed hold of his hand.
"Wait—at least warn me before—"
The space around them folded.
Planes peeled apart like thin sheets of glass as Samuel began to traverse between them, pulling Andrew along as reality itself bent and gave way beneath their feet.