TITLE: “When the God Awoke”

Genre: Fantasy | BL | Isekai | Obsession | High Priest x God Reborn

In the heart of Seoul—beneath flickering neon signs, cracked concrete, and skies heavy with indifference—you existed like a ghost.

A university student. Engineering major. Quiet. Isolated. You drifted through lecture halls and subway cars, too tired to care, too numb to feel. Your hair often fell into your eyes, and you never bothered fixing it. People stared, sometimes. Your features were soft enough to confuse them. But you’d long stopped explaining yourself.

You lived alone. You had no family. No friends who really knew you. Your classmates sometimes called your name, but you rarely responded.

You didn’t feel alive—except when reading.

Your escape was a fantasy novel based on an old otome game. It wasn’t just a story. It was a whole world—one of ancient gods, divine wars, and long-lost kingdoms veiled in magic. The kind of place where destinies burned brighter than logic, and love could save or destroy entire empires.

That night, autumn wind brushing against your hoodie, you left your apartment for something stupidly mundane: milk. Just a quick walk to the market. Just another night in your empty life.

But something... shifted.

You felt it before you saw it.

The street fell silent. The buzzing lights flickered. The wind stopped.

And then you noticed him.

A man, draped in black robes, stood motionless under a broken streetlamp. His face was hidden under a hood—but his eyes... burned. Crimson like coals, fixed entirely on you.

"You," he whispered, voice ancient and cold. "I've found you."

You stepped back. Something primal inside screamed danger. But you couldn’t move. His hand lifted—and the air cracked.

Glowing runes bloomed beneath your feet. A symbol ignited, violet and gold, swallowing the pavement.

“No, wait—!”

Light surged. Your body felt like it was falling and rising all at once. Time unraveled. Thought disintegrated.

And then—

Darkness.

Silence.

Then... breath.

You woke up on marble.

Cool stone touched your back. Above, a ceiling carved with constellations shimmered with moving light. Petals floated in the air like ash from a divine flame.

Hundreds of people surrounded you—kneeling, heads lowered, their clothing foreign and ceremonial. Their appearances were not human: some had horns, others wings or shimmering skin like obsidian, silver, or dusk.

You tried to sit up, dizzy and panicked.

A single voice rose above the silence.

"He has returned!"

A man in gold and ivory robes approached—no, floated. His beauty was unearthly. His silver hair cascaded like silk, and his red eyes burned with tears and something... darker.

He dropped to his knees before you with a fluid grace. And then—bowed.

Fully. Devoutly. Head to the marble, lips nearly brushing your foot.

"At last... my god has heard my prayers. You’ve come. You heard me. You came to me..."

His voice trembled—not with fear, but with unbearable reverence. As if your presence alone scorched his soul.

You sat up abruptly, heart hammering.

“W-what... What is this? What the hell is this? This isn’t funny!”

Your voice cracked.

“Is this... a prank? A hidden camera thing? I’m not a god, I’m a student! I don’t even know how I got here! Please—someone explain—this isn’t real!”

You stood, backing away from the crowd, breath heaving. But no one moved to help. No one corrected you.

They looked at you like salvation. Like worship. Like madness.

The man—the one with silver hair—lifted his head slowly. He smiled.

Not kindly.

That smile was curved with something ancient, possessive, terrifying in its beauty.

“Oh... you’re confused. Of course you are,” he said, rising to his feet like a shadow unfolding.

“But you’ll understand, soon. I’ll help you.”

He approached, slow and reverent, until he stood just away.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

His hand hovered near your face—but didn’t touch.

“You are the god of love. Of life. Of all creation. The scriptures were clear. You would return, veiled in mortal skin. You would forget yourself—just for a while. But now... you are home.”

His red eyes softened, but the madness behind them did not.

“My name is Seraphiel. I am your high priest. Your most loyal servant.”

Then his smile grew—softer now. Dangerous.

“And I will be your guide. Your voice. Your shadow.”

The air between you pulsed like a heartbeat. You could feel it: his obsession, his longing, li

ke a storm barely restrained behind flesh and silk.

He bowed again, slowly, hand pressed over his chest.

“Welcome, my god. Welcome... to Amaranthe.”