"I must give them souls," the World Tree decided. "Or this world is meaningless."
The Tree looked at its own core. It was the Ember of Hope. To give them souls, it had to shatter itself. Just like Noax did.
"Is this the cycle?" the Tree wondered. "Does the Creator always have to die?"
The Tree shook its branches. It rained glowing leaves down on the Dust-Humans. The leaves touched their chests and sank in. The Dust-Humans gasped. Their eyes sparked with light. They began to laugh, to cry, to speak.
They were alive. But the Tree withered. It turned into dry wood. It fell silent.