The fall down the pit was long and completely dark, Rhok wasn't sure how Sir Dave had landed on his way down so he simply turned into a shadow and glided down the pit.As Rhok landed, he assumed his human form and observed the path that lay before him, unlike above, the tunnels here changed.They no longer looked natural, not like the ones dug by giant worms. The walls were smoother, carved deliberately. There were symbols again, etched deep into the stone, pulsing faintly with an unseen energy.He met up with Sir Dave who held Ferrin by the side, Fortunately, Sir Dave had no problems seeing in the dark as well.Rhok walked ahead with slow steps. Using a lamp didn’t matter much to him anymore. He could see perfectly in the dark, his vision touched by something not entirely human. Ferrin stayed behind them, wide-eyed, holding onto the last bit of courage he had left. Sir Dave followed behind them last, his sword drawn and his senses were on edge.The air grew colder as they moved deepe

By the time Rhok and Sir Dave returned to the warfront, the sun was already dipping low in the sky. The air smelled like smoke and steel. Soldiers moved about with their usual rhythm, cleaning blades, mending armour, and eating what little food there was. No one paid the two much attention at first, but word travelled quickly. Rhok had returned. And he hadn’t come back empty.Ferrin was trailing behind, exhausted but alive. His hands shook slightly, but he kept his head down and followed orders. Rhok said little during the return journey. He barely looked at anyone, and when he did, his eyes seemed distant, not because he was angry or sad, but like he was stuck halfway between two thoughts that wouldn't leave him alone.Sir Dave, on the other hand, stayed close to Rhok the whole way, watching him, studying him. He said nothing, but there was a tension in him. A weight that hadn't been there before.When they arrived at Prince Caelen's war tent, the guards let them through immediately.

Three days had passed since Saint Varn left the war camp, but the air hadn't gotten any lighter.If anything, it felt heavier.Not from the weight of battle or even the sound of steel being sharpened for war, but from words. Words that were whispered, preached and repeated over again."Heresy."It came from the church tents near the east wall. A cluster of white robed clerics had arrived not long after Varn. They weren’t warriors. They weren’t healers either. They were speakers. And they only had one sermon:'Rhok is not divine. Rhok is dangerous. Rhok must be watched.'They never said his name outright in public, but everyone knew. The soldiers heard it during lunch. The wounded heard it in the infirmary. Even the cooks whispered it while stirring soup.And as for Rhok... He heard every word.He didn’t fight it, didn’t argue, he didn’t even try to defend himself. He just listened, nodded when he had to, and walked on.But inside, he could feel something building. Not anger or sadness

Rhok didn’t leave the ruins.Not right away.The further he walked, the more he realized how deep the temple really went. The halls turned into tunnels, the tunnels led into chambers, and each chamber told a different story. Stories older than time itself. Stories no one was supposed to remember.He found carvings of symbols he didn’t understand, but they didn’t feel foreign. They felt familiar in a way he couldn’t explain. Like dreams that almost made sense.Aby stayed quiet for most of it, only flickering once in a while to light the way.She didn’t interrupt, she just watched.Finally, Rhok came across a different room—one smaller than the rest.There were no statues, no altars, no crowns.Only one thing.A flat black tablet in the center of the floor.It was shaped like a coffin lid, long and smooth, carved from a single stone. The surface shimmered faintly, like it wasn’t stone at all but something older. Something alive.Names were etched into it. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.

The warfront smelled like ash and old prayers.Everywhere you looked, there was smoke, cooking fires, burning tents, scorched wood from buildings the Church had cleansed. The soldiers kept their heads low and voices lower. The ones who still wore their insignia did so out of habit, not pride. And in the heart of it all, Saint Varn stood untouched, his robes still a perfect white.He didn’t speak much, but he didn’t have to. His sword did most of the talking. It was the kind of silence that made people obey.The Church had taken over fully now. They didn't even pretend to answer to the royal camp anymore. The banners of the Eight fluttered next to the royal crest, but only one actually mattered now.Sir Dave had returned from his mission two days ago. He barely had time to breathe before he realized what had changed.“What the hell happened?” he muttered under his breath as he and Ferrin passed the main camp. “We were only gone for a week.”Ferrin looked away. “They're calling it a pur