Rose watched the war machine churn. Giant trunks of greatwood rolled down its maw, where whirling blades powered by prayer and steam shredded them into even pieces. Planks exited from the back of the machinery, landing on the conveyor belt that carried them onward for further processing.
The Storm Giant Godspeaker kneeling by the kilns kept chanting his prayers, leading the congregation powering the facility. The true war machine was greater than just that one piece of it, for the planks would be fastened into boats and catapults, war machines and wagons.
But Rose did not watch the storm giant or the conveyor belt. From her position atop a cliff overlooking the facility, she saw only the sawblades. Round and round they whirled, and her hands moved apace with them, carving a block of wood into an effigy. Back and forth went the knife, scraping the wood into the shaped described in the grimoire that was open by Rose’s feet.
A grimoire of heresy, with instructions for calling on a renegade God.
Because soon it would be Rose’s own turn to step inside the grinder, though the machine she would be entering was a less literal one. As the whirling saws bit into wood like hungry teeth, she imagined it was her own flesh and bone getting crunched down. Her turn to enter a realm as a soldier of her temple was already tomorrow.
She winced. The pain felt far too real to be imaginary—Rose even had to stop carving the wood for a moment. Shaking her head, the young woman went back to carving, this time imagining the forest those trees had come from. What do those trees actually look like in nature? Is the greenery of leaves truly like in the paintings?
Rose turned around, looking at the city behind her. Nestled amidst four hills, a hive of humanity spread out, covering the landscape in a tide of grey. Tall and short buildings rose up like gravestones, kept apart only by narrow trenches of street. She knew how little sunlight one saw down there, especially with skies as dim as these.
Rose saw no trees in the city, nor in the landscape around it. They had all been chopped away millennia ago, burnt to fuel the war effort. There was no need to plant new ones—freshly integrated realms always provided a steady supply. Only the blue banners of devotion brought splashes of colour to the cityscape. Her own white robes held the same icon, the glorious thunderbolt of their God.
Then, the drumbeats of industrial machinery were suddenly interrupted as a new sound broke through. A scream.
Rose whipped her head around and her eyes flew down to the manufactory. One of the workers who had been helping to push the logs forward had tripped and was now rolling down the incline like just another log, straight to the hungry machine. The maw bit.
His scream reached a fever-pitch as the first blade bit through skin, but quickly quieted when the rest of him was ground down. The hum of machinery returned to normal, even if the workers were now scuttling about in a panic like ants, trying to stop the machine. The Giant was still chanting.
It took a minute for the production line to get back to work, after which everyone contined on as if nothing had happened. The blades started spinning again and fresh logs rolled down. For that was the war machine’s nature, even this one small part of it. It was cold and uncaring—it could swallow a thousand souls a day and nobody would notice.
Rose noticed she had been staring, and slowly went back to carving her figure. She turned a page in the grimoire. Should I weep for that man? She really couldn’t find the energy for it.
Then she squinted because something had gotten into her eye. Rose wiped it off with her hand and saw her finger come off smudged with grey. Huh, again? She looked at the sky and saw that it was raining.
Raining ash.
It had been a millenia since the world tree burned down, but the ashes still kept falling. Some people thought it would someday stop. Rose didn’t believe it. If a war could be eternal, then why not this?
A millennia since the world tree burned, and still the ash keeps falling… will it ever stop? Did anybody
The ashfall seemed to be intensifying, so Rose stood up, ready to head back to the city. It wouldn’t do to get herself too dirtied up, only half a day before the big ritual was due. Her feet started following the familiar trail here, one only she had ever used.
She had made good progress today. Her effigy to the renegade God of shadow was almost complete, and if the grimoire could be trusted, she would be able to use it to break free from it all. The temple, the gods, her powerlessness. Oddly, she almost found her feet skipping.
On a flight of fancy, Rose stuck out her tongue and tilted her head up. She followed one flake of ash with her eyes, trying to catch it in her mouth. It flew a bit to the right, so she followed, adjusted her head’s tilt just a bit…
Then she caught it. Rose closed her mouth, and the ash melted on her tongue like a snowflake.
It tasted just a hint sour, like wine beginning to spoil.
—
Then at last, it was the day. Rose stood in the grand cathedral’s ritual chambers, surrounded by her peers. Incense smoke wafted in the air, and light filtered through the stained-glass windows in a cascade of colors, painting an ever-shifting portrait in the air. It was a breathtaking sight, one of the few beauties in human settlement twelve.
And Rose thought it was very intentional. Wouldn’t it be devilish if they intentionally keep the city drab, strip down the nature all around and surround us with misery, just so that we would cling on to the one beauty we knew ever harder? She bet it did wonders for the fervor of the populace.
So as 50 acolytes stood in a semi-circle as the temple’s archpriest chanted prayers, Rose paid it no mind. She didn’t observe her compatriots’ nervous and excited mannerisms or the poetic wordings the priest was reading from his heavy tome—no, she stared directly at the big bad himself.
Agar, the God of Lighting. His statue was a grand, marble thing, depicting a giant brimming with muscle, lifting up his legendary hammer that forged the heavens. There were only two proper Gods left these days: Agar and his great foe, Flame God Vulkus. All the others were long dead from the eternal war—or reduced to whispers only spoken of in heretical grimoires.
Rose felt her own effigy to the God of Shadow, hidden deep in an inner pocket she had sown onto her clothes. He was one of those fading embers, barely a God, but still capable of smuggling mysterious tomes into the hands that needed them. I wonder if it really will work?
Her plan wasn’t complicated, but it felt frustratingly vague. Still, it was necessary. Rose eyed the bulky templar guards standing on both sides of the archpriest, wearing heavy armor and radiating a supernatural power. They wouldn’t even need to lift a hand to toss her away like a ragdoll.
For a moment, she remembered the worker who had fallen inside the wood-cutting machine the day before. Rose was rather lucky to have been an acolyte in training most her life—normal people were usually little more than slaves bearing back-breaking work to keep up the war effort. Those who had no blessings had no power, and Rose refused to be like them.
But the templar guards, who had entered a realm trial and come back with powerful blessings and treasures were little better. There they stood, clad in armor and pride keeping their backs straight. Yet your boons could all disappear in a moment if the head priest decides you’ve displeased the God.
Those who have no power are slaves, yet in order to get power, one must become a slave. The great joke of their society, all for the sake of maintaining a war that would go on forever. Rose felt sickened by it all.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Yet here she was, in a circle with 50 other acolytes, ready to proclaim herself Agar’s faithful warrior. Her whole life, she had kept up a perfect facade of faith. Rose looked at the acolyte beside her and wondered. How would they react if I spoke any of this?
But she would offer the God of Shadow her betrayal as an offering, and ask for freedom as the reward. If only she could get inside the trial, she wouldn’t even need a blessing. The dungeons within would hold many treasures with great powers of their own. She wanted to take out her effigy, pore over every detail and make sure it was perfect, but she knew her preparations had been thorough. There was no need to be nervous.
“Feeling nervous Rose?” A voice from beside her asked.
“I’m not nervous!” Rose hissed, throwing Adan a baleful glare.
The young man shook his head. “I was just asking...”
Rose eyed the other acolyte. Adan was the scion of a powerful family, his father and grandfather both having been acclaimed templars. The young man was on the way to the same path—he had been specially recommended as an acolyte candidate and always placed high in their inner rankings. But Rose had always found the black-haired and grim-faced youth to be a pitiful thing above all else.
He’s closest to me in the ritual diagram, so once we get through he probably will be...
She felt at the wooden shiv on her belt, the only weapon one could take inside a realm. “Tell me Adan, why do you want to shed blood? Why did you wish to fight in a realm?”
He turned to her, puzzled. “What’s this about?”
Rose didn’t blink. “Humour me.”
He shook his head and turned back to the priest. He was almost on the last page. The ritual would begin very soon. “You know my family. If I don’t keep up tradition, what would father think?”
Rose nodded and turned to observe the ritual. Adan had given the wrong answer, but that was fine.
The holy book slammed closed, and the archpriest stepped back from it. He looked over the waiting acolytes, and the magical sigils inlaid on the floor slowly began to brighten.
“Young warriors—you’ve heard the prayers, but now it is time for something else. You march not to ceremony but to battle. You march to slaughter demons! You march to bring glory to the great Agar!”
An actual tear ran down his eye, and the man’s voice broke down. “So, march proud.”
Rose shivered. I hate zealots.
With a final flash of blue light, the ritual diagram finally activated, and everything turned to white.
—
Rose stood high up in the sky, above a dazzlingly green landscape. It was hilly like her hometown, but instead of bare rock, she stared at verdant forests that covered every inch of the land. Her eyes were wide—she had only seen its like in paintings.
Then, glowing letters appeared in front of her eyes, blocking off her view, and some part of her cursed it. But Rose knew what she was here to do. She listened as a thundering voice entered her mind.
Welcome, Initiate, to the Trial of Realm
The screen faded away, and suddenly three great pillars of light shot up from the different corners of the map. One came from a great lake nestled amidst swampland, one came from a great stone bastion that stood like an eternal fortress, and one came from a giant tree that reached for the heavens. They were far, far away, but somehow Rose’s eyes adjusted, letting her spot a glimpse.
The three greater dungeons contain one capture point each. The trial will end after all three points are claimed by one faction, or after 100 days have passed. The victors shall control how the realm is integrated into the Immortal Realms.
Remembering what came next, Rose reached into her robes and grabbed her shadow effigy into her hands, and squeezed tight. This better work—
For having the bravery to step where nobody has stepped before, you have earned your deity’s boon. Prepare for arrival in starting location.
With another blue flash, Rose was gone.
—
Name: Rose
Species: ???
Blessing: None
Soul Rank: Awakened
Attributes:
Boons: N/A
Artifacts: N/A
Seeking Blessing…
Rose gasped, blinded by sunlight brighter than any she had seen before.
Then she breathed in, and her body shuddered. The air just felt so… pure. It was like her whole life had been spent in an incense-filled prayer chamber, and only now did she finally step outside and feel the wind.
Her eyes slowly got used to the light, revealing a landscape of thick green forest, and her soul stirred at the beauty. For a long moment, she just openly stared, gaping in wonder. Her eyes roamed to a nearby tree and recognized it from its bark. So that’s what you really look like…
But this wasn’t the rolling landscape of hills she had spotted from up in the sky—Rose saw she was on a mountainside, next to a corridor of wooden gates carved with ceremonial markings. A stone shrine to a deity she did not know lay before her. This was no unclaimed wilderness, this was—
Paslamm Shrine: C rank dungeon
A sacred mountain dedicated to the spirits of the Mennväeg people. Some say this mountain holds over a thousand holy gates, through which the spirits pass on their way to the top. The shrine guards make sure that visitors do not get lost on the myriad trails around the mountain.
And then Rose focused—because she was not alone. Adan had appeared just a bit to her right. He was looking not at the trees, but at his hand in wonder. A golden light was emanating from it.
Right, blessings. Did it—?
Rose opened her hand and saw that the effigy she had made to the shadow god—dormant, just as she had made it. Not activated. A jolt of panic went through her. No! If the priest’s anointments aren’t—
Blessing of Agar blocked.
Blessing of Varir blocked.
Rose froze, stunned by the voice. Then she checked the effigy again. Still dormant, nothing happening to it. Both her order's God of Thunder, and the renegade God of Shadow had been refused. What? This wasn’t how it was supposed to go… What happened?
Then she felt a prick of pain in her fingers and heard a snap. She looked forward and saw that Adan was standing by one of the trees and had snapped a branch off as a makeshift sword. He was swinging it in the air, a smile on his face, as the mystic glow from his hand spread to the branch too.
“Rose, look! Look at the blessing I got,” he said, turning to her. Then he froze in place.
Because Rose was walking toward him, and maybe her expression was slipping from normal. Her heart was roiling, and her mind was set. Because… it was a beautiful landscape around her, yes, more brilliant and alive than she had ever seen. But if she were to let things happen as they always had before—
All this would be chopped and torn and ruined. All for the sake of a pointless, eternal war. Adan was staring at the effigy in her hand. He had seen, and it would be obvious she didn’t have a blessing. And he had answered her question wrong—perhaps that was the most important reason.
Like a wound-up coil that had been gathering tension for 20 years, Rose sprung forward, right hand thrusting into Adan’s neck. It was almost instinct; she had even forgotten to take out her shiv.
But somehow her hand easily slid through skin and bit deep inside. Adan whimpered and choked, confused and in shock.
Rose saw him mouth the silent question. Why?
“Because you answered wrong, Adan. There is only one acceptable reason for bloodshed.” Rose said, finally speaking true. She pushed her hand in deeper, feeling it slice through flesh easily. Much easier than it should have. Strange.
His hands grasped for her, but they were suddenly so weak, so lacking in strength. She brought her lips near his face, whispering. “You came here to continue a line. So that your children and grandchildren could be just like your father and grandfather. You seek no change. You only wish for the same as before, for all this to continue forever and forever. That is insanity. This world has no need for a creature like you.”
She thrust her hand deeper in his neck, and crushed the light out of his eyes.
Sure, she might have been able to tell him some excuse for why she didn’t have a blessing, for what her effigy was, but she was done pretending. She just really, honestly, wanted to do this.
Some new instinct called to her, and Rose reached for it without thinking. Suddenly she felt warmth travel up inside her fingers, then her hands.
Wait, what?
Adan’s dead face went white as snow in a second, and Rose felt an energy she had never known before flood into her. It went up her arm, past her shoulder, finally reaching something at her very core. Something sleeping.
Which finally stirred.
Hidden attribute revealed.
[Sleeping Divinity] has advanced to [Nascent Divinity].
Blessing gained: [Nascent Divinity, Aspect: Blood].
Rose realized what the new sensation she was feeling was. Somehow, she was draining the blood right from Adan’s body, sucking it into her finger. As if it was the most natural thing for her to be able to do. Something was shifting under her skin, moving, something not human.
A blessing of no god? Is it… mine?
Slowly, her hand shaking, Rose pulled her hand out of the dead youth’s neck, and let the body drop to the ground, limp, lifeless, drained of blood. Her fingertip had something sharp at its very end, like a crimson thorn. With a thought from her, it dissolved into blood.
Rose brought her fingertip closer to her face, staring at the thorn. Did I make this? I wondered why it felt so easy. With a thought from her, the thorn dissolved into blood. So much blood. How had she just done that? But above all… it felt right. Natural. Part of her.
And then, giving in to impulse, Rose brought the finger closer and closer—and licked it.
Sweet. Oh, so sweet, better than any honeyed wine.
Boon: [Blooming Blood] gained.
Blood: 1/100