The halls of the Saloki Temple had never been inviting, at least not to Garban’s eye. He had always found the towering walls and columns to be unnaturally imposing, as though the Twin Goddesses themselves were exerting their incalculable presence upon the world through the architecture, the weight of their immense power bearing down upon him. Garban had spent much of his twenty-three years of life doing everything in his power to avoid visiting this place.

And yet here he was, as he always knew he would be. Twenty-three was the age that dwarves visited the temple and made their Pledge. For humans, it was fourteen. For elves, thirty. Goblins at six, orcs at twelve, lizardfolk at eight… This rite of passage was shared by all the peoples of Halorath, but for each race it occured at a different age. Yet no matter the age, the Pledge signified the same thing: that you were stepping out of childhood and into the world as an adult. In some cultures, the Pledge marked the transition to full-fledged adulthood, while in others it was merely the first trembling step into that next phase of life. Regardless of the specifics, the Pledge was always an important day in anyone’s life.

Garban steeled himself as he walked down the deepest hallway of Salok’s Temple. The dwarves of old had carved this place from a mountain eons ago, before the city of Salok had even truly existed, just following the end of the Godswar. As Garban walked, he could feel that history all around him, and he knew and understood that the eyes of his ancestors were now upon him, waiting to see which Goddess he would choose.

On his right, the wall was covered in nine repeating runes, each a signifier of of one of Elyran’s domains: Sun, her original, and then the eight domains she had claimed from fallen gods: Air, Fire, Illusion, Life, Flora, Lightning, Law, and Magma.

Mirroring these runes on his left side were the nine domains of Veshara: her first, Moon, and then Shadow, Earth, Water, Death, Mind, Ice, Chaos, and Time.

As the sole survivors of the Godswar, the Twin Goddesses, who had once solely been the mistresses of day and night, had claimed the wayward domains of dead gos. Now there were eighteen domains of divinity, though before the deaths of the other gods there had been hundreds. Garban knew not what had become of the myriad lost domains. Perhaps they had faded out of existence, or perhaps they were still out there somewhere, waiting to be claimed. But what Garban did know was that there were sixteen domains which could be accessed by mortalkind, and all that was required for such a gift was a Pledge.

He reached the end of the hall, where a pair of grand stone doors stood before him. These doors were blessed by the Twin Goddesses, and would open only for one who was yet unpledged to a god. With a deep, steadying breath, Garban pushed the doors open.

The grinding of stone on stone filled the air, and Garban slipped through the small opening now formed between the doors. He found himself standing before a massive fire pit, burning with green flames that had danced for millennia and would dance for millennia more. On either side of the pit was a statue: Elyran, the Bright Queen, on the right, and Veshara, Mother Night, on the left.

The doors shut behind him.

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Garban stood in that chamber, heart pounding. He had thought his decision would come to him naturally, without much thought, that he would simple know the proper choice once he arrived here, and yet now he stood in this chamber and he found that he still had no idea to which Goddess he should pledge himself.

It was absurd, he thought, to make him choose such a thing when he was still so young and inexperienced in the world. Garban wanted to travel; he wanted to see the lands beyond Salok, beyond the Tersen Republic. He wished to witness all that the world had to offer. And then, perhaps, he would be ready to choose between the two Goddesses who ruled over all of Halorath.

But the world did not work that way. Garban must make his choice first, no matter how unjust such a thing seemed to him. And so he chose. He began walking as quickly as he could, knowing that if he thought about this, he would soon be paralyzed with indecision. So he moved before he could think, and he found himself kneeling before the image of Veshara.

When Garban emerged from the Temple’s halls, the priests were awaiting him.

“What have you chosen?” asked the Head Priest, a dwarf who had, unusually for his kind, shaven himself completely bald.

“I have chosen Dark,” said Garban with a bow.

The Head Priest nodded, and then the darksworn priests stepped forward, holding between them a tray of various objects, which they set down on the ground before him. Upon the tray sat a small mock parasol, a pile of sand, a cup of water, a bone, a crystal that glowed with faint blue light, a chip off an ice block, a pair of dice, and a sundial.

“Close your eyes,” the Head Priest told him. “Reach out with your mind and envision the objects on this tray. And then, without moving your hands, I want you to imagine you are touching them.”

Garban nodded, and he followed the priest’s instructions. All who had made a Pledge and were sworn to a Goddess were blessed with access to two domains: always from the eight their patron Goddess had claimed after the Godswar, never the Sun nor the Moon. As Garban extended himself toward the tray, he felt for the first time the magical domains within him.

When he opened his eyes, the sand had scattered, and the ice chip had grown. The Head Priest smiled.

“Earth and Ice,” the priest said. “A proud and sturdy combination. Congratulations, my child. May you walk with the confidence and steadfastness of the glacier.”

Garban blinked.

He was no longer in Salok, standing before the priesthood. He was no longer the young dwarf he had been on the day of his Pledge, when he had become darksworn. He was older and wiser now, more experienced in the ways of the world and seasoned with adventure, and he was lying in a bed he did not know in a room he did not recognize. Vague memories came to him, of cold water and tentacles, of a desperate struggle and heavy exhaustion.

“You’re awake,” said a woman. He turned his head to see the gray-skinned half-orc who had saved Dorvo out on the water. She gave him a smile. “I will inform your friend,” she said. “He has been awaiting your recovery.”

Garban tried to speak, but he found that his throat and mouth were too dry. The half-orc woman was already rushing out of the room, and she did not notice.

He settled his head back into the soft pillow. Perhaps she would return with something to drink. He very much hoped so.