"Vapooliar, you are our newest addition, no?" she recalls correctly and we walk again.

Embarrassment heats my face and I nod vigorously, flushing it up further. The whys to why she might've been able to recall who I am are wracking my brain. One word forms in the maelstrom of my thoughts and it's domineering. Incompetent.

Whereas my plentiful sisters and few brothers are fighting across important fronts all around the Theocracy, I'm not. Where many of them are taking it somewhat easy back at the Great Temple of the Four-Winded Valkinvar, I am here. I have been out here -alone- in a rather unimportant city overseeing an unthreatening series of attacks. I am memorable purely because I am the weakest of the esteemed Valkinvar.

A runt in those who are so great... Such a burdening irony.

But, it's hard to tell what she is thinking as she has been quiet since the recollection and I want to occupy my mind because of it. Thankfully, following her brings into view the statue that gives the city its name, Giant's Victory. The technical, formal name might be The Thunderous Giant's Victory, but seeing this landmark makes it clear why the former is accepted—a grand display of the engineering skills of our people and esteemed ancestors.

Supposedly, Ancient Thunder battled the Singular God on the battlegrounds where this city is now built. Thurnmourer, the God of Thunder, bested the foul, red-scaled beast here long ago in the time when the gods carved the world. Were it not for my duties as a soldier, I no doubt would be spending more time around the grand statue. Masterfully carved from the mountain that it stands as tall as.

"You show a lot of reverence for a god you are not craft-bound to, let alone betrothed to." Zaphadren-Valkinvar Gemorli points out in an amused manner as she comes to a stop. Sharply bringing a foot forward, I stop a thankful distance away from her.

"I'm sorry, Zaphadren-Valkinvar Gemorli, I mean no disrespect," I tell her in a manner that feels like pleading.

"Then, as we are here, now is the perfect opportunity to display your faith so that I know your words are true. And, for him," she explains as she points to the small temple made from red bricks. An admittedly modest, but still inspired temple dedicated to our shared future husband Waionr, the God of War.

"Very well." I nearly gulp against and I turn towards it fully.

Constructed with stone that we imported all the way from my home. The home of the Valkinvar. One of the few things that can clearly remind me of it, as this red rock is so distinct. Nowhere other than the canyon that the capital of Thurn's Forge rests upon, have I seen it. If I have, it's always been an import from the great city that bridges the gap of two continents.

Sometimes, I like to pretend it is all here as thanks for my efforts in the war. It isn't, though, and I should not think like this. But, in my solitude, doing all the tasks befitting and required of a Valkinvar... There's no one here I can speak to on truly equal footing and...

Shaking my mind clean, I put my uncomfortable thoughts to one side and go into the temple to prove my faith. Thankfully, despite my necessarily stiff neck, I can still see the art decorating the walls as I methodically walk. If this pressure was elsewhere, I might even laugh as my helmet protects against more than just blades and spells. Unfortunately, my worries are too strong compared to any joy in me right now.

Any mistakes I make are going to be seen directly by the Zaphadren-Valkinvar herself!

As such, there is this terrible psychic weight bearing down on me as I traverse this holy place. She will not tolerate a single mistake, not one. My focus jitters each armour plate and even the cloth is loud. I am already the embarrassing bottom of the Valkinvar. If something worse is to be associated with me...

But, in this temple, at the far back centre, there's a calming sight that puts me at ease. A statue of my future husband, Waionr, and his loyal, bestial ally. Seeing this beast calms me. It's a wondrous easing sight I always welcome, even with the questions I am overwhelmed with. I welcome this rush of something other than worry and my strides and posture recover.

This four-legged carnivore does so much for me, despite it being a simple redstone carving. And, I can only wonder, what kind of animal did something have to be to gain the kinship of a god? Whatever the reason, this mysterious animal is one with sharp claws, powerful legs, and piercing fangs. These natural weapons, though, are not what catch my eye the most.

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It's the fur.

That is what stands out to me the most about this mysterious beast. The fur starts flat, well-groomed to an immaculate degree. It's likely barely done justice by the artisan's hands. But, as my gaze gets closer to its head, it escalates into a lavish and proud mane. Together with its jaw and face, it is almost like a shield emblazoned with heraldry!

Unfortunately, as I reach a ceremonial blood sink, I put the thoughts away along with my sword. There is a duty I have to attend to and my mind needs to focus entirely on it. Withholding the urge to look back for a sign of anything from my superior, I breathe slowly. Kneeling into position in the carved sockets, the required words of faith come to mind.

"O' Mighty Waionr! Rememberer of the Fallen Soldier and Honourer of their Eternal March." I chant as I begin taking off my armour and any required clothing. Starting with my arms, I expose my comparatively hideous, lightly scarred, tanned skin. Clearing my neck of its bevor, I take off my helmet and expose the short, near-grassless field of mud that I call hair. If there were a mirror here as well, I'd be able to see the same in my eyes and compared to my superior's spectrum of the four colours. Mine are barren, too similar to my hair.

Placing the helmet down in front, I adjust it so that it is properly in line with my body, slit looking back up as if it has eyes of its own. Hiding my glance down in my motions, I look at the blood bowl whilst it is dry from a lack of piety. The next verse fills my head and I look up. Readying my hands, they wait above the locks on my armour.

"O' Mighty Waionr! We kneel before you, in your temple, and before your Prideful Beast. Our chest is exposed and vulnerable. We kneel before you to make a pledge of loyalty and honour like we always will until our deaths bring tragedy to the still living." I chant as I start to unlock and unhinge my extensive torso piece.

With a resonating thud, the back half falls to the ground while I catch the front. Placing it down, I move onto my clothes and padding, placing them into the curve of the breastplate. My bosom and greater front now exposed, I move my lesser left hand to my same-sided breast and cradle it higher. Exposing my matrimonial scar, I reach for the ceremonial knife tucked away in my right leg's special sheath.

"O' Mighty Waionr! Please bless this knife that we place underneath our life-giving chest. Please guide its edge as it cuts deep. Please allow us to draw much so that we may prove worthy." I chant as I take it out of its compartment.

With the lightest grip I can manage, the jewel-hilted, glinting blade moves to the scar. Testing the knife's edge by pressing it down on the often-opened mark to prepare myself. With well-practised care, the blade saws along the line and I shiver at the pain. Pushing it deeper, the blade comes close to my ribs as a seemingly dire, crimson waterfall rushes down my front.

Wincing with a tight jaw, I keep my composure during this important part of the ritual as I must keep my oath to Waionr. I wish I could keep a straight face like some of my seniors, but I cannot do it. I pant and tremble as the blade heads on deeper whilst my eyes water and close up. My stomach crumbles up like vomit is on the way. Persevering, I imagine an idea of where the blade is as my heart aggressively smacks the tip of the knife.

The delicate muscle threatens to slice itself apart with its lively intentions.

"O' Mighty Waionr! With our loyalty and faith proven, give unto us a duty to follow once we leave the service of our kin. M-May your Sons who segregate themselves away from your temple be blessed with guiding further generations... And... And may we, your Brides, hold ourselves to the purest standard so that even our motherly battles may be in your name." I struggle to chant before pulling the blade out of my chest, slowly.

Abruptly, I put the blade away into its socket once again... Taking a deep breath once my hand is free of the weighty burden.

"O' Mighty Waionr! Look over your future lovers and friends with ever-growing vigilance and resolve... And may we, as your loyal soldiers, prove worthy of resting within your hallowed halls. Forever remembered in stone by the living and forever loved by you in your embrace-!" I finally chant as excessive breathing overtakes me.

Dealing with the initial shock and trauma. I stand and take one final, calming breath. Turning around to look back at Zaphadren-Valkinvar Gemorli, I find myself confused and worried, as she is not there. I can't show any of it, not whilst I am under the direct eye of my future husband. I am panicking on the inside and I don't recall slipping up in any way. There is nothing bad sticking out to me.

Only, that is exactly what makes it worse, I don't know what I might have done wrong!

I can only hope the reality is that she has other duties to attend to. Maybe this was some mere passing amusement to her? Either way, I pray silently to any god or goddess who might hear me, even if this is not their divine house. I pray that I am just overthinking it and that everything will be fine.

It -will- be unbearable if I had done something wrong... I'm already the embarrassment of the Valkinvar.

Mouthing the last part of my anxiety-driven prayer, I focus my magic on the ceremonial wound. With little involvement in the battle, I have the energy to seal it tight. I stop the healing short so that it will scar over once again. Taking another breath to steady my mind, I reach for a cloth to wash off my blood-soaked chest.

"What... What does her arrival even mean?" I ask myself, pondering the scope of this sudden, important arrival. My mental burdens finally able to lift away.