Kale staggered slightly as he and Liliana hurried through the crumbling corridor. The soft blue glow from his dagger had faded, leaving only the dim flicker of torches mounted on the dungeon walls to light their path. His body ached, but the faint sense of Aeloria’s presence lingered, keeping the worst of the pain at bay.

“We need to get out of this place before something worse shows up,” Liliana muttered. Her voice sounded sharper than usual, though Kale could tell she was still shaken by what had just transpired.

He forced himself to move faster. “I’m working on it.”

They had barely made it past the last encounter, and he wasn’t sure he could pull off whatever he’d just done again. His legs felt heavy, and his mind was racing with everything Liliana had told him. Bladeweaver. Aeloria. Chosen.

“What... what did those cultists want?” Kale asked. “Why were they summoning Xeroth?”

Liliana sighed. “I told you. Xeroth is the god of entropy and decay. The cultists probably thought they could harness his power to... I don’t know, win a war, destroy their enemies, or just because they’re insane.”

“So why me? Why was I summoned instead of Xeroth?”

Liliana rolled her eyes. “I could give you a dozen reasons. Maybe the ritual required the sacrifice to die, and they didn’t realize severing my head wouldn’t kill me. Maybe my level was too high, or too low. Maybe they used the wrong knife, or maybe it was the wrong day of the week, and the stars weren’t aligned. Or—” her eyes gleamed with a hint of mischief, “—maybe they’re just a bunch of incompetent idiots.”

Kale shot her a look, but she continued before he could respond. “Whatever they were trying to do, it clearly didn’t work. Summoning rituals are... volatile at the best of times. It’s not like summoning gods is a precise science.”

“And instead, they got me. Some... bladeweaver?”

Liliana snorted. “Barely.”

Kale’s lips twitched into a smile despite himself. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

They rounded a corner, only to find the path ahead blocked by a large section of the caved-in ceiling. Stones and debris were piled high, leaving only a narrow gap to squeeze through.

“Great,” Liliana muttered. “Because everything’s going so well.”

Kale knelt, peering through the small gap. “We can make it through. Just... hold on.”

Ignoring Liliana’s protests, he pushed her head through the opening, then followed her, squeezing through the narrow space. His wounded arm scraped against the jagged stones, and he winced, but finally, he made it to the other side.

For a brief moment, a sense of relief washed over him. “Whew, we made it—”

The ground beneath him gave way with a deafening crack, and the floor crumbled beneath his feet before he could react. Kale’s words were cut off as he and Liliana plummeted downward, the darkness swallowing them whole.

The fall wasn’t long, but it was enough to send Kale tumbling painfully to the ground below. He hit the stone floor with a thud, the impact knocking the wind out of him. Dust and debris rained down from the collapsed ceiling above as he groaned, trying to catch his breath.

“Perfect,” Liliana said. “Just what we needed.”

Kale grunted as he sat up, rubbing the back of his head. “Could’ve been worse, right?”

He groaned as he pushed himself up from the dusty floor. His body ached from the fall, but Liliana’s voice cut through the haze before he could catch his breath.

“Oh, it’s worse.”

Kale blinked and looked around. They had fallen into a dimly lit room. Three robed figures were seated at a makeshift table, their eyes wide with shock. Another one was sprawled on the floor, flattened under the heavy stone ceiling that had collapsed with them. A pancake lay awkwardly near the crushed man’s hand.

“You are what you eat,” Liliana said dryly.

The three remaining cultists slowly rose from their chairs, their eyes narrowing. Their surprise quickly morphed into anger. One of them, the nearest, raised his hands, green energy beginning to pulse between his fingers.

Kale didn’t hesitate, he acted on instinct. He grabbed Liliana by the hair and hurled her head straight at the enemy. Reflexively, the man caught her, confusion flashing across his face. That was all Kale needed. He lunged, the dagger in his hand slashing across the cultist’s throat.

Blood sprayed into the air, drenching Liliana as her eyes gleamed with a sinister red glow. “Yes!” she cried as the blood spiraled around her like a whirlpool. The man staggered back, his hands clutching his throat, before he collapsed to the ground.

The second cultist didn’t pause to mourn his companion. With a snarl, he hurled a glowing green orb straight at Kale, and he barely managed to throw himself to the side as the orb smashed into the far wall, detonating with a sizzling explosion. Acid hissed and bubbled as the stone wall melted away, leaving a gaping, corrosive wound in the structure.

Kale hit the ground hard, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but there was no time to recover. A third man was already upon him, rusted knife raised high, murder in his eyes. Kale’s mind screamed at him to move, but before he could react, a wet, grotesque schlurk echoed through the air. The man stopped mid-stride, a spike of blood bursting through the front of his face, splitting bone and tearing through skin.

Warm blood, pieces of brain, snot, and teeth sprayed across Kale’s face. He staggered, blinking through the mess, momentarily frozen by the horror of it.

The cultist twitched for a moment, then crumpled lifeless to the floor. Kale could hear Liliana’s voice, but this time it was cold, dark, full of something far more dangerous than sarcasm.

“Your blood is mine to command,” she hissed, her words a promise of death. Her eyes gleamed, crimson and feral, the blood swirling around her forming a nightmarish aura. She looked like a predator playing with her prey, and the last cultist knew it. He froze, terror etched into every line of his face.

Kale didn’t give him the chance to beg. It’s him or me, Kale thought, the words cold but grounding. There was no time to hesitate, no room for doubt. He surged forward, tackling the man to the ground, his dagger driving deep into the cultist’s chest. The man gasped, a desperate, final sound, as the life drained from his eyes.

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Panting, Kale collapsed beside the body, bloodied, exhausted, but alive. The stench of death hung heavy in the air, but through the haze of blood and violence, one thing was clear: they had survived. For now.

His eyes drifted to the cultist he had just killed, his chest still and blood pooling beneath him. This was the first time Kale had killed another person, a real person, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

They didn’t feel real, though. Not in the way Liliana did, despite her being just a head, not in the way his friends back home did. These cultists had somehow pulled him from his bed, sacrificed Liliana, and would have killed him without hesitation. It wasn’t a choice, it was survival.

He tried to let that thought anchor him, but his hands still shook. His stomach churned, and for a moment, he thought he might be sick.

He looked at Liliana, her eyes gleaming as she manipulated the blood around her with calm precision. She didn’t look shaken. She looked in control, terrifyingly so. Kale swallowed hard and tried to steady himself. He didn’t want to look weak, not in front of her.

“That… that was impressive,” Kale muttered, wiping his face with the back of his hand, though it did little to clear the blood smearing his skin. He forced his voice to stay steady. “Thanks for saving my life.”

Liliana grinned, her voice lower as she whispered a prayer. “Valtharion, I offer this blood in your name. May it strengthen us both.” The swirling mass of blood vanished as if devoured by an unseen force.

She looked back at him with a smile. “You’re welcome. I suppose I’m not just a useless head after all.”

Kale managed a weak chuckle, his body aching. “I guess not.”

After a moment, he sat up and glanced at her. “Who’s Valtharion?”

“Valtharion is the Blood God, the Thirsting One. The Crimson Tyrant.”

Her voice lowered, filled with respect. “He grants his followers unimaginable power, if they prove worthy. But his favor is hard-won and easily lost.”

“And you serve him?”

“We all serve someone.” She said. “I was one of his strongest disciples, through him, I achieved immortality, bound by blood itself. But his gifts come with a price. He demands blood as tribute... always thirsting for more.”

Liliana thought for a moment, “And when you fail him... when you are captured and sacrificed by the followers of an inferior god like Xeroth...”

Her frustration bubbled to the surface as she spoke. “Valtharion demands power and control. To be captured and sacrificed, to let his gifts be disrespected in such a way... it’s a grave insult. I’ve fallen out of favor. My levels, my skills, everything is gone. I’m back at square one, unable to regenerate my body. He’s angry, Kale. More than that, he’s disappointed.”

Her voice softened, but the bitterness in her tone remained. “Regaining his favor will take more than I can imagine. I don’t even know if it’s possible... not after how deeply I’ve insulted him.”

She paused, her gaze growing distant as her eyes dimmed. “But I will do whatever it takes to atone for my arrogance, for my stupidity... for failing him.”

Kale sat quietly for a moment. He could feel the weight of her burden. It was like a chain around her, dragging her down, but one she clung to willingly. The need for redemption burned in her, an obsession that made him uneasy. He wasn’t sure what that kind of devotion felt like, what it meant to need someone’s approval so desperately. He wasn’t sure if he envied her resolve or pitied her for it.

A small part of him wondered if she was being too hard on herself, but another part—the part that had seen her in action—knew how deeply she believed in this. This was everything to her. And if it was everything to her, who was he to judge? Still, the idea of spilling blood to win back someone’s favor felt alien to him, almost repulsive.

“And you think... offering blood like that will get you back in his good graces?”

Liliana’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Eventually. Valtharion is not merciful, but he is powerful. If I offer enough, prove my worth again, perhaps I can regain what I lost.”

“I take it he’s not the forgiving type.”

“No. But power like his doesn’t come to the merciful.”

Kale stared at her. The power she had commanded earlier, the control over blood, had been terrifying. The way it moved at her will, twisting and bending as though life itself obeyed her, sent a chill through him. It wasn’t just the power itself that unsettled him, but how effortless it had seemed for her. She wielded it with the precision of someone who had done so a thousand times before, like an artist who had perfected their craft.

Yet to her, that power was a shadow of what she’d once been. If what she’d done was only a fraction of what she’d once been capable of, then what had she been?

A small, unwelcome thought crept into his mind: could someone like her ever truly be trusted? Power like hers, bound to something as cold as Valtharion, didn’t seem like the kind that came without a cost. But she had saved him, and without her, he’d be dead. That much he couldn’t deny.

***

As they continued through the crumbling corridors, silence settled between them, broken only by the distant echoes of the dungeon. Kale’s mind drifted back to something Liliana had said earlier.

We all serve someone.

The words lingered in his mind, gnawing at him. Did that mean he served Aeloria now? He had felt her presence, heard her voice guiding him in that moment of desperation. She had saved him, there was no denying that. But what did that mean for him?

Kale’s grip tightened on the dagger, his brow furrowing. He stared at the blade, the faint memory of the blue light flickering in his eyes. “Do I serve her now? Aeloria... is she my goddess?”

“There’s always a choice, Kale. You don’t have to serve her... but it does seem like she has her eyes on you. Gods don’t just save mortals, especially not someone as seemingly insignificant as you.”

Kale looked up, his throat tightening at her words. He hadn’t ever thought of himself as special, certainly not someone a goddess would intervene for. “Why me?”

“That’s the thing, Kale. It’s almost unheard of... a god interfering in the affairs of someone like you. They don’t waste their time saving mortals without being honored or called upon. But she saved your life, guided your hand before you ever gave her tribute. That’s no small thing.”

Kale’s chest tightened. If that was true, then what did it mean? Was he bound to her now? What if he failed her? The question felt like a stone sinking into his stomach. “What happens if I fail her? Do I even have a choice?”

Liliana’s eyes met his, a glimmer of something more thoughtful passing between them. “There’s always a choice. But, given that Aeloria saved your life, you owe her now. Whether you want to admit it or not, the fact she chose to intervene... that means something.”

Kale swallowed, feeling the gravity of the situation pressing down on him. “Is she... kind? What kind of god is she?”

Liliana paused, her gaze distant, as if recalling something far older than the world around them. “Aeloria is... strong. Proud. She demands excellence from those who follow her, but she is just. Critical, yes, but fair. As far as gods go, she’s one of the more impressive ones. Even Valtharion respects her.”

Kale frowned slightly at that, his mind turning over her words. Valtharion wasn’t merciful, but he was powerful, Liliana had made that abundantly clear. If someone like him respected Aeloria, what did that mean about her? What kind of strength could a god like that possess?

He wondered what it would feel like to stand before someone like Aeloria. Could anyone truly measure up to the expectations of a being like that, or were her demands impossible by design? It was a daunting thought. Yet, hearing Liliana speak, there was no doubt that Aeloria’s power was real, tangible even.

Liliana continued, “Aeloria is the Winged Blade, the Wind of Precision. She values strength, but not brute force. She values control, grace, and the ability to strike with perfection. Her eyes glow like radiant blades, her hair flowing like a silver river. She moves like the wind itself, always sharp, always decisive.”

Kale could picture her in his mind, this goddess who had intervened in his life, who had saved him from certain death. She sounded awe-inspiring, otherworldly in her perfection, but that perfection felt distant, unapproachable. Aeloria was his savior, yes, but she was also a reminder of how small he was. He couldn’t fathom meeting her expectations, couldn’t imagine being more than a speck in the eyes of someone so powerful.

At the same time, there was something about her ideals that resonated. Control, grace, striking with purpose, those weren’t just the traits of a warrior but of an artist. He wondered if she would have approved of the way he had fought, the way he survived.

“If you wish to honor her,” Liliana said, “if you choose her as your deity, you’ll have to live by her rules. You’ll offer tribute, and she’ll bestow blessings and skills upon you in return, things far beyond what any mortal could hope to achieve on their own.”

Kale’s heart pounded in his chest. “Tribute?”

Liliana nodded. “Tribute to Aeloria could mean many things: dedication to the blade, offerings made in her name. For a bladeweaver like you, few gods would better complement your path. And the fact that she seems to have chosen you... well, it should make your choice easier.”

Kale had always thought of gods as distant, uncaring forces. But now... now it felt real. Aeloria had chosen him, and he couldn’t deny the pull he felt toward her, no matter how terrifying it was.

The silence hung heavy between them, as if the entire dungeon was waiting for his decision.