Valde awoke long before the first light of dawn broke over the horizon, as he often did. He sat in the stillness of his room, muscles tense, mind whirling, trying to make sense of the vivid dream that had haunted his sleep. Though he was a priest, he didn't resemble the image most conjured when they thought of holy men. Standing at 6'5" and weighing 230 pounds of solid muscle, he looked more like a warrior than a spiritual leader. And in many ways, that was exactly what he was—a warrior priest of the last surviving polytheist cult, devoted to Shakra, the god of power.

His body was a tapestry of devotion. Tattoos in ancient scripts traced over his skin, spelling out the names of forgotten gods and honoring Shakra. Beads and charms hung from his neck, each infused with spiritual power, while his fingers glistened with rings aligned to astrological significances. His arms jingled softly with bracelets of copper, silver, and gold, each serving as a ward or a blessing. Valde was a living embodiment of the ancient ways—mystical, strong, and feared even by those who followed the same path.

The cult Valde belonged to had been established fifty years ago by a sage named Suryasvarupa, who had come down from his mountain retreat preaching the ancient religion and warning of the impending collapse of modern society. At first, thousands flocked to the teachings, embracing the simplicity and reverence for the old gods. But with the passing of time—and the death of the guru—the movement began to lose its fire. People drifted back into the ways of the world, convinced that Suryasvarupa’s warnings were mere allegories, not to be taken literally.

Now, the once-thriving community had dwindled, though Valde remained a steadfast believer. The temple where he lived had only twenty residents, though there was a congregation of nine hundred scattered across the region. The temple itself was grand, surrounded by lush gardens and expansive land—a testament to a time when the movement had been at its height. On the 120 acres that surrounded the temple, the community raised food crops and milk cows, living off the land, as Suryasvarupa had taught.

But today, something was different. Valde’s dream had been unlike any other. A deep sense of foreboding had settled in his bones, a message from the gods that war was coming. Not just any war, but a war that would reshape the world itself. The dream was clear: he needed to protect his community, to fortify it, or it would fall to the chaos that was soon to come.

Valde rubbed his temples, trying to calm the storm in his mind. Would the people listen? They had become complacent, comfortable in their isolation, drifting back into the material world the guru had warned against. His warnings had once been heeded, but now they were seen as archaic, symbolic rather than literal. Even in his own community, Valde was viewed with a mixture of reverence and skepticism. He was a mystery to them—some believed he was a true messenger of the gods, while others whispered that he was merely a fanatic, clinging to the past.

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Valde knew what had to be done, but convincing others would be the true battle.

The first rays of the sun crept over the horizon, spilling golden light across the temple grounds. Normally, Valde would have already begun his morning rituals—prayers, offerings, and the chanting of mantras to Shakra and the other gods. His daily practices were precise, never wavering. But today, he had been lost in thought, his mind consumed by the vision.

With a deep breath, Valde rose from his bed and wrapped himself in his loose, cotton ceremonial dress. He felt the weight of the gods upon his shoulders, and the time had come to act.

As he stepped outside, the morning air was crisp, cool, and silent. The temple grounds, usually filled with the hum of early activity, were quiet, as though the earth itself held its breath. Valde’s footsteps were heavy on the stone pathway that led to the temple doors. The sun’s light glinted off the copper bracelet around his wrist as he clasped his hands together, murmuring a quick prayer.

He would speak to the congregation today. He would tell them of the coming war, of the vision the gods had sent him. Whether they believed him or not, he had to deliver the message. It was the will of the gods, and Valde would not shy away from it.

As he approached the entrance to the temple, Valde’s thoughts drifted back to his dream. The vision had been vivid, more real than anything he had experienced before. He had seen cities crumble, nations fall, and chaos sweep across the world like a plague. But the community he had sworn to protect had survived, hidden, fortified. Only because they had heeded the warnings.

Inside the temple, the soft light of the rising sun filtered through the stained glass windows, casting multicolored hues on the stone floor. The air smelled of incense, rich and heavy. The others were already gathering for the morning prayers, and as Valde stepped inside, he saw their eyes turn toward him. There was always a hush when Valde entered a room—a respect born out of both awe and unease. He was a towering figure, not just in stature but in spirit.

Valde took his place at the front of the temple, standing before the altar. He could feel the weight of their gazes on him, and for a moment, he hesitated. Could he truly convince them? Could they understand the gravity of the situation?

He cleared his throat, his voice deep and resonant. “Brothers and sisters, I have received a vision.”

The murmurs in the room quieted as all eyes focused on him.

“The gods have spoken to me,” he continued, his tone unwavering. “A great war is coming. Not of men, but of forces far beyond our understanding. It will sweep across the world, and only those who are prepared will survive. We must fortify our community, protect our temple, and stand ready.”

Silence followed his words. The congregation looked at one another, uncertainty etched on their faces. Some nodded, their faith unshaken. Others looked skeptical, their modern minds struggling to accept such a dire prophecy.

Valde’s eyes narrowed as he gazed out at them, his heart pounding in his chest. He had spoken the truth. Now, it was up to them to decide their fate.

Would they follow him into the unknown, or would they perish in the coming storm?