"There is naught amusing about the Primal Sin," he said, voice low, unwavering. "I may be an immortal bound to the tides of arcane eternity, but even I would not seek counsel with such an entity. Nay, I would flee."
He paused, his bony fingers tapping against his staff. "An Outer God, however… that is manageable."
I barely heard him.
My thoughts were elsewhere—on the mess I had thrown myself into.
This wasn't what I wanted.
I didn't set out to be some hero. Some savior.
I wanted strength—that was all.
Strength so I wouldn't have to depend on anyone. Strength so no one could ever look down on me again. I wanted people to fear my power, not praise it.
But now?
Now I was standing among warriors who had killed gods, discussing hunting one like it was a simple task.
I clenched my jaw.
I was stronger than before, I knew that much. But standing here, beside Sieg, beside Orlan, beside Naestra?
I wasn't strong enough.
And against a god?
I knew exactly where I stood.
Far beneath.
So what was the point?
What was the purpose of possibly throwing my life away for people I didn't even care about?
As that thought settled in my mind, I felt something.
Orlan. Watching me.
Or at least, his empty sockets were locked onto me.
Then, he spoke.
"To slay these Outer Ones is not only to bring peace to our realm and those who dwell within it—nay, it is also the path to power."
He took a step forward.
"Thou spokest of my curse as a gift, didst thou not?" He lifted a skeletal hand, flexing his fingers. "Immortality, unyielding—bestowed upon me by a dying god."
Sieg's grip tightened slightly on his sabre.
"His weapon too, doth bear the same truth."
At that, Naestra twirled her daggers between her fingers. The steel glistened with a faint sheen—something thick, something dark, something wrong.
"And hers."
Naestra grinned, flicking her blades before slipping them back into their sheaths.
"Through the death of these Outer Ones, we claim their might. We forge ourselves anew, reforged by divinity's ruin."
Orlan's voice was quiet now, but firm.
"Thou art not but a mere pawn, bent to Eindva's will."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Thou art more than a feeble soldier, a soul born to die namelessly in the tide of war."
His fingers curled.
"Nay, thou art something greater."
A moment of silence.
Then, he took another step forward.
"And now, Erik Voller—thou standest upon the precipice of gods.
"Will thou grasp it?"
I took a breath.
If this was what would make me stronger—what would push me even further—then I had no reason to hesitate.
This was exactly what I had been chasing since the beginning.
Power.
And now, standing among them, I was on the right track.
"Besides," Naestra chimed in, resting her hands behind her head. "Sieg chose you for a reason. He doesn't pick weaklings."
I glanced at Sieg, who gave me a simple nod.
That was all.
The greatest soldier of Valkthara. The man who had slain a god with his own hands.
He had chosen me.
I exhaled.
I was strong. I was powerful. This was exactly where I was meant to be.
I stepped forward and clasped Orlan's bony hand.
"I will grasp it."
The words left my lips without hesitation, and I meant every single one.
But then, a thought struck me.
"Before we start," I said, "I need to return to the King. He promised me his ring. It will make me imm—"
Laughter.
I stopped.
Sieg was laughing.
He shook his head, exhaling sharply before rubbing his temple. "Sorry."
His amusement faded, and when he looked at me, his expression was clear.
"Did the King tell you that his ring only works for his own blood?"
Silence.
I felt my jaw tighten.
"Anyone else who puts it on dies in seconds," he said simply.
I clenched my fist.
So all of this—
A long breath left me.
Fine.
"Very well." I rolled my shoulders, forcing my thoughts aside. "Let's go kill this man-bat bastard."
A blink—
And suddenly, the air changed.
Gone was the campfire's warmth, the solid ground beneath my feet. Instead, thick, humid air wrapped around my skin like a second layer, clinging to me with every breath.
The heat was oppressive. Not the dry kind, but the kind that made every inhale feel heavy, like I was breathing in something alive. Sweat prickled at the back of my neck almost instantly, and the moment I stepped forward, my boots sank slightly into damp, muddy ground.
We were in a swamp.
The water was dark and stagnant, pools of murky green stretching between gnarled, half-drowned trees. Insects buzzed lazily in the air, fat and slow from the heat. Every step squelched beneath my boots, and already, I could feel the dampness seeping through my clothes.
But none of that mattered.
Because ahead of us, looming like a corpse left to rot, was an abandoned cathedral.
Massive. Crumbling.
The once-great structure was smothered by vines and creeping moss, the stained glass long shattered, its skeletal frame half-swallowed by nature.
But even from out here—
Even from this distance—
We could hear it.
A chant.
Low. Hollow. Unnatural.
And in unison.
"This is it," Naestra whispered beside me. "I can't get us inside. There's something blocking me from teleporting in."
I turned to her. She wasn't grinning. She wasn't making some half-assed joke.
That was concerning.
Sieg hummed, unfazed as ever, his pace steady as he led us toward the cathedral's entrance. "Hmm. Weird."
My grip tightened around my sword.
The chanting hadn't stopped.
Low. Hollow. Droning.
It didn't sound like prayer. It sounded like something else.
Something wrong.
Orlan walked beside me, hands clasped behind his back, his tone thoughtful. "They chant." He exhaled. "No one chants or sings to the Primal Sins. I hope they are, as thou hast said, Naestra—a cult of the Outer Gods."
I glanced at Naestra. "Is Nyxar strong?"
She scoffed. "All gods are powerful."
"But they're not omnipotent." Sieg finished for her.
Naestra nodded. "They can be killed."
Her voice was firm. Certain.
She had seen it before.
Sieg had done it before.
And now, so had I.
She continued, "I jump in and out of many realms. I keep track of what gods are worshiped where. Nyxar is one of the many I've come across."
I frowned. "Do gods grow stronger the more they're worshiped?"
Naestra nodded.
"Aye."
Sieg reached the entrance first. His stance shifted.
"And if what Naestra said is correct," he murmured, resting a hand on his sabre, "then this one will be much stronger than we expected."
He glanced at me.
"Be ready."