The path to the temple was a steep climb, the uneven stone steps worn smooth by countless years of footfalls. The wind howled as it funneled through the narrow passageways, sharp and biting against their skin. Behind them, the fortress loomed. Ahead, the temple came into view.

It was not what Kale expected. The structure was dark, its walls built from massive stone blocks. It carried the same grim presence as the fortress. Veins of orange bardichalcum threaded through the stone, their faint glow pulsing like a heartbeat.

The contrast struck him immediately. Aeloria's radiant presence lingered fresh in his memory—the light, the grace, the warmth that had seemed to envelop him. And yet, here was her temple: shadowed, cold, unwelcoming. It felt more like a place of judgment than reverence. Was this truly a temple dedicated to her?

At the temple's entrance stood two massive statues of warriors clad in blackened armor, their faces hidden behind menacing helms. They stood as eternal sentinels, their weapons drawn as if prepared to strike down any who dared approach without purpose. The entrance was framed by an archway adorned with carvings of combat, figures locked in desperate struggle against massive, otherworldly beasts. One of the creatures caught Kale's attention immediately; its form was eerily familiar, bearing a resemblance to Xeroth.

But it was the statue of Aeloria that dominated the temple courtyard. Standing tall and fearsome at the center of the open square, her likeness was both awe-inspiring and deeply unsettling. This was no motherly figure offering solace to her followers, this Aeloria looked more like a goddess of war. Her armor was imposing, forged from thick, dark plates that mirrored Rothgar's. Its design lacked elegance or artistry; it was built for battle,.

Her four arms held swords, but not the graceful blades Kale had come to associate with her. These swords were brutal in their design, heavy, and angular.

Aeloria's face was set in a fierce, almost unfeeling expression. Her eyes seemed to stare down at them coldly. There was no warmth here, no softness, only the battle-hardened visage of a goddess who had seen centuries of war and demanded the same strength from her followers. Her wings, though still beautiful in their sharpness, felt more like weapons than symbols of grace, ready to sever anything in her path.

Kale stared up at the statue, a chill running down his spine. This wasn't the Aeloria he had felt connected to—the radiant, compassionate figure who had appeared to him, who had chosen him. This version of the goddess seemed distant, merciless, embodying the brutal truths of war and survival. The chill that ran through him wasn't from fear but from the growing realization that he might not fully understand her. Was this another side of Aeloria? Or had his vision of her been something she allowed him to see, a fragment of the whole?

A quiet thought settled into his mind, one he couldn't quite shake. If this was her true form, could he live up to what she demanded? Had Aeloria really saved him out of mercy, or had he just told himself that because it was easier to believe? What if there had never been mercy at all—only purpose? Had she chosen him not to spare his life, but to turn him into her blade from the very start? Had she only shown him kindness to make sure he would follow? Had he ever really had a choice?

Rika stared at the massive statue. "She looks... intense."

"This is how they see Aeloria here," Liliana said. "Not as a mother or a guide, but as a symbol of raw power and unyielding resolve, a conqueror as much as a protector."

Kale couldn't tear his eyes away from the statue, his gaze locked on the cold, unrelenting visage of Aeloria. Liliana's words echoed in his mind: Not a mother or a guide, but a conqueror.

Was this truly how the people of Hekkaran saw her? Not as the radiant goddess who had inspired him, but as an unstoppable force, a being forged solely for battle? He had felt her warmth before, her light, but now, standing before this grim monument, he couldn't help but wonder again if he had only glimpsed a single facet of her. Could he carry the burden of her expectations, especially when he didn't fully understand them?

He felt a flicker of doubt creep into his chest, but he pushed it aside. Whatever the answer, the path was set. He had to walk it, no matter what.

They entered the heart of the temple, and at the far end of the room, in front of a smaller statue of Aeloria, sat a figure.

Morrgar Doomblade.

He was seated cross-legged on the floor, his back to them, deep in meditation. His armor mirrored that of Rothgar and the imposing statue of Aeloria—massive black plates, each surface battered and scarred by countless battles.

Kale couldn't help but stare at Morrgar's helmet. It was unlike anything he'd seen before, with six glowing blue orbs where eyes should be—two in the normal position and two on either side of the head. Does he actually have six eyes? Is that even possible?

Without looking up or breaking his meditation, Morrgar spoke, his voice quieter and calmer than Kale had expected. "Another bladeweaver? In Dreadstone."

Kale stepped forward. "Yes, I'm Kale. And you are Morrgar Doomblade."

Slowly, Morrgar turned. "You know my name, but do you know what it means to be here, in my presence?"

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Kale opened his mouth to respond, but his mind wandered almost immediately. Doomblade. Brakkan had said if you ever saw Morrgar's blade, you were already dead. Yet here he was, alive, and there wasn't a blade in sight. His eyes darted over Morrgar's imposing armor, looking for any hint of the mythical weapon. Was it hidden? Did it fold out somehow? Kale frowned. Or maybe… maybe it's invisible?

Kale froze. He just realized he hadn't really heard the question, hadn't been paying attention at all. But asking Morrgar to repeat himself felt… unwise. Trying to save face, he forced a nervous laugh. "Haha, yeah."

Morrgar's helmet tilted slightly. "What?" he asked, his voice flat.

"Wait," Kale blurted, his cheeks flushing. "What… uh… what did you say?"

Rika shook her head. "Smooth."

"Why are you here?" Morrgar asked.

"We're—" Kale started, only to hesitate as his curiosity got the better of him. "Where's your sword? Your doomblade."

Liliana sighed dramatically. "Kale," she muttered under her breath.

For a moment, silence filled the room, and then Morrgar turned to face him fully. "I am the blade."

Kale blinked, not entirely sure he understood, but something in Morrgar's tone made it clear that he wasn't going to explain further. He didn't dare ask any follow-up questions, even though confusion swirled in his mind. Instead, he simply nodded, hoping it was enough to avoid any further offense.

Morrgar's six glowing eyes seemed to bore into Kale, the silence stretching for a few tense moments before he spoke again.

"I am sure you are not here to ask me about my sword."

Kale shifted uncomfortably. "No," he replied quickly, clearing his throat. "We... we've come with a warning. Something that concerns all of us. It's about Xeroth."

At the mention of Xeroth, Morrgar's posture shifted slightly. "Xeroth," he repeated slowly. "It has been a long time since I've heard that name."

Liliana floated forward. "We've seen his corruption spreading. It's real. Rothgar refuses to believe it's a threat, but we've encountered it firsthand."

Morrgar's six glowing eyes remained fixed on Kale. "Who else knows?"

Kale exchanged a glance with Liliana before answering. "Sylorin and Brakkan Ironhand know. Brakkan told us to find you."

At the mention of Sylorin, Morrgar's posture shifted again, though this time it was more thoughtful than alarmed. His helmet tilted slightly as if he were recalling a distant memory. "Sylorin..." he said, taking a moment to respond. "Sylorin the Untouchable... He was there the last time Xeroth emerged. If Sylorin sent you, it must be serious indeed."

Morrgar stood up. "If Xeroth truly is back, you will need more than warnings to stop him." He took a step towards Kale. "You will need Rothgar's army."

"Rothgar already dismissed us. He doesn't believe Xeroth is a real threat," Kale said.

"Rothgar is a stubborn man, but his army... while most of them may not be bladeweavers, they are loyal. Fierce. And you will need them." He paused, letting his words sink in. "The last time our order fought Xeroth, it cost us everything."

"But Rothgar," Morrgar continued, "has plenty of reasons not to fight. He is locked in a war with the Izawac, and his focus is there. You will not convince him of Xeroth's threat with words alone."

Kale's brow furrowed. "So what are we supposed to do?"

"You have two options, brother. The first: win the war for him, which likely means destroying the Izawac—no small feat, but it will earn you his attention."

Kale's chest tightened. Destroying the Izawac? That wasn't strategy, it was slaughter. His mind filled with images of villages reduced to ash, of innocent lives taken by his hand. The sheer scale of the devastation being proposed, spoken so casually, made his stomach turn. It wasn't just the thought of the act itself, it was the realization of what he might become if he carried it out. There had to be another way.

"And the second option?" Kale asked, his voice quieter now, hoping desperately that it didn't involve the massacre of an entire people.

"Make Aeloria acknowledge Rothgar again. He was once among her most trusted champions, her blade in the darkest hours. But for reasons known only to Rothgar and the goddess, she has been silent to him for many years. If she were to speak to him again, it might stir him to action."

Kale shifted uncomfortably. Involving himself in something so deeply personal between a goddess and a man as terrifying as Rothgar felt dangerous, almost sacrilegious. Yet, as daunting as it was, the alternative made his stomach churn. Committing genocide wasn't just unthinkable, it was unforgivable. For all the risks and unknowns of trying to mend what had broken between Rothgar and Aeloria, it was the lesser of two evils by far.

"Even if you manage one of those," Morrgar continued, "you will still have to convince the other generals. Rothgar may command this fortress, but not all bladeweavers answer to him."

"Rothgar is one of the bladeweaver generals?" Kale asked. He couldn't wrap his head around it. The idea of Rothgar leading more than just this fortress felt overwhelming, almost absurd. Brakkan had seemed intense, but Rothgar was something else entirely. There was a ruthlessness to him, a cold, calculated menace that radiated from the man. The thought of someone like Rothgar commanding armies of bladeweavers felt both terrifying and unstoppable.

Morrgar's eyes locked onto Kale. "Of course he is," he said, his tone almost dismissive, as though the question itself was naive. "Rothgar commands more than just Dreadstone, his army is the largest of all the generals. And when he chooses to fight... even gods tremble. He is not like the others. His ways..." Morrgar paused for a moment, his voice taking on a more somber note. "Aeloria does not approve."

The words hung in the air like a warning, and Kale felt his stomach tighten. Rothgar wasn't just a general, he was a force, a storm that even gods acknowledged. The thought of convincing someone like him, someone so immense in power and presence, felt insurmountable. But the mention of Aeloria's disapproval lingered in his mind. What kind of methods could drive a wedge between a goddess and her champion? And what did it mean for their chances of success?

Morrgar's gaze didn't waver. "Rothgar's ways are his own. To sway him, you must understand that power does not move him. He serves, but his loyalty lies in his own interpretation of what it means to protect this world. You tread on a knife's edge, young bladeweaver. One misstep, and he'll see you as nothing more than a hindrance."

"Soooo, all we have to do is commit genocide or convince a god to forgive someone she's forsaken?" Rika asked. "Finally, an easy task!"

Liliana let out a soft sigh.

Morrgar, however, remained unfazed. His six glowing eyes focused on them, utterly unmoved by Rika's attempt at levity. "Neither path will be easy, but those are your choices. Anything less, and you are doomed to fail."

Rika crossed her arms, looking at Kale. "Well, Kale, do you feel like having a little talk with Aeloria, or do you feel like killing thousands of people?"

"I guess," Kale muttered, "I'll take my chances with the scary guy and the goddess."

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