Korgath, the young barbarian, couldn't stop smiling. And why would he stop? He was in the hands of his father! How long had it been since he heard his father's voice, not to mention being embraced and carried by him?

He was simply overjoyed!

And to top it off, his grandmother was happily humming along with them as she carried their share of food with her.

Although they had already eaten, wasn't that in the evening? The chief had ordered another round of cooking to celebrate the newly released, and now they were going home with hot potato tubers and roasted meat to warm their bellies.

What could be a happier moment than that? Korgath thought as his father carried him into their home.

"It's good to be back." His father smiled faintly as he looked around. Two flat straw beds in one corner, a chair, and a table made up their home, with some cooking pots and plants in another corner.

"Father, you've been gone for so long! See, you're even thinner than I am!" Korgath scolded his father.

His father laughed, crouched beside him, and ruffled his hair. "Indeed. Sorry for that, Korgath. I didn't mean to take this long, but the people of that Winged tribe didn't let me go. And in the end, I didn't even bring anything. We should thank the chief for bringing us back."

The little boy shook his head. "The chief said it was the god! Grandmother said we have no gods, that if we did, we wouldn't be hungry. But now that we have a god, we won't go hungry anymore, right? And you won't disappear again!"

The father grimaced, and his dark eyes grew a bit darker. As a warrior, he was naturally skeptical about the things Galthor said, even though he couldn't deny what he saw.

Warriors had it worse. All their lives, they had seen what other races with gods were able to do—how they advanced and progressed. But for them, without a god, their limits had already been set.

"Yes, yes. The chief won't let us go hungry." The father smiled and then added in his mind, "...for a while."

Korgath nodded happily but then frowned to himself as he tried to remember something. "Unchanging Warth! That's his name! I'll pray to him before I sleep! He should make my father stronger! That way, nobody would dare hold him again!"

His father ruffled his hair again. "Thank you, Korgath! Now come have some meat. You're still growing!"

The family had their food, shared some happy moments, and prepared to sleep.

But before Korgath allowed them to tuck him into bed, he struggled free and went to his knees, his young face frowning seriously. "Father... how does one pray?"

The father was stumped by this. How did one pray? How in the Abyssal was he supposed to know? But surely, he couldn't say that to his son, right? So he turned to his own parent. "Mother, how does one pray?"

The grandmother laughed. "Well, we've never had a god, and besides, aren't we barbarians? Just do it how you would do things! Talk to him!"

The father blinked and then sighed. "Why don't you do it like when we warriors are about to go to war and we ask our chief to bless us with victory?"

With his father's explanation, young Korgath went to one knee, his left palm on his chest while his right was raised in imitation of holding a sword. "Unchanging Warth!... eh?"

He didn't know what to add.

His grandmother frowned and then shrugged. "Just follow what I do and say your tribute later."

Gods usually had tributes or standard words that their followers would speak before saying their prayers. As none knew the one for the new barbarian god, the grandmother came up with one so that her grandson could sleep.

It was a combination of stories she heard from her own grandmother and what she thought a barbarian god should be.

His eyes were closed and his right fist clenched tight. He began to speak after his grandmother. "Unchanging Warth, breaker of chains. You are the one with the everlasting anger of the lost ones. Hear me, lord of carnage and master of the mountains. Hear me, everlasting anger!"

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And it came to pass that the first prayer Galthor would ever hear came from young Korgath. His heart was pure and filled with sincerity; he already believed Unchanging Warth to be his god, and thus, his prayers reached Galthor.

"...and master of the mountains. Hear me, everlasting anger!"

The words tumbled into Galthor's mind like a soft murmur. He didn't actually hear the voice as if it were coming from a speaker. Instead, it was a combination of intent and emotion.

Galthor felt his connection to Korgath instantly, and it was the brightest he had ever seen. His new worshipper seemed to believe in him wholeheartedly.

"...so thank you! Please let my father have the strength to keep coming back to me and for him to return to his full strength! Keep providing us with food to warm our bellies and give my grandmother the strength to heal her aching bones!"

Galthor smiled. "My first prayer, not so bad. You are the first one to pray to me, Korgath. I'll keep an eye on you. And your prayers... I'll see what I can do!"

But Korgath wasn't the only one to pray that night. More and more came in, all of them with their own unique tributes and ways. But the one that shocked Galthor the most was Grimvar.

"...Isn't this guy the most skeptical? Why is he praying to me? Wait, why does his prayer appear so sincere that I can even hear it?"

Galthor frowned and realized that Grimvar was already his worshipper.

He didn't understand, so he reached into their connection and searched Grimvar's mind, and what he found left him amused.

Grimvar did not technically believe in him, Unchanging Warth, but he believed in whatever made Galthor powerful—and thus, he believed in Unchanging Warth.

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