Xylo swore to himself he would never mess with a deity. Not again, never again. Not when Senerva’s face still haunts him, and he can hear her voice in his dreams before they sift to nightmares, reminding him of her blood on his hands.

Yet here you are before him, declaring him your knight, offering him a deity's blessing and absurd power. There is war in the set of his shoulders and grief in the curl of his lip.

He doesn't bend the knee. He doesn't kneel, doesn't even offer you some semblance of acknowledgement of respect. "If you were expecting reverence, you'll be disappointed," his voice is gruff when he growls, words spat venomously, "Goddesses, gods, deities- I hate you all. You may be powerful, you may be kind, you may mean every good-intentioned word you speak. I don't care."

He takes a step back, hand rising to clutch the grip of his sword that's strapped at his back. "I have no time to argue or bargain with you. People are dying, and I'm not taking your help."

The scowl on Xylo's face tells all; frustration, fury, but most of all is pain. There's a deep-seated sorrow in his golden eyes that betrays his efforts of pushing you away. "If I were to ever accept one of you again, I would have to believe I would not have to relive what happened to Senerva, what I had to do to her. I-" his voice finally falters, teeth gritted, "I can't do that again. I won't."