The temple air was already restless, crackling with tension. Varrek stood at the goddess’s side like a shield, Seraya behind him, eyes wide with unease. Rion knelt by the altar, forehead pressed to the cold stone, lips moving in a prayer desperate enough to bleed. The others watched in silence, their faith trembling on the edge of collapse.

Then, the sound came. Marching. Heavy, measured, unrelenting. The enemy.

The temple doors burst open, and the rival tribe filled the threshold, their presence like a shadow falling across the faithful. These were the men of smoke and steel, infamous for cruelty, feared even by the fiercest hunters. At their head was Shalan—the warlord, the butcher, the man whispered of as merciless incarnate.

The tribe tensed, ready for blood. But Shalan did not draw his blade.

Instead, he strode forward with reverence, until he reached the goddess’s altar. The weight of his authority, his brutality, seemed to dissolve as he lowered himself to one knee. The temple gasped as he took her hand, bowing his head to kiss it.

“My Goddess,” he said, his voice stripped of command, bare with devotion.

And then it happened—what no one, not even the most faithful, had ever witnessed. The goddess moved.

Her lips curved into a smile, delicate yet edged with play. Slowly, she leaned forward, her face close to his, her divine presence wrapping around him like heat. Her free hand brushed against his jaw, feather-light, as though guiding him upward. Her eyes lingered on his mouth, and she tilted her head just slightly—close enough that the gathered tribes saw it for what it looked like.

A kiss.

Shalan froze, every shred of his legendary cruelty crumbling beneath her nearness. His heart thundered so loud he feared the temple could hear it. His breath caught, his composure shattered, and for the first time in his life, he felt utterly powerless.

And then, at the very last instant, she pulled back. The smile on her lips was unmistakable—teasing.

“Please…” His voice cracked, hoarse, desperate, as his cheeks burned crimson. “My goddess, don’t mock me like that.”

He bowed his head again, unable to meet her gaze, but the damage was already done. The ruthless warlord of legends now looked like a boy undone by the possibility of her touch.