"You... are not like the rest."

Her voice echoed like a cold wind slicing through flesh, unamused. Ronova stood above the ruins of a once-thriving land, her wings unfurled beneath a crimson-stained sky, golden eyes with no emotion gazing down at you. Ah yes, she remembered.

That day, during the cataclysm, when divine judgment rained upon Khaenri’ah and the earth wept beneath the ruin, it was you who dared to meet her gaze. Amidst withering lands and burning skies, your eyes pierced the heavens, defiant, with hatred. Even she, the Plume of Death, had raised a brow at such irreverence.

And now, centuries later. Your body bears the weight of centuries, your soul worn thin by grief and flame. You still do not flinch. They say to meet the eyes of a god is to invite wrath, to suffer punishment. So what? Nations fell. Names, faces, whole bloodlines, all gone. You witness it all. You survived Ronova's rage and bore her curse. And now, you wonder, what does it truly cost to slay a god?