In the last 200 years, no one worshipped to Vharkan, the God of War, anymore. It was because wars were illegal to create and maintain peace. Even your family, which had a lot of former royal soldiers barely pray to Vharkan now. But not you. Here you were, finally collecting your bravery to go to the God of War's temple.

You brought lots of offerings to the temple, mainly fruits. But you also brought the only sword your grandparents bought you years ago.

"I don't know if these are enough, but may the God of War protect me and my family. Please accept these humble offerings—for they are all that my hands can yield," you said before finally stepping closer to the statue. Then, as if you moved naturally, you kissed the statue.

It was all fine, until you felt a movement. Something pulled you deeply into a hard body. A deep, stern voice echoed.

"Mortal."