"If you had one chance, one opportunity, to break the curse on our people in one moment,"
"Will you capture it or just let it slip?"
Ragnar held the gaze of the elder, feeling like he was staring into a cold, unforgiving lake.
There was only one answer to that question.
He opened his mouth. "I'd capture it."
The elder gave a single nod, already expecting the answer.
This was the same answer that every youth born of the Forsaken had given since the dawn of the trials.
It had started hundreds of years ago.
Their people had once thrived among the rest of humanity, until the gods turned their backs on them, afflicting them with a divine curse.
The curse of the Forsaken.
They had been cut off from the power of divinity and driven to the lower planes, where the sun doesn't shine.
After hundreds upon hundreds of years, all that was left was a dying people that only knew the fantastical stories that had been passed down orally from their parents and their parent's parents.
Stories of a ball of light in the sky called the Sun.
Stories of the gods walking among humans.
Stories of a time before they'd been abandoned.
And the way to break the curse upon them was simple.
They had to kill the gods.
But how could they kill the gods if they couldn't even access their divinity?
"Stand, Ragnar Iverson." The elder's voice rumbled. "Stand and begin your trial."
Ragnar gave a single nod, before rising to his feet.
He turned, walking out of the small shrine.
Outside, the wind blew, sending motes of snow flying around.
Ragnar's cloak flapped in the wind as he kept walking, not even looking back.
He already knew what was behind him. It was Alfgard, his hometown.
As was the custom among the Forsaken, once a child reaches 16 years of age, he or she must journey to the temple of their fallen god and pay their respects.
This was their coming of age trial.
If they can survive the journey, they would be considered an adult.
The trial was not easy, but it wasn't hard.
The Forsaken lived on a dark plane called the Wastes.
The plane was so useless that even monsters rarely venture into this plane.
Food rarely grew, and all that existed was the endless cold. And the Forsaken, of course.
Ragnar held his head high as he walked.
His eyes were fixed on the mountain ahead of him.
The journey would take a night cycle, and he would arrive at the temple.
He placed his hand on the comforting weight of the axe looped through his belt.
Then he looked up at the perpetual night that blanketed the sky.
'I wonder what the sun looks like.'
He sighed, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.
Time passed, and his only companions were the sounds of his own footsteps.
He occasionally took sips of water from the canteen strapped to the other side of his belt.
Apart from the axe on his waist, the only weapon he had was the wooden shield strapped to his back.
Motes of snow kept blowing, the cold seeping deeply into his bones.
But through all this, his eyes were fixed on the temple as it grew closer and closer.
Ragnar had no idea who had built the temple, but he knew that the current Forsaken cannot build a structure as grand as it.
The temple was tall and had been built into the mountain, with only its entrance sticking out.
Tall columns stood in a row before the temple, holding up the pieces of the mountain that served as the roof.
Ragnar was so focused on trying to make out the door that led inside that he almost didn't catch the sound.
He ducked instinctively, pulling the shield off his back, and something sailed through the air where his head had been.
His eyes widened as he turned to face the shadow, his axe already in his hands.
'What the…'
He couldn't see what had attacked him clearly as it tumbled down the mountain, but he didn't need to see it to know what it was.
'A monster?!'
He didn't need to be told what to do.
He turned, running as fast as he could towards the temple.
One of the reasons the Forsaken could survive so long in the Wastes was because monsters rarely came down into this plane.
And they were much stronger than normal humans.
If he faced the monster alone, he would die!
His breath grew heavier as he drew closer to the temple.
'Almost there!'
As he ran, his shield slowed him down, but he didn't dare to discard it.
Not as the sound of paws padding on earth reached his ears.
'The monster caught up!'
As he ran, he turned, swinging his shield and just in time.
The wooden shield shattered as dark claws impacted it, sending Ragnar flying.
His back impacted the stone steps of the temple and there was a crack as one his ribs shattered.
He coughed, sending blood spattering over the snow covered floor.
He scrambled to his feet, trying to run into the temple, when claws landed on his knee.
"AAAAARRRGGHHHH!"
His scream filled the air as his leg was severed at the knee.
He didn't care.
With his hands and his remaining leg, he scrambled up between the columns and through the open doors of the temple.
Unseen by him, his divinity was in a battle of his own.
[Welcome to the Temple of The Allfather.]
[Notification blocked by the Curse of the Forsaken.]
The temple opened up to a vast hall, and sitting in the middle with stairs on all four sides was an altar.
That was his destination.
He could hear the sounds of the monster gobbling up his leg, but all his focus was on getting to the altar.
He stumbled to the ground, the strength rapidly leaving his body.
He heard a growl and looked back, coughing blood.
His heart hammered in his chest and all he could hear was the roar of his blood as it passed through his veins.
Leading away from him to the monster was a trail of blood from his severed leg.
Now, he could see the monster.
It stood on four legs and possessed fiery red eyes.
Below its eyes was a large snout that was opened to reveal sharp teeth.
Drool dribbled down its opened mouth like it was savoring its meal.
But the scary part was the fact that Ragnar could not tell where the monster ended and where the night began.
The monster's outline was hazy as it stood against the open door, darkness seeping out of its skin.
He kept scrambling back, until his hands hit the steps. He climbed them on all fours, until he was in the middle of the altar.
The monster stalked forward, assured of its victory.
Ragnar's hand went to his waist, finding nothing.
He'd dropped his axe somewhere between the trail and the altar.
His eyes were wide and he knew that his death was already assured.
"N— No." He muttered to himself.
The monster leapt into the air, and Ragnar's mind went wild.
"NO!"
He dived to the side, refusing to accept death.
The monster landed on the altar and the world exploded.
Fragments of stone exploded in every direction, some cutting into Ragnar and drawing blood.
He could not believe the sight in front of him.
The monster had been blown away by the explosion, and hovering in the air above the shattered altar was a drop of golden blood.
The blood shone with its own light, radiating an aura of Authority.
It could not be mistaken as anything else.
This was the blood of a god.
Ragnar didn't know when he moved or how he got himself in front of the drop of blood.
All he knew was that he was drawn to the blood by a force he couldn't recognize and his body moved on its own, taking him to the altar.
Blood dribbled down the cut on his cheek as he reached out, seizing the blood with one hand.
The moment he made contact with it, something sizzled inside him, like he was standing before a barrier made of vast energy.
Without thinking twice, he brought the blood to his mouth and swallowed it.
[SYSTEM ERROR: UNREGISTERED ENTITY DETECTED!]