The infirmary tent was quiet, lit with soft, floating lanterns and spells of warmth and stillness. Outside, the night was thick with the aftermath of battle—burnt air, distant sobs, and the groaning of sleep troubled knights. But inside, the world shrunk down to a single cot.
Arasha lay there, pale beneath the gauze and linen, her chest rising and falling shallowly. The golden warmth of divine healing magic flickered over her body—but again and again, it faltered.
"Damn it… why won't it hold…"
The senior medic, Leta, hovered over her with a mixture of intense frustration and deep sorrow. She was a tall, blue-haired woman in healer's robes laced with ancient glyphs, and she was furious in that way only someone who cared too much could be.
She pressed another sigil to Arasha's chest, watched as it sparked... then dimmed.
"Her divine channels are strained—frayed. Every time she uses her blessing like that, it eats at her life thread."
Leta pursed her lips and her fist clenched.
"I told her… I told her if she pushed beyond the tether again—!"
She slammed the table, startling the apprentice scribes nearby.
Then, after a breath, her shoulders sank.
"But gods help me… I've never been prouder of the stubborn fool."
Leta sat beside the cot, brushing a loose strand of dark hair from Arasha's face.
"You save the realm. Then almost let yourself die again doing it. One day… you won't wake up. And I don't think the world realizes what they'll lose."
Her voice broke at the end, but she didn't let the tears fall.
****
A stillness swept through the continent. The air, heavy with the scent of damp earth and burning torches, suddenly crackled with unseen power. Every Awakened froze in place, their eyes widening as an ethereal presence bore down on them.
Then, it began.
The gods stirred.
The Awakened, scattered across the region—still recovering from the Culling's first blow—began to report hearing the same thing:
A voice—not one, but many, layered atop one another—resounded through their minds. Deep like the roots of the world, sharp like the mountain winds, and vast like the starry abyss above.
"The Great Upheaval approaches. The test of your kind's very existence looms on the horizon."
Gasps and cries filled the air as Awakened collapsed to their knees, clutching their heads.
"You who have been gifted power must now prove your worth."
The voices varied, shifting between warmth and cruelty, between divine grace and cold indifference. Each god spoke to their chosen, and each demanded sacrifice.
For some, the price was **their memories—**entire pieces of their past, erased. Their loves, their joys, their families—forgotten, so they might grow stronger.
For others, it was **their bodies—**offering their sight, their voice, even their humanity to ascend. To become something more than mortal.
Some were asked for blood, not just their own but the blood of those who wronged them. Vengeance made into power.
Others were given choices so cruel that no answer was free of suffering.
****
The sterile scent of herbs and sanctified incense lingered in the air, gently disturbed by the flap of canvas as a breeze rolled through the ward. Arcane light pooled over the motionless figure on the cot.
Then—
A slow, pained inhale.
Arasha's fingers twitched, gripping the blanket over her midsection. Her eyelashes fluttered, then opened with a sharp, focused gleam that chased the haze from her gaze far too quickly.
"Where… what's the status of the Awakened?" she rasped.
Her voice, dry but unmistakably clear, cut through the silence.
A sharp gasp followed, and Sir Garran, was at her side in an instant.
"Commander!" Sir Garran exclaimed, fully recovered thanks to the divine healing of Leta. A great contrast to his commander, who looks worse than a corpse at the moment.
"You're awake—! Just stay down, please. You need—" Sir Garran pleaded.
"No," she interrupted, already trying to sit up, hand pressed to her side where the healing magic hadn't quite finished its work. "The summons. I heard it even while unconscious. The gods… they're calling for sacrifice."
Sir Garran moved to push her down, but she was already bracing herself with grit and strength unbefitting someone freshly saved from death.
"Damn it, Arasha—you died on us for three whole minutes!"
Her real name—used like a slap.
She turned to him, her expression soft but immovable.
"And I'll do it again if it means no one else has to."
Before Sir Garran could argue further, a shadow loomed over them both.
Leta stood at the foot of her cot, arms crossed, an icy look in her storm-grey eyes.
"If you try to walk out of that bed, Commander, I swear on every saint and spirit I've ever served, I will chain you to it."
Arasha didn't blink.
"Then keep the chains ready. But listen—we don't have time. The Awakened are being pulled into something they're not prepared to face. The gods ask for things no mortal should surrender lightly, and most of them don't even understand the weight."
Leta narrowed her eyes. "And you think you do?"
Arasha nodded. "I don't need divine insight to know the cost of blind faith. We've been there before."
The silence that followed was tight with memories none of them wanted to name.
With a long sigh, Leta relented—only slightly. "Then you plan from here. In bed. No battlefield charges. No blessing overuse. Or I leave and you find yourself with field medics who answer to me."
Arasha gave her a grateful nod, already reaching for the documents laid on the nearby table, a folded map and military scrolls passed from Kael in her absence.
"Speaking of which," she said quietly, scanning over the reports, "send Kael to me. We have work to do."
Kael, already just a meter away, heard Arasha.
Kael entered with slow, reluctant steps—his coat still blood-stained from the Culling, hair dusted with ash, eyes more tired than they'd been in weeks.
"You should be resting," he said simply.
Arasha sighed faintly. "You sound like Sir Garran and Leta. Should I be flattered you're growing predictable?"
He huffed, but a reluctant smile tugged at his mouth. "I thought I'd be the reckless one in this dynamic. You've made that impossible."
"Reckless? I would like to think I'm pragmatic instead." Arasha countered.
This time, it was Kael who sighed with a faint smile.
He approached the table, seeing the plans already forming.
"You knew about the divine summons?"
She nodded. "Felt it even while unconscious. The gods aren't subtle when they want something."
Kael sat beside her, frowning.
"This wasn't supposed to happen yet. I thought we had more time before the sacrificial blessing route triggered. But something's changed... this timeline isn't stable anymore."
Arasha looked up at him. Already guessed that Kael's blessing of foresight was at play once more.
"Then help me give the Awakened another option. One that keeps their humanity intact. We can't stop the gods from calling—but we can help people face it with clarity. Not fear."
Kael leaned forward, scanning the map. "We'll need public reassurance campaigns. Clerics who can explain the true meaning of sacrifice, not just the flowery nonsense." He hesitated. "Some will still choose to offer themselves."
"Then let them do so informed. Willingly. But we'll build the sanctuary into a school too. A place to learn—not just to kneel."
Arasha reached out, gently placed her hand over Kael's wrist.
"You'll lead the structure. I'll authorize the command."
He stared at her—her pale skin, the fire that still burned in her gaze.
"You just woke up from nearly dying. And here you are, rebuilding faith."
She smiled.
"Because if I don't... who will?"
Kaelen lowered his head for a moment, then nodded. He knew she was right—even with all his cheats he couldn't do what she could.
"Alright, Commander. Let's give your people a better path."
After Kael left, Arasha went back working on things that needed urgent attention.
Her mind was still on the awakened ones' situation.
She had worked so hard to keep the Awakened free—to build a sanctuary where they wouldn't be used. But now… the gods had made their move.
Arasha's hands trembled. She hated this.
She hated that she couldn't stop it.
But she knew.
She couldn't save them all.
And worse—she couldn't fight this alone.
Based on Kael's report and her hunch, the rifts danger will only be growing beyond the world's limits.
The upgraded Awakened would be necessary.
She clenched her jaw. No matter how much she despised it… she had no choice.
And that truth made her blood boil.
****
The halls of the temporary base had long fallen quiet, echoes of footsteps and whispered prayers fading into the walls as moonlight poured in from high-set windows.
Arasha stood at the edge of one of the canyons, wind gently tugging at her cloak, the lights of the fireflies flickering below the river shore like dying stars. Her hands clenched, though the tremor in them betrayed her exhaustion. Her magic was low. Her body was aching. And still, she stood.
A sudden voice cut through the silence.
"How long do you intend to keep killing yourself for us, Commander?"
Leta, the head medic, strode into view, cloak unfastened and hair tied hastily. No longer in her usual pristine white robes—this time, they shimmered with faint threads of gold, a telltale sign of divine favor.
Arasha didn't turn.
"Is that why you came? To scold me again?"
"No," Leta said. "To tell you, I sacrificed my humanity yesterday."
Silence.
Arasha slowly turned to face her, her eyes narrowing.
"You… what?"
Leta stepped forward, gaze unflinching. "I accepted the gods' offer. My body, my soul—it's no longer fully mine."
She held up a hand, glowing softly with a strange light that pulsed not like magic, but divine will. Power radiated from her. Not wild or destructive, but weighty. Sacred. Ancient.
"Why?" Arasha asked, her voice cracking just slightly.
"Because I needed more power," Leta said firmly, voice rising. "To heal you. To stop you from dying the next time you decide everyone else matters more than yourself."
Arasha blinked, stepping back, suddenly breathless. "You… you shouldn't have. That wasn't—"
"My choice? Yes, it was. You say no one should be forced into these decisions without understanding the cost. Well, I did. I made that choice with full knowledge of what it meant. And I'll do it again, Commander. Because I can't watch you throw yourself away anymore."
Her voice faltered at the last words. She hadn't meant to sound so raw.
"You're part of the family. The Scion Order family," she added, quieter now. "And the only one who can make this world better."
"You shouldn't believe in me like that," Arasha murmured, her voice raw, "I'm not—"
"You are, Commander" came another voice.
Sir Garran had walked close to Arasha. He looked tired, but resolute.
"You may not see it, but we do. All of us. And if we have to sacrifice parts of ourselves to keep you standing—then so be it. You taught us to fight for something greater. Let us fight for you too."
The weight of their words broke something inside her.
Arasha pressed a hand to her chest as if to keep her heart from falling apart.
"I never wanted any of you to make that kind of choice…"
"Too late," Leta declared gently. "Now let us carry you, for once."
There was silence again—different this time. Not the silence of exhaustion, but one filled with something warmer, deeper. Trust. Grief. Hope.
"Thank you," she whispered. "I'll try… to let you in. To let you help."
Her voice cracked again.
"But promise me... none of you will sacrifice yourselves for me again."
Leta shook her head.
"No, Commander. You don't get to make that rule anymore."
She turned before they could see the moisture gathering in her eyes, walking away with newfound determination.
But as she left, the heavens above stirred.
Fate love a heroic tale.
And adores tragedy.
And so, in the Great Upheaval, it would still be her—
Who would pay the greatest price, no matter how much others fight to change it so.