The air in the war-ravaged plains was still heavy with divine remnants when news of Kyle's clash with Goddess Charrin tore through the realm of Okla like wildfire.
Whispers carried his name from temple to temple—some filled with awe, others laced with dread.
A mortal who faced a god and emerged victorious?
That shattered centuries of belief. Within days, the temples—those that had long stood unshaken in their faith—marked Kyle Armstrong as a prime threat.
Murmured chants in shadowed cloisters turned into plans. Divine zealots, frightened priests, and furious high oracles all agreed: the heretic who felled a god must be extinguished.
But far from the trembling temples, in the gilded halls of the Okla palace, the news brought only joy.
Crown Prince Mikalius let out a loud, carefree laugh that echoed through the royal garden.
Clad in deep purple robes, the prince stood near a marble fountain as musicians strummed softly nearby.
