As I stepped into the cave, the stench of blood struck me like a physical blow, thick and suffocating, clinging to my skin and filling my lungs. This place had once been a sacred graveyard, a resting ground blessed by the Sea of Unity, where the dead were meant to sleep without resentment or pain. Now it felt like the throat of hell itself, a place where suffering had been stretched thin and played like a cruel instrument.
Screams echoed from every direction, desperate pleas folding over one another, bouncing endlessly off warped stone. It was not just sound, it was emotion, fear compressed so tightly that even the walls seemed to tremble.
The cave should not have been this large.
By design, the Caves of Peace were narrow and shallow, meant to prevent territorial expansion and large-scale rituals. But the demons had twisted space itself, layering extension magic again and again until the interior had become a labyrinth, folding inward like a stomach digesting souls.
Undead shapes lurched out of the shadows as I walked forward, bones scraping stone, hollow eyes burning with borrowed malice. They never reached me.
Each step I took spread ice beneath my feet, not violently, not explosively, but calmly, decisively. Frost crawled across the ground, climbed the walls, kissed the corpses, and then—
Shattered.
Everything collapsed into fine white dust, erased so completely that even resentment could not linger.
I did not hurry.
A god rushing is a god who has already lost.
At the far end of the cave, where the corrupted stone met the shimmering waters of the Sea of Unity, stood an altar so drenched in blood that its original color was impossible to guess. Bodies were piled atop it, twisted together in death, eyes wide open as if accusing the world for allowing this to happen.
I stopped.
I am the God of Ice, a being of stillness and preservation, yet something burned behind my ribs, hot and unfamiliar. Fury, perhaps. Or shame.
These were my people.
And I was late.
A faint sound reached me then, barely audible beneath the lingering screams.
Breathing.
I turned.
On instinct alone, I raised my hand and whispered, "Shatter."
The wall separating the chamber exploded outward, fragments suspended in the air for a brief moment before collapsing. Beyond it lay a smaller room bathed in dim bluish-white light, tainted with divine residue.
Chains hung from the ceiling.
A girl was bound among them.
Golden hair, once bright, now clumped together in a blood-soaked braid. Corpses were suspended above her like obscene decorations, their blood dripping slowly, rhythmically, onto her skin. Her chest rose and fell weakly, each breath a victory wrestled from death itself.
Her eyes fluttered open as I approached.
"North… Frozenlight?" she whispered.
I frowned. Very few spoke a god's name without fear or reverence. Fewer still did so while half-dead.
"Please," she said, her voice trembling but stubbornly clear, "save me… and the women sealed on the other side. Destroy the altar before it's too late."
Before I could ask anything, she lifted one shaking hand and pointed weakly toward a bare stone wall, then her body went limp.
I caught her before she could fall.
She was lighter than she should have been.
I broke the chains with a twist of my fingers and carried her where she had indicated. The wall looked solid, unremarkable, untouched by magic. That alone was suspicious.
Trusting her words, I released a controlled burst of divinity.
The wall shattered.
Dark runes burned briefly in the air, etched with the divine essence of Sloth before collapsing into nothing. The moment the barrier fell, understanding settled in my mind like frost.
Sloth's authority had dulled my senses, wrapped the space in lethargy and concealment. Combined with Ice, another suppressive force, it had created a veil almost impossible to pierce unless one knew exactly what to look for.
Beyond the wall stood a cage.
A man lay dead beside it, his chest torn open, blood long since dried. Inside, dozens of people were trapped, some unconscious, some screaming, some simply staring at nothing, their minds already fractured.
When they saw me, reactions rippled through the group.
Reverence.
Relief.
Fear.
Resentment.
Hope, fragile and dangerous.
A woman crawled toward the dead man, her hands trembling as she clutched his body. She looked up at me, tears streaking her face.
"Please… save my husband," she begged. "He's a devoted follower of yours, my lord. Please."
Another woman spoke softly from the shadows, her voice shaking but controlled.
"My Eternal Lord… she's lost her reason. Please forgive her words. He died protecting her and their unborn child."
I knelt.
I looked at the man who had no divine power, no training, no strength beyond what fear and love had given him. He had stood against a demon knowing he would die.
Philosophers argue endlessly about courage. Some say it is the absence of fear. Others say it is acting despite it.
They are all wrong.
Courage is choosing to protect something knowing you will not survive the choice.
I met the grieving woman's eyes.
"Your husband is dead," I said gently. "He died protecting you. He died as a father, shielding his world."
She screamed.
"Brave?" she shouted, her voice breaking. "He was a coward! He couldn't hurt a fly! He promised me we'd go to the capital, promised he'd never leave me alone! He lied! He's not brave ,he's a liar!"
Grief is not polite.
It does not bow before gods.
Before despair could drive her to harm herself or the child she carried, I placed my hand on her forehead and released a thread of divinity. She slumped into sleep, tears still clinging to her lashes.
The others recoiled.
Speaking against a god was treason.
Punishable by death.
"Do not fear," I said calmly. "She lives. I merely spared her from breaking herself."
I handed the unconscious golden-haired girl to one of the women, instructing her quietly. With a single gesture, I transported them all to safety, far from this cursed place.
As they vanished, another presence brushed against my senses.
Raka.
Far behind me, laughter echoed through the cave, bright and sharp.
"Hey, North," his voice rang faintly through the divine link, "good news. Bad news. Good news first,I'm having fun."
A pause, then cheerfully, "Bad news, there are a lot of them. Like, annoyingly a lot."
Another explosion of light and frost rippled through the tunnels.
"Good news again," he added. "They're not going anywhere."
I turned back toward the altar room.
No matter the cost.
No matter the stain.
Gods who refuse to save cannot complain when mortals stop praying.
And I refused.