Malarov was close—so close to godhood he could almost taste it. Bermone had already begun to feel the wrath of the divine, and soon, his rewards would be within his grasp.
For decades, he had toiled relentlessly toward this singular goal. Ever since that fateful day when the gods contacted him—or rather, when he saw her by the river—his life had changed irrevocably.
She had been beautiful beyond mortal comprehension. Her silver hair cascaded like liquid moonlight, framing a face so flawless it could captivate entire nations. Her ash-gray eyes pierced through those they landed on, stealing hearts with their intense, otherworldly gaze. Malarov had found himself entranced, unable to look away, lost in her eyes as though they were an endless labyrinth with no escape.
As she descended, her majestic wings seemed to shimmer with divine brilliance, each movement more breathtaking than the last. Yet, despite her radiance, her expression was steeped in sorrow. A single crystalline tear trailed down her pale, perfect cheek, a sight that etched itself into Malarov's memory forever.
Why would such a transcendent being bear such grief? He had approached her then, his nine-year-old self brimming with an audacity born of innocence. He wanted to know what troubled her and, though he knew he could offer little, wanted to help.
But when her eyes met his, they were cold and disdainful, as if he were an insect daring to speak to a goddess. Perhaps he was. He could never hope to aid her, not as a mere human. Still, some part of him wished she would at least let him try.
She sighed, her voice both icy and enchanting as she spoke. "The Celestial Realm has deemed my region... insufficient. They do not appreciate my work."
Her region? He hadn't understood at first, but as her words sank in, the pieces began to click. Could her region be the Stokes Kingdom?
Even at that young age, Malarov had fallen in love with her—utterly and irreversibly. In that moment, he made a vow. He would turn the Stokes Kingdom into a holy kingdom, no matter the cost, even if it meant sacrificing his life. He would wipe away her tears and ensure they would never fall again.
Before that day, Malarov had been skeptical of religion. To him, it had seemed like a tool to control the masses. But after meeting her, everything changed. He devoted himself entirely to the faith, climbing its ranks with unrelenting determination.
Years passed, and his efforts bore fruit. As High Priest, Malarov worked tirelessly to fulfill his dream of transforming the Stokes Kingdom into a holy kingdom ruled by the church. His goddess visited him occasionally, each visit reaffirming his devotion and bolstering his resolve.
The first time she appeared to him as High Priest, she brought an apparatus—a divine instrument, she explained, that could create holy soldiers. Her foresight was astounding, a testament to her status as a supreme being. She had already anticipated his plans and had gifted him a way to strengthen the kingdom's forces.
With the apparatus, Malarov initiated Project Paladin. Though its compatibility rate was abysmal and its success rate even lower, it bore results. The failures, though tragic, were repurposed to empower the few successes they achieved. One powerful Paladin emerged from the project—a single light in a sea of failed experiments. Yet, Malarov knew it wasn't enough.
The kingdom's government had to change.
The Duke of Stokes was a good man—a fair and just ruler who led the country toward peace and prosperity. But that was the problem. He did not follow the church. He was an obstacle, and obstacles had to be removed.
Worse still, the Duke had stolen the only successful Paladin Malarov had created.
Malarov knew he couldn't overthrow the Duke directly. Instead, he orchestrated a plan to place the Duke's younger brother on the throne. The younger brother was a weak, tyrannical man—perfect for Malarov's purposes. His inevitable misrule would provide the justification needed to abolish the monarchy and establish the church as the supreme governing body.
Framing the Duke for his wife's death had been... regrettable. But Malarov was certain the gods would forgive him. After all, he was doing their work.
The Duke was slain, and the younger brother ascended to the throne. Predictably, his reign was one of cruelty and oppression. The people's suffering grew, and Malarov's dream of a holy kingdom drew nearer with every passing day.
It was during this turbulent time that his goddess visited him again. This time, she requested that he allow the demons safe passage through their borders. At first, Malarov was baffled. Why would she ask such a thing? But then it became clear.
Of course—she was a goddess. Her wisdom was far beyond his. She must have foreseen how the demons' presence would further destabilize the kingdom, hastening its collapse. And she likely intended for the demons to punish Bermone for its transgressions of the past century. Her brilliance was unmatched, her foresight unparalleled.
Before she left, she promised him salvation. One day, she said, the gods of the Celestial Realm would descend upon them and deliver them from their plight. She assured him that if he continued his work, godhood would be his reward.
And Malarov believed her.
Once he ascended, he would finally be worthy of her. He would claim the goddess for himself, and together, they would rule the heavens.