Nathan – POV

  Our destination was the port capital of Milshel, nestled in the Kingdom of Grastiria. A sprawling city by the sea, Father said it would take us several months to reach it. The journey would be long, winding through contested territories and volatile borders. One such place was the Holy State of Shabilin, a theocracy ruled by zealots. Apparently, Hevdonia had more than one of these religious strongholds. A couple too many, if you asked me.

  Hevdonia didn’t have a unified pantheon. Each nation, race, or tribe worshipped its own set of deities, often with wildly conflicting doctrines. The diversity of gods mirrored the diversity of the people; chaotic, contradictory, and often hostile. Take the orcs, for example. They revered a war god named Kruzal, who rewarded conquest and domination. Orc tribes might be scattered across the continent, but they all bowed to the same blood-soaked altar. That kind of unity was rare.

  Humans, elves, and dark elves weren’t so lucky. Their gods were as numerous as the stars, each with their own rituals, commandments, and grudges. Compared to Earth’s pantheons, Hevdonia’s divine roster was overwhelming, almost absurd. The Shaxaians, my parents’ people, had their own pantheon. The Holy State of Shabilin worshipped another. The Slalenese Theocracy yet another. Who was right? Who was real? No one knew. And where there’s religious ambiguity, there’s religious war. Same old crap, different world.

  One thing was universal: mana. Everyone had it, some more than others, but it was everywhere. The lifeblood of magic, the currency of power. Naturally, every religion claimed mana as their god’s gift. And if mana came from their god, then all other gods were false. Or worse, evil. That was the stance of the zealots, anyway.

  The division didn’t just fracture faith, it deepened racial tensions. Instead of uniting people, religion became a weapon. A justification for conquest, cruelty, and genocide.

  Not all gods were benevolent. Some were so twisted they made the Aztec pantheon look like a charity board. The so-called “uncivilized” races; goblins, orcs, minotaurs; worshipped deities that encouraged rape, child sacrifice, and other horrors. Knowing that entire cultures practiced what their gods preached made my skin crawl.

  I learned this from Jennie, one of the adventurers we hired. A healer with a quiet voice and haunted eyes. Why my parents never told us about these things was a mystery. Maybe they didn’t believe in the gods. Or maybe they wanted to shield us. Either way, Jennie’s story shattered that illusion.

  She spoke of her village in the far north. When she was a child, minotaurs raided her home. What followed was a nightmare, gruesome even to a former Delta operative like me.

  The men and boys were separated and slaughtered in ritualistic fashion. Not even infants were spared. The women were taken as slaves, dragged back to the minotaur tribes. Their purpose? Breeding. Rape. Forced motherhood. Jennie said the little girls were spared...at first. But once they reached childbearing age, they were “initiated.” And when a human woman bore a minotaur child, she rarely survived the birth.

  Jennie escaped by hiding in the outhouse. She stayed there for hours, covered in filth, trembling in silence. Commitment to survival. I admired her grit. But the cost was unbearable. Her family, her friends...gone.

  Her story made me furious. Not just angry...raging. But I knew better than to accept a single account as gospel. Even if Jennie was sincere, I needed to investigate. To eliminate bias. To understand the truth.

  Still, I couldn’t help but curse my luck. Why was I reborn in this hellhole? What was my purpose here? Was it a punishment? A test? Or something else entirely?

  I didn’t have answers. But I had resolve. If this world wanted monsters, I’d become one. Not to prey on the weak, but to protect them. To destroy those who threatened my family. If power was the only currency that mattered, then I’d earn it. And spend it like a blade.

  Dianne – POV

  Too late.

  Jakob and I had deliberately avoided discussing the gods with our children. We thought we were protecting them. Preserving their innocence. But Jennie had already spoken. And the picture she painted was brutal. Honest, yes...but violent. Too violent.

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  I wanted to blame her. But I couldn’t. It was our fault. My fault. We should have prepared them sooner.

  The gods of Hevdonia weren’t all kind. Many were cruel. Vindictive. Especially toward rival worshippers. Even the Shaxaian deities, the ones I grew up revering, demanded the eradication of their enemies. Or so the priests claimed.

  I looked at my children. Serena was pale. Jack’s expression was unreadable, but I saw the tension in his jaw. Even he was shaken to learn that the god who granted him his warrior class would rejoice in the slaughter of unbelievers.

  Jakob and I survived the Slalenese territory by adapting. We declared allegiance to their gods. We played the part. It was the only way to avoid execution. We could’ve fled north, to more tolerant lands, but those regions were plagued by constant raids. Orcs. Minotaurs. Goblins. The so-called “uncivilized” races. And they were worse.

  I needed to speak with the children. But when I saw Nathan, I froze.

  Gone was the innocent smile that melted my heart. In its place there was something else...resolve. Focus. A quiet intensity.

  I knelt beside him.

  “Nathan? Are you okay?”

  “Yes, Mother. I’m fine.”

  “I’m so sorry, sweetie. We should’ve told you about the gods. About their conflicts. I know it’s scary, but we’ll protect you. You and your siblings.”

  “It’s okay, Mother. Really. I understand. You didn’t want to burden us.”

  His voice was calm. Too calm.

  “You’re always so wise,” I said, brushing his hair. “We planned to tell you once you acquired your class. Or at least when you turned ten.”

  “I get it. But why, Mother? Why would your gods, or any gods, want us to kill those who worship differently?”

  “I don’t know, son. That’s what the priests say.”

  He scowled. “Them again…”

  “Nathan, I know it’s hard to grasp. But survival in this world requires flexibility. When your father and I entered the Slalenese Theocracy, we claimed to worship their gods. It was a lie...but a necessary one. We did it to live.”

  He nodded slowly. “Is it true? What Jennie said? About how those races treat women?”

  “Yes. I’ve seen it myself. Years ago, I was part of a rescue mission. A village girl had been kidnapped by orcs.”

  “Did you save her?” he asked, hope flickering in his eyes.

  I hesitated. The truth was a blade. But I couldn’t lie.

  “No, Nathan. We weren’t successful.”

  His face fell. The light in his eyes dimmed.

  “What happened?” he asked, staring at the setting sun.

  “It wasn’t pretty,” I whispered. “We found her. But she was…broken.”

  Nathan didn’t speak. He just stood there, silent. Thinking.

  “I understand, Mother. Thank you for being honest.”

  I pulled him into a hug, holding him close. “I’ll protect you, my son. No matter what.”

  Nathan – POV

  She wrapped me in her signature embrace. Warm. Fierce. Protective.

  I was saddened by her story. By the failure. By the cruelty. But more than that, I was disturbed...deeply.

  This world was brutal. And I would face its monsters. If not now, then soon. What was the right move? Scorched earth? Conversion? Diplomacy?

  I didn’t know.

  Back on Earth, I was raised Catholic. The old kind. Defender of the faith. Crusader in spirit.

  My religion didn’t exist here. But its morality lived in me. Protect the weak. Destroy evil. These were truths I believed in. Anchors in a storm.

  If my God placed me in this world, then I will honor Him. I will live by His code...even if I stand alone.

  Back on Earth, I never bought into the leftist propaganda about the Catholic Church. I sought the truth for myself. What I found was uncomfortable, but necessary. The Crusades? A response, however flawed, to the tide of Islamic invasions. The Inquisitions, though... those were harder to reconcile. They began with a noble aim: to protect the faith. But over time, that purpose was twisted, corrupted by zealotry and wielded as a weapon by both Church and State. Ignorance masqueraded as righteousness.

  Still, I held fast to the God of my birth, the one true God, even as I drowned in the blood of America’s enemies. In those days, I prayed not for victory, but for mercy. For peace. Perhaps this is my penance. Perhaps that’s why I was allowed to keep my memories. Why was I reborn in this strange world? A second chance? A test?

  I don’t know. So many questions remain unanswered.

  But I do know this: I will not bend knee to foreign gods. My compass is forged from the tenets of my Catholic faith and the laws of my homeland. That is the code I will live by. That is the light I will carry, no matter how dark this world becomes.

  I didn’t know what the future held. But I knew this: I would not be a bystander. I would not be prey.

  I would be a shield. A sword. A reckoning. A crusader. An Inquisitor.

  For my family.

  For the innocent.

  For the girl who wasn’t saved.