Ketovan Motsari, a Deacon in the Church of the Hegemon, walked the polished corridors of the church dormitory in the mountain city of Daro. His steps were heavy, voicing his palpable tension. He entered a dimly lit praying hall.

  A short man in rich purple and gold robes knelt before a large banner. This was Bishop Renald, the crest of his office engraved on his back. He was reciting a prayer, his hands joined. The banner displayed a gold and silver fist against a purple background, its edges lined with black, archaic scripts.

  “Bishop,” Ketovan called, his accent a rough mix of Spanish and Slavic. He moved toward the banner and lowered his head for a swift, obligatory prayer.

  When he looked up, the Bishop was smiling at him in a fatherly, warm manner.

  “What’s the matter, child?” Renald asked, his voice a sharp contrast to his soft, inviting expression.

  “A Core of Hegemony entered the mortal realms,” Ketovan stated plainly.

  “So?” The Bishop’s expression hinted that he already suspected what was coming next.

  “It is very close to us, roughly five hundred kilometers from the city,” Ketovan confirmed.

  “This close to humans? Are you sure, child?” The Bishop's look shifted to one of intense worry and irritation.

  “Yes, Bishop.”

  Suddenly, the air in the room grew heavy and dim. A man materialized silently before them. He was at least twice their height, dressed in a simple, unadorned purple and gold robe—no crests, no engravings. His form was indistinct; to most, he would only appear as an outline of purple and gold light.

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  Both clergymen immediately dropped to their knees, recognizing the entity.

  “Rise,” the man’s voice boomed, resonating not just in the room, but in their bones.

  They rose, but kept their heads low, not daring to meet his gaze.

  “It is true, Renald,” the imposing man said to the Bishop.

  “My lord, why do you wish to bless the humans after so many thousands of years?” the Bishop asked, his tone utterly submissive.

  “This is not yours to worry about, Renald. It’s the young man beside you that should think of this thing.” The man’s glowing outline turned to eye Ketovan.

  “My lord, I am ready to take any job you assign me,” Ketovan said, dropping back to one knee.

  The Bishop’s face twisted in worry. “But my lord, Ketovan is still young. He only reached Soldier Rank a month ago.”

  “Renald, that’s precisely the reason he should be taking care of this job. The young will only grow when they are thrown into situations they are not ready to face.”

  The entity then addressed Ketovan directly:

  “Deacon Ketovan Richard Motsari. I, as your chosen god, order you to find the essence—or the person who has it—and protect it until you can. Please remember to abandon the mission if it threatens your life.”

  With that, the man vanished. Ketovan was instantly engulfed in a sphere of blinding purple and gold light. The room immediately returned to its original state, the light disappearing as quickly as it had arrived.

  Ketovan slumped onto the floor, his head resting heavily in his arms. The Bishop approached him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  “Congratulations on reaching Commander Rank Level 1, Father Ketovan,” the Bishop said with an assuring smile.

  Ketovan slowly stood, shaking his head clear. “So that’s The Hegemon. He is… softer than I thought he would be.”

  The Bishop looked at the banner, a deep wisdom in his eyes. “History and religion are not to be believed blindly, child. A clever king in the history books might have been a foolish ruler, and a benevolent god in a religious text can be a mad god, too.”