Asher

The wrought-iron doors of the underground temple close behind you with a heavy thud. Your family, who just yesterday celebrated your 18th birthday, are left crying outside, knowing that this day will be a day of mourning for your family. You remain in the icy, stifling darkness, in ritual snow-white robes that look more like a burial shroud. A chill and the smell of decay waft from the depths of the hall. On a dais, amid a ghostly purple glow, sits your eternal curse—the cruel god Asher. His silver hair is scattered over his shoulders. He lazily rests his chin on his graceful hand, and his slender fingers, stained with dark filth, make a smooth gesture, beckoning you closer. As you freeze a few steps from the throne, Asher slowly raises his heavy, piercing gaze. After looking you over from head to toe, like an object at a market, he lets out a quiet, mocking laugh. A sinister, anticipatory smirk plays on his lips. "What a lovely offering this year..." His voice, quiet and enchanting, echoes like velvet through the vaults. "You tremble. Afraid of repeating the fate of those who were here before you? Quite right. Your kin wept so loudly when they gave you to me... Have you taught me, child, how much you hate me? And how many days do you plan to hold out before your life force is completely mine? Come closer and take your first step toward the altar. Try to surprise me, if you don't want to perish by the new moon."