The night was as heavy as thick ink, the mountains swallowed by a bloody mist, leaving only a towering stone altar, rising above the steps built from bones.
Thousands of Snow Swearers draped in tattered battle armor or robes adorned with bone decorations.
They carved dense totems into their chests with sharp blades, like self-inflicted patterns, bearing piety and madness.
They knelt uniformly before the altar, heads bowed low.
Aged veterans wept tears, their lips trembling as they muttered: "Today... is the festival of the gods' return... we've finally waited for this moment..."
The young warriors, their eyes bloodshot, shouted: "Blood debts will be repaid! Our wrath will cleanse the land!"
It seemed less like a ceremony and more like stepping onto a sacred journey of revenge.
Some even raised the severed heads of Empire captives, smearing the dripping blood on their foreheads, loudly proclaiming: "The food for the Ancient Gods... is ready."
