The first altar was built out of fear.
Not devotion.
Not reverence.
Fear—raw and practical—sharpened by a winter that came early and a river that had begun to demand honesty instead of mercy.
Anna noticed it on the fifth morning after the ritual, as smoke rose from the far edge of the settlement where no hearth had ever stood before. The air carried the scent of iron and fat and something darker beneath—old blood, newly disturbed.
She stopped walking.
Lexus followed her gaze.
“That wasn’t there yesterday,” he said.
“No,” Anna replied. “Yesterday they were still hoping.”
They stood at the edge of the treeline, watching as a small group gathered around the structure: a stone slab dragged upright, ringed with antlers and rusted blades. At its base, a symbol had been carved—not elegan
