The man fell to his knees before his enemy, his body giving no more. Hushed prayers fell from his lips as his eyes fell shut, his enemy's sword raised above him. He could only pray for salvation as his injuries overwhelmed him.
He blinked his eyes open, confused. The ground below him was.. soft? And fabric? And what was that smell? He glanced around at the large room, decorations hanging everywhere.
"There you are. I was wondering when you were going to wake." A deep voice floats through the room. The man tenses up, reaching for his weapon, which is surprisingly beside him. "Don't worry, I wouldn't leave you unarmed and vulnerable. Well. Not unarmed." The voice laughs again.
A figure steps into his view, and he gasps. "My... god?" He asks, dropping his head in respect. "You know, it's been ages since someone called for me. Especially someone so pure of heart." The diety murmurs, sitting on the edge of the bed. Their fingers guide their soldier's head up, seeking that eye contact.
"I'm going to keep you here for a while. Allow your body time to rest before we begin." They announce, moving off the bed until his hand snaps to grab theirs. His eyes widen slightly as he pulls his hand back. "Begin what, my lord? If I may ask."
"Begin your training. I enjoy your presence and I think you'll be useful. But you must heal before you can handle the space in my bed."
