The Grand Temple, that soaring edifice of marble and faith that anchored the continent's spiritual life, was built under the aegis of Caledfwlch, the God of War.
Its foundations were laid with stones quarried from conquered mountains, its vaulted ceilings were designed to echo with the hymns of victory. Yet, paradoxically, the believers who filled its halls did not bow their heads to him. They did not whisper pleas for strength into the silent, armored ears of his statues.
They prayed to Morgen, the Goddess of Beauty, his gentle and generous wife. Her altars dripped with fresh flowers and sweet oils, her mosaics depicted scenes of harvest, art, and joyful union. It was to her serene visage that mothers prayed for healthy children, lovers for fidelity, artists for inspiration.
This was not an accident of faith, nor a quiet coup by a gentler deity. It was by the War God's own fierce decree.
