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Aryllia's Chosen

Act 1

Chapter 1

I stand before Aryllia's altar, feeling about as romantic as a turnip in a field of roses. The other clerics are giving me those looks again - you know, the ones that say "Is he secretly plotting to overthrow our goddess of love with his utter lack of passion?" If only they knew that my greatest desire right now is for the ceremony to end so I can raid the snack table.

"Oh great Aryllia," I intone, trying to inject some semblance of fervor into my voice, "accept our offerings of, uh, love and stuff."

Nailed it. Truly, I am the pinnacle of religious devotion.

A titter ripples through the assembled faithful. I can practically hear their thoughts: "There goes Locutus of Borg again, butchering another prayer with his robotic delivery." Hey, it's not my fault I was cursed with the emotional range of a teaspoon and the romantic inclinations of a rock.

As I fumble through the rest of the prayer, desperately trying to remember which flowery adjectives I'm supposed to use to describe Aryllia's "radiant beauty" and "boundless passion," I can't help but wonder: why in the name of all that is holy did I become a cleric of the goddess of love?

Oh right, the free food and occasional smiting. Can't forget about the smiting.

I finish my utterly passionless prayer with a half-hearted "Amen" and prepare to make a beeline for the cheese platter. But suddenly, a strange warmth begins to spread through my chest. It starts as a gentle tingle and quickly grows into a blazing heat that threatens to consume me from the inside out.

"Oh, for the love of Aryllia," I mutter under my breath, "what now?"

The warmth intensifies, and I can't help but wonder if this is what heartburn feels like. Or maybe it's divine retribution for my lackluster performance. Either way, it's making me regret that second helping of spicy bean dip.

I glance around the temple, hoping no one has noticed my discomfort. But of course, because the universe hates me, every single eye is trained on my increasingly sweaty face.

"Locutus of Borg," one of the other clerics whispers urgently, "are you having a religious experience?"

"Either that or severe indigestion," I reply through gritted teeth.

The heat in my chest suddenly flares, and for a moment, I swear I can hear a voice. It's faint, like a whisper on the wind, but it's definitely there. Is this... could this actually be...?

"Aryllia?" I squeak, my voice cracking embarrassingly.

The other clerics gasp dramatically, because apparently, they've all been taking lessons in theatrics. I'm half expecting someone to faint at this point.

The voice in my head grows stronger, and I strain to make out the words. Is the goddess of love finally bestowing her wisdom upon me?

As the sensation builds to a crescendo, I brace myself for whatever divine message is about to be imparted. This is it.

Chapter 2

I stumble out of the temple, my legs wobbling like a newborn foal's. The warmth in my chest has faded, but the memory of it lingers. I can still hear the whispers of the other clerics behind me, their voices a mix of awe and confusion.

"Did you see that?"
"Locutus? Having a divine experience?"

I roll my eyes so hard I'm surprised they don't pop out of my skull. Of course, they can't fathom that the goddess of love might choose someone who's about as romantic as a stale cracker.

As I make my way down the temple steps, I catch sight of my reflection in a polished bronze mirror. My face is flushed, and there's a wild look in my eyes that screams 'desperate need of antacids.'

I consider telling them about the voice I heard, but what would I say? 'Hey guys, Aryllia just told me to lay off the dairy'? Somehow, I don't think that's the kind of divine wisdom they're expecting from their love goddess.

A group of young acolytes scurry past me, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and curiosity. One of them actually makes the sign against evil as she passes. Great.

I'm about to retreat to my quarters for some much-needed introspection (and possibly a nap) when I spot them. A group of starry-eyed lovers, practically floating up the temple steps, their faces aglow with the unmistakable sheen of infatuation. Oh joy.

They catch sight of me and their expressions shift from lovesick to horrified faster than I can say "aromantic." I can practically see the thoughts racing through their minds: 'Oh no, not the weird cleric.'

I plaster on my best 'I'd rather be anywhere else' expression and prepare for the inevitable. They approach cautiously, like I'm some sort of love-repelling force field.

"Blessed cleric," one of them squeaks, "we seek Aryllia's blessing for our union."

I eye them wearily. "Ah yes, another batch of hopefuls for the goddess of cheese-induced hallucinations."

Their jaws drop in perfect unison. It's almost impressive.

"Fear not," I deadpan, channeling my inner televangelist, "for I am Aryllia's chosen..."

The gasps that follow are so dramatic, you'd think I'd just announced the cancellation of Valentine's Day. One of them actually clutches their pearls. Who even wears pearls to a temple?

"But... but..." another stammers, "how can you serve the goddess of love if you don't... you know... love?"

I roll my eyes so hard I'm pretty sure I see my own brain. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe the same way a chef can cook vegetarian meals without being a carrot?"

"Now," I say, clapping my hands together, "who's ready for a real test of faith? And let me tell you, it's going to take more than flowery words and longing glances to pass this one."

The color drains from their faces. Little do they know, the real divine comedy is about to begin, and I've got a front-row seat to the show.

Chapter 3

The clerics of Aryllia are renowned for celebrating love in all its forms. But when the goddess herself shows her displeasure at those who neglect their responsibilities, it becomes clear that devotion to love is not what defines her chosen. The story follows an ace/aro cleric who has faced prejudice for not conforming to the expectations placed on them. In a world that prizes passion and romance, they struggle to prove their worth. Yet, when Aryllia's wrath falls upon those who have misused their powers, it is the ace/aro cleric who stands as a beacon of true devotion. This novel explores themes of acceptance, duty, and the true meaning of love as it tells the tale of one who is chosen not for their passions, but for their unwavering dedication to the goddess's will.