I woke up staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. The wooden beams above were cracked with age, their once-polished surface now dulled and warped.
Cobwebs clung to the corners, their delicate strands swaying ever so slightly in the draft. Dust floated in the air, catching the dim candlelight flickering from a sconce on the far wall.
My mind was sluggish, my body unresponsive.
Panic clawed at my chest.
I focused, willing my fingers to move. Nothing. Toes? Still nothing. My head? Not even the slightest twitch.
Fantastic. I'm paralyzed.
Soft footsteps approached, the sound precise and deliberate. A woman in a black-and-white habit appeared beside my bed, her hands folded neatly in front of her.
Her face was smooth, youthful, yet her expression was practiced—calm, unreadable, the kind that came from years of tending to the sick and dying.
"I'm glad you're awake," she said, her tone gentle but measured. "Wait here, I'll bring Father Lucian."
She turned away without waiting for a response.
Yeah, not like I have a choice.
Left alone, all I could do was stare at the ceiling, watching the slow, meandering path of a spider. At least someone's comfortable here.
Time stretched as the reality of my situation settled in. My body was useless, my memories hazy. This wasn't a dream.
Pain. Fear. Darkness.
I tried to dig deeper, but my thoughts were fragmented, slipping through my grasp like sand.
I felt… wrong. My body was too thin, my cheekbones sharper than they should be. Like I'd been starved for weeks.
The door creaked open. A man in simple priestly robes stepped inside, his presence calm, almost fatherly.
He wasn't old—perhaps in his late forties—but his neatly trimmed beard and tired eyes spoke of a life well-worn with responsibility. He settled into the chair beside my bed, a quiet chuckle escaping him.
"How do you feel?"
Oh, just fantastic, Father. Thanks for asking.
I didn't answer—not that I could.
He didn't seem to expect one.
"The mark on your back was quite large," he mused, his voice steady. "Its effects are gone, but the imprint remains."
Mark? My curiosity flared, but I had no way to check.
"Do you remember your name? Where you're from?"
I barely managed the slightest shake of my head.
"Did you lose your memories?"
I hesitated, then blinked once.
It wasn't entirely a lie. I had no memories of this body. My past felt like a fading dream, distant and intangible. I knew who I was, but how I got here? Blank.
Lucian sighed. "I see… that's unfortunate."
A pause.
"There were three of you who survived and were brought here. The other two… didn't make it."
Something in his voice shifted—genuine sorrow, not just a passing remark. It made me uneasy.
He watched me for a moment, then offered a small smile. "For now, just focus on your recovery."
Sounds like a scam, I thought but blinked anyway.
Once he left, I was alone again, with nothing but the creaking of old wood and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures for company.
I glanced at the walls—aged stone reinforced with wooden beams, worn from years of neglect. The faint scent of damp earth lingered.
A rundown church. Medieval, maybe?
The sinking feeling in my gut deepened.
Was I almost sacrificed?
I forced myself to breathe. Panic wouldn't help. I needed information.
But exhaustion dragged me under before I could think further.
—
Chirp. Chirp.
The birds announced the coming dawn before the sun had even risen.
I groggily opened my eyes. My body felt… lighter.
Tentatively, I tried moving my fingers. They twitched. My toes? They responded. My arms? Stiff, but functional.
Holy crap, I can move.
Sitting up was a struggle. My muscles protested, weak from what must have been days—if not weeks—of immobility.
The room came into clearer focus. Simple, crude furniture. Stone walls with deep cracks. A wooden floor that creaked under the weight of time. Insects scuttled along the corners, undisturbed.
My stomach growled.
A soft rustling broke the silence. The curtain serving as a door was pushed aside, and the nun from before entered.
She gasped, her gray eyes widening in surprise. "Oh! You're already up! That's amazing!"
She looked younger in the light, barely in her twenties. Loose strands of light brown hair peeked from beneath her habit, framing a round face marked by exhaustion yet carrying an unwavering kindness.
I blinked at her enthusiasm.
"Please rest! I'll bring you something to eat!" She beamed before hurrying off.
I sighed, rubbing my temples. Well, at least someone's happy to see me alive.
A few minutes later, she returned, carefully balancing a wooden bowl of steaming soup.
"We don't have much, but please, eat as much as you like," she said kindly, placing it in front of me.
I picked up the crude spoon, blowing on the soup before taking a cautious sip.
It tasted like… warm water with the ghost of vegetables.
I forced my face to remain neutral.
"Is it not to your liking?" she asked, tilting her head.
I met her gentle, expectant gaze and took another sip, suppressing a grimace.
I've eaten instant noodles without seasoning before. I can survive this.
"It's… nourishing," I said carefully.
She smiled, pleased. "I'm glad!"
I sighed internally. Yep. I'm doomed.
—
The soup confirmed two things: I wasn't in immediate danger of starving, and the people here—at least the nuns—weren't hostile.
The young nun studied me as I ate, her expression unreadable. "You seem much better already. You must be strong."
Strong? No. Just lucky.
Or unlucky, considering I had no idea how I ended up here.
"What is your name? Do you remember anything?"
I hesitated.
Too many unknowns. Who I was before didn't seem relevant to my current situation. The people who tried to kill me might still be out there. Giving my real name felt like a mistake.
So I lied.
"…Grimm," I finally said, the name rolling off my tongue with an odd sense of familiarity.
"It's nice to meet you, Grimm. I'm Sister Elara."
I gave a slight nod, watching her closely.
"Father Lucian will be pleased to hear you're recovering so quickly," she continued. "You were in terrible condition when we found you. It's a miracle you're even awake."
Miracle, huh?
Something about that word didn't sit right with me.
I glanced down at my hands—pale, weak, but functional. My back still ached.
I needed a mirror.
Elara stood, smoothing out her robes. "Please rest for now. Father Lucian will check on you soon."
I nodded, watching her leave.
The moment she was gone, I forced myself to stand. My legs trembled, but I managed. No major injuries. Just soreness. My back still tingled as if something had been burned into it.
I hobbled toward the window. The warped glass distorted the outside view. The sky was still dark, the village beyond eerily quiet.
No visible guards. No immediate threats.
I wasn't locked in. That was good.
But I wasn't safe.
Footsteps approached. I quickly sat back down, feigning exhaustion.
The door creaked open.
Father Lucian entered, his expression calm but watchful.
"You're already up? That's promising," he said, taking a seat.
I met his gaze but remained silent.
"You survived something terrible, Grimm. A ritual. A sacrifice."
My fingers curled slightly.
"Whatever was meant to happen… it failed. And you survived."
Silence.
"Do you have any memories of that night?"
I shook my head.
Father Lucian studied me, then nodded.
"That may be for the best."
A heavy pause.
"You're safe here. For now."
Safe.
For now.