I kneeled before the altar, hands clasped together as I had done many times before.
The flickering candlelight cast wavering shadows across the sacred symbols, the scent of incense thick in the air.
The others prayed with ease, their voices steady as they recited the ancient words of Hubrien, their faith unwavering.
I had never truly understood religion—what it signified, why people clung to it so desperately. Yet, I tried. Again and again. It was part of my routine now, an expectation.
So this time, I tried with sincerity.
I closed my eyes and let the words take shape in my mind. Grant me understanding. Let me see what they see. Let me feel what they feel.
And then—
Silence.
A silence so absolute it swallowed all sound, all presence. The warmth of the church vanished. The air turned thick, heavy, like I was sinking into something unseen.
Then I saw it.
No, I saw me.
A figure stood before me, faceless yet unmistakably familiar. I couldn't tell if it was human, divine, or something else entirely. It didn't move, didn't breathe, but I knew it was watching.
Then the whispers began.
Not from the figure—but from everywhere.
Right beside my ear.
Soft, murmuring voices, pressing against my skull, each one speaking words I couldn't understand, yet somehow I felt them clawing into my thoughts.
They were inside my head.
Something cold crawled down my spine. My body wasn't moving—no, I wasn't moving. My hands, my knees, my breath—none of it felt real.
Then, suddenly—
I gasped, air flooding my lungs like I had been drowning. My body jerked, and I barely kept myself from collapsing forward onto the altar.
I was back.
The warmth of the church returned. The candlelight flickered. The scent of incense lingered. But I was shaking.
Sweat dripped down my temple. My hands trembled as I slowly unclasped them. My breath was unsteady.
A soft voice broke through my haze.
"Are you alright?"
I turned slightly. Sister Elara stood beside me, concern etched on her face. She had seen it—seen something happen to me.
I forced myself to nod, swallowing against the dryness in my throat. "I'm fine."
A lie.
But I needed time. I needed to think. To understand.
Because whatever had just happened.
Something had looked at me.
I left the altar without another word, walking as steadily as I could. My hands were still cold.
My breathing was uneven. I ignored the questioning looks from the sisters and made my way back to my bed, the wooden frame creaking as I sat down heavily.
My mind raced.
What did I just see?
I knew that prayer was a means of connection—a bridge between the soul and the divine. Father Lucian had explained it before.
A sincere prayer allowed one's essence to resonate with a deity, like a whisper carried across an unseen river. But what I saw…
It wasn't a god.
It was me.
It kept saying it was me. I didn't hear words, but I felt them. Felt the certainty of it pressing against my mind, sinking into my thoughts as though it had always been there.
My fingers clenched the thin fabric of my blanket.
Then, there was the pain.
A dull, excruciating throb behind my eyes, like something was pushing at them from the inside. The sensation lingered even now, a pressure at the back of my skull that made my stomach twist with unease.
I pressed my palms against my eyes, as if that would help, but it only made the throbbing worse. My breathing quickened.
Was this normal?
No.
I had seen the others pray. They had never reacted like this. I had never seen Father Abel or the sisters collapse in sweat, gasping for air like something had reached into them.
Then, what had I done differently?
My prayer had been sincere, truly sincere, for the first time.
Was that all it took?
No—there was something else. Something wrong.
My thoughts spiraled, but there were no answers. Only fear.
I wasn't the type to be afraid so easily, but this was different. This was something I didn't understand.
And the unknown was terrifying.
The pain didn't stop.
If anything, it got worse.
A deep, clawing pressure pushed against the back of my eyes, as if something inside my skull was crawling, shifting, expanding. I gasped, my body curling in on itself as a wave of nausea hit me.
I reached out blindly, hands grabbing at anything—the bed, the blanket, the wooden frame. My fingers dug into the rough fabric, then the cold iron of the headboard. My grip tightened instinctively, knuckles going white.
The world around me blurred.
My breath came in short, ragged gasps. My heart pounded against my ribs. Every beat sent another jolt of pain through my skull.
I clenched my teeth, trying to keep myself together. But the pain only deepened, sinking into my bones. It wasn't just behind my eyes anymore—it spread, crawling down my spine, through my arms, into my fingertips.
I wanted to scream, but my throat was locked tight.
What is this?!
The whisper from earlier still lingered in my mind. "It's me."
No.
No, no, no—
I slammed my head back against the headboard, trying to force the pain out. A sharp thud echoed through the room, but it didn't help. The pain wasn't physical.
It was deeper. Inside me.
I needed it to stop.
I needed it to end.
I needed—
And then, just as suddenly as it came—
It was gone.
The pressure vanished, leaving behind only the sound of my own ragged breathing. My body trembled, hands still gripping the sheets in a death grip. My vision swam, but I could see again.
I was drenched in sweat.
The silence felt suffocating.
Slowly, I let go of the bed frame, my fingers aching from how tightly I had been holding on. My body felt like it had been wrung dry. My head still throbbed, but it was nothing compared to before.
I swallowed, my throat dry.
What the hell just happened to me?
My vision was wrong.
The world looked… off.
Colors I couldn't name bled into each other, shifting and twisting, like oil on water. Some were deep and vast, pulling at my mind the longer I stared.
Others were sharp, flickering in and out of sight, as if they existed only at the edges of my perception.
Everything was blurry, yet more detailed than ever. The wooden walls of my small room weren't just brown—they pulsed with a warmth I had never noticed before. The air itself had a presence, a weight, a color.
I tried to blink it away, but the colors remained.
My breath hitched. Was this part of the pain?
I reached up, pressing my fingers against my eyes. The back of my skull still throbbed, but it wasn't unbearable anymore. The pressure had faded into something else—a sensation, a new awareness.
I inhaled shakily and sat up. The world tilted.
No, not the world. Me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping my temples.
This wasn't normal.
I had felt fine before I prayed. I had only tried to be sincere, to understand what faith even meant. But something had answered. Something had looked at me.
And now my eyes were seeing things that shouldn't exist.
The murmuring from before still echoed faintly in my skull. A whisper. A presence.
I swallowed.
Was this… the result of my soul? Was something inside me awakening?
Or had I just made a mistake?
"Stop. Please, just stop."
My voice barely escaped my throat. My fingers dug into my scalp as if I could claw the visions out of my head.
This wasn't normal. This wasn't something that should happen from prayer. I had only wanted to understand—was that a sin?
The world wouldn't stop shifting, twisting. The colors, the presence, the weight of something unseen pressing into my mind. The murmuring hadn't faded. It was inside me.
I'm going insane.
The thought hit me like a dagger to the chest. My breath turned shallow. My heart pounded against my ribs. My body shook as if rejecting something unnatural.
Was this divine punishment?
I had never truly believed. I had gone through the motions, practiced the rites, recited the prayers—but never with faith. I had used the church, accepted their kindness, their shelter. And now, had the Goddess of Life cursed me for my insincerity?
"I'm sorry. I won't do it again. Just… just stop this. Please."
I squeezed my eyes shut.
But the colors didn't vanish.
The whispers didn't fade.
And somewhere, beneath all of it, something was still watching.
---
Darkness wrapped around me like a suffocating blanket. It was neither warm nor cold, neither soft nor harsh—just an empty, oppressive void where time did not seem to exist.
Then, all at once, the weight lifted.
I stirred, my body leaden, my thoughts sluggish. The world returned in fragments—first the sensation of something cool against my forehead, then distant voices bleeding through the haze.
"…not normal," a voice murmured.
That was Father Lucian. His voice, usually steady, now held something unsettling—uncertainty.
"Then what is it?" another voice pressed. Sister Elara. I recognized the sharpness in her tone. She had always been more direct than the others.
"You've seen it, haven't you? People collapsing from exhaustion, visions during prayer, but never this. Never like this."
A silence stretched between them. I kept my breathing even, kept still. My body was too weak to move, but my mind latched onto their conversation.
Lucian sighed. "No, never like this."
The air in the room felt heavy. Even without opening my eyes, I could feel the weight of unease pressing down on everyone present.
"Do you think it was the Goddess?" Sister Elara asked again, this time softer.
"Divine punishment?" Another voice. Sister Mirelle, her voice quieter, hesitant. "That… doesn't seem right. The Goddess is merciful."
"She is," Lucian agreed. "But divinity does not act without reason."
Divinity.
The word rang in my mind like a hammer striking iron.
I had only prayed. I had done this before. Countless times over the past few days. I had kneeled before the altar, spoken the words, emptied my mind into the silence. Why now? Why this time?
A chair scraped against the floor. Someone moved closer. "What if it wasn't her?" Elara's voice dropped. "What if… it was something else?"
"Something else?" Mirelle whispered.
Lucian sighed again. I could hear the exhaustion in it.
"There are things we do not understand. Things beyond even faith. You both know this."
Elara clicked her tongue. "Yes. But we can't ignore the possibility that something is—"
"Enough," Lucian cut in, firmer this time. "Speculation won't help us."
Another pause. Footsteps shifted, slow and measured. Then Lucian spoke again, voice gentler, like he was choosing his words carefully.
"For now, we let him rest. When he wakes, we will ask what he remembers. If he remembers anything at all."
Their voices faded. I didn't hear them leave, but the air became still once more.
I opened my eyes.
The dim candlelight flickered against the stone ceiling. My body ached in a way that wasn't quite physical. More like something inside me had been wrung dry.
I stared at the ceiling, mind swirling with questions.
Why?
Why did this happen now? Was it because I was sincere this time? Because I had finally, truly opened myself to something beyond my understanding?
Or was it because… something else had been waiting?
Watching.
I shivered, the memory clawing its way back to the surface—the faceless figure, the whispers that spoke directly to my mind.
And the worst part?
It had said it was me.
A quiet dread settled in my chest.
I was afraid. Not just of what I saw, but of the implications.
Was this something dormant, awakened by my prayer? Was it inside me all along?
I exhaled shakily and forced myself to sit up. My limbs protested, but I ignored it. My robe clung damply to my skin—I must have been sweating in my sleep.
I needed answers.
And I had a feeling… I wasn't going to like them.