Father Gideon rose from his makeshift throne, his movements smooth and deliberate, like a predator stalking its prey.
His dark eyes never left Rowan as he approached, his smile never wavering. Rowan's instincts screamed at him to run, to grab Elias and flee this place, but his brother's shallow breaths kept him rooted to the spot. He had no choice. He had to trust this man, at least for now.
"Come," Father Gideon said, his voice low and inviting. "We will see to your brother."
Rowan hesitated, his arms tightening around Elias's frail body. The camp around him felt wrong, the air thick with an oppressive stillness that made his skin crawl.
The other members of the Risen moved silently, their faces blank and their eyes hollow, as if they were puppets controlled by some unseen force. They didn't speak, didn't even glance in Rowan's direction as he followed Father Gideon deeper into the camp.
The shacks here were larger and better maintained than the crumbling hovels of the slums, but there was something unnerving about them. The walls were adorned with strange symbols, crude and jagged, painted in what looked like dried blood.
The flickering torchlight made the symbols seem to shift and writhe, as if they were alive. Rowan's stomach churned, but he forced himself to keep moving. For Elias.
Father Gideon led him to a smaller shack at the edge of the camp. The door creaked open on its own, revealing a dimly lit interior. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of herbs and something metallic, like blood or rust. Rowan's breath caught in his throat as he stepped inside, his eyes adjusting to the gloom.
The shack was filled with strange objects—jars of murky liquids, bundles of dried herbs, and tools that looked like they belonged in a butcher's shop rather than a healer's den. In the center of the room stood three figures, their faces obscured by hoods.
They moved with a strange, synchronized grace, their hands flitting over a table covered in cloth and strange instruments.
"These are our healers," Father Gideon said, gesturing to the figures. "They will tend to your brother."
Rowan's grip on Elias tightened. The healers didn't look like any healers he had ever seen. Their movements were too precise, too mechanical, and there was something unsettling about the way they seemed to move as one. He glanced at Father Gideon, his voice trembling. "What… what are they going to do to him?"
Father Gideon's smile didn't waver. "They will heal him, Rowan. That is all you need to know."
Rowan's chest tightened. He didn't trust this man, didn't trust this place, but what choice did he have? Elias was dying. He had to let them try.
Reluctantly, Rowan laid Elias down on the table, his hands lingering on his brother's cold skin. The healers moved in immediately, their hands flitting over Elias's body with a speed and precision that made Rowan's stomach churn. They didn't speak, didn't even acknowledge his presence. It was as if he wasn't even there.
Father Gideon placed a hand on Rowan's shoulder, his touch cold and heavy. "Come," he said. "Let them work. You should step outside."
Rowan hesitated, his eyes fixed on Elias. He didn't want to leave his brother alone with these… things. But Father Gideon's grip tightened, and Rowan had no choice but to follow him out of the shack.
The air outside was no less oppressive. The camp was eerily silent, the only sound the faint crackling of torches and the occasional shuffle of feet.
The other members of the Risen moved through the shadows like ghosts, their faces blank and their eyes empty. Rowan's skin prickled with unease. He had never felt so out of place, so exposed.
Father Gideon led him to a small fire pit at the center of the camp. The flames were low, casting flickering shadows across the ground. He gestured for Rowan to sit, his smile never fading. "You must be hungry," he said, handing Rowan a piece of bread.
Rowan stared at the bread, his stomach growling despite his unease. He hadn't eaten in days, and the sight of food was almost too much to resist. But he hesitated, his eyes flicking to Father Gideon. "Why are you helping us?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Father Gideon's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Because you are one of us, Rowan. The slums have taken everything from you, just as they have taken everything from us. But here, among the Risen, you can find purpose. You can rise above the filth and claim what is rightfully yours."
Rowan's chest tightened. The man's words were sweet, dripping with promises of salvation, but there was something beneath them—something dark and dangerous.
He didn't trust Father Gideon, didn't trust this place, but he couldn't deny the flicker of hope that stirred in his chest. Hope that Elias would be saved. Hope that they could find a way out of the slums.
He took the bread, his hands trembling as he brought it to his lips. It was stale and dry, but it was food. He ate quickly, his eyes darting around the camp as he did.
The other members of the Risen were still moving silently through the shadows, their faces blank and their eyes hollow. It was as if they were sleepwalking, their movements too precise, too mechanical.
Rowan's unease grew with each passing moment. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched, that something was lurking just out of sight, waiting to pounce. He glanced at Father Gideon, his voice trembling. "What… what happens now?"
Father Gideon's smile didn't waver. "Now, you wait. Your brother is in good hands. When he is healed, you will both join us. You will become one of the Risen."
Rowan's stomach churned. He didn't like the sound of that. He didn't want to become one of these hollow, empty-eyed people. But he couldn't say that. Not here. Not now.
Father Gideon stood, his movements smooth and deliberate. "Rest, Rowan. You are safe here."
Rowan didn't feel safe. He felt exposed, vulnerable. But he nodded, his eyes fixed on the fire. Father Gideon disappeared into the shadows, leaving Rowan alone with his thoughts.
The camp was eerily silent, the only sound the faint crackling of the fire. Rowan's mind raced as he sat there, his eyes darting around the camp.
He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that this place wasn't what it seemed. But did he even have a choice ? Elias was in there, being tended to by those… things. He had to trust them. For now.
After what felt like an eternity, Rowan stood, his legs trembling beneath him. He couldn't just sit here, waiting. He needed to do something, to see for himself what this place was. He glanced around, making sure no one was watching, then slipped into the shadows.
The camp was larger than he had initially thought, the shacks arranged in a haphazard maze that seemed to shift and change as he moved through it.
The air was thick with the scent of smoke and something else—something metallic and sharp. Rowan's stomach churned, but he forced himself to keep moving.
As he rounded a corner, he spotted a group of children huddled together near one of the shacks. They were younger than him, their faces gaunt and their eyes hollow.
They looked like they hadn't eaten in days, their clothes hanging off their frail bodies. Rowan's chest tightened. They reminded him of Elias.
He approached cautiously, his eyes darting around to make sure no one was watching. The children looked up as he approached, their eyes wide with fear and curiosity.
"Who are you?" one of them asked, his voice trembling.
"I'm Rowan," he said, keeping his voice low. "I just got here. What about you?"
The children exchanged uneasy glances before one of them, a girl with matted hair and sharp eyes, spoke up. "We've been here for a while," she said. "Father Gideon took us in."
Rowan's chest tightened. "Do you… do you like it here?"
The girl hesitated, her eyes darting around as if she was afraid someone might overhear. "It's better than the slums," she said finally. "We get food. And… and Father Gideon says we're special."
Rowan's unease grew. "Special how?"
The girl shrugged, her eyes dropping to the ground. "He says we're chosen. That we're going to rise above the filth."
Rowan's stomach churned. The way she said it, the way her voice trembled, sent a shiver down his spine. He glanced around, his eyes landing on the shack where Elias was being tended to. He needed to get back, to make sure his brother was okay.
But as he turned to leave, the girl grabbed his arm, her grip surprisingly strong. "Be careful," she whispered, her eyes wide with fear. "This place… it's not what it seems."
Rowan's heart skipped a beat. He wanted to ask her what she meant, but before he could, the sound of footsteps echoed through the camp. The children scattered, disappearing into the shadows like rats.
Rowan's chest tightened as he slipped back into the shadows, his mind racing. The girl's words echoed in his mind, filling him with a sense of dread.
This place wasn't what it seemed. He had known that from the moment he stepped foot in the camp, but hearing it from someone else made it all the more real.