If Bea couldn't end the prayers, then she would change their meaning.
One by one, she found the roots of devotion buried in the corrupted thoughts—the love and loyalty that once belonged to the temple's guardian Nāgaji and its priest. Then, like a careful sculptor carving fresh lines into stone, she began to twist them.
Bea listened to the looping chant and began to change it one fragment at a time. Instead of trying to overwrite the whole prayer, she slipped tiny substitutions into the rhythm: the name "Nāgaji" softened to "Nāga," the phrase "high‑blood guardian" became "pure‑blood protector." The mental chorus barely noticed the alterations, yet the meaning tilted with each word she rewrote.
