"Don't just stand there," he said, his smile faint, almost inviting. "Come join us."
Aeron turned back, revealing almost his true self. A smile of quiet delusion crept across his face, long and curved in the manner witches were said to wear when their thoughts drifted too far from reason. His hair shimmered faintly beneath the golden sunlight pouring through the stained glass, light that spilled across the church and climbed the towering cross above the altar.
Upon that cross was carved the god. Urforous. A book rested in his left hand, a crown in his right. The statue seemed to smile.
Or perhaps that was only how Veldra saw it.
The remnants of his earlier madness still lingered, bending his thoughts, distorting his senses, warping the truth of what lay before him. The stone did not move, yet to his eyes it breathed with intent. Veldra stiffened, startled, but he buried the reaction deep within himself.
Lucien, on the other hand, struggled far more.
Laughter threatened to spill from his lips, clawing its way up his throat, only to be dragged back by the last threads of his sanity. He clenched his jaw, eyes lowered. One did not laugh inside the house of a god. It was disgraceful. Dangerous, perhaps.
Veldra stepped forward.
He passed between the attending church members with a bright, practised smile. Each of them wore white robes, spotless and uniform, a golden cross hanging from their necks. Their faces were warm, peaceful, and welcoming.
That was what troubled him most.
The smiles were too perfect. Too still.
"Don't be shy," Aeron said, the warmth in his expression stretching further, refusing to break. "You do not have to pray to our god. You may offer your prayers to any god you wish, or even seek divine guidance from your own existence."
Veldra looked at him.
A full minute passed.
He did not flinch. He did not tense. He did not blink.
Only that same warm smile remained on Aeron's face. Gentle. Patient. Hollow.
Fake, Veldra decided.
He knelt beside Aeron and raised his hands in a prayer stance.
"Alright," Veldra said softly. Then, without turning his head, "Lucien, come join us."
Lucien hesitated, then stepped forward. His movements were careful, graceful, as though each step were weighed against unseen consequences. He knelt beside Veldra.
They began to pray.
The church members continued their prayers as well, voices low and harmonious, rising and falling like a rehearsed hymn. It should have been peaceful.
It was not.
When I was back home, Veldra thought. I was a Christian. A man who went to church every day. Who prayed. Who believed.
But this is different.
This is not faith.
This is a twisted sense of morality, wrapped in false prayers and borrowed joy. Their happiness rings hollow, their devotion feels rehearsed. Every smile, every whisper, every bowed head carries something rotten beneath it.
Their joy is fake. Everything about them is fake.
Slowly, cautiously, a thought crept into his mind.
Is God even in this world?
Perhaps, he decided, closing his eyes tighter.
I will pray to Him anyway.
"Father, I commit my life into Your hands," Veldra said softly. "Bless me with Your divinity and the aspect of Your glory. Lead me onto the path of the discerner, into the certainty of the unknown, into the void where forgiveness reigns above all else.
"Many fail upon that path. I will not.
"Guide me along the way of the righteous and grant me the sight to discern good from evil. And if my path demands killing, grant me the mental strength to preserve my sanity, even if only a fragment remains.
"Let my flaw belong to You. Whether I become the flaw of both worlds, let it be so.
"Make me your manifestation. As long as I breathe, as long as I speak, as long as I walk, as long as I smile, pant, suffer, and live, let there be a solitude, a void within my heart that will never be filled.
"Rest there, Lord. Dwell within that void. Shower me with His blessings."
Silence followed.
Then Veldra added quietly, "I pray for the clarity of my companions' minds as well, that they may find joy in seeking You."
His hands lowered.
The prayer he had spoken was not pure. It was laced with fragments of this world, shaped by distorted perceptions and fractured beliefs. His mind still reeled beneath warped visions of reality, burdened by illusions that refused to loosen their grip. Madness crawled through his thoughts like unseen worms, coiling around tyranny, guilt, and resolve alike. Cold reality had taken refuge in his eyes, and from that place, he had uttered something sacred and something broken at once.
However, Lucien did not pray.
The god he once served, the god of creatures, had long since died. That throne now belonged only to Ash. Ash, the ruler of all living things that crept, crawled, and endured upon this world. No other name could take that place.
Aeron, however, continued his prayer without pause, his voice blending seamlessly with those of the church members. Their murmurs were low, reverent, rhythmic, pressing down like unseen weight upon the air.
Time passed.
Then the murmurs ceased.
A heavy silence settled over the church. One by one, every member turned toward the great doors. Veldra followed. Lucien did the same.
Aeron rose to his feet.
"Now," he said calmly, "our prayers have been offered, and our friends have prayed with us. Let the sacrifice be revealed to the gazes of the faithful."
Two men burst open the doors, dragging three people across the floor with black chains. Two of them were women, and one was a child.
One of the women was crying heartedly, tears of sorrow streaming down her face. The question why me was blistered into her expression, the raw anguish of a caring mother laid bare.
"Save me! Why me?" she cried. "What did my family do? I only wanted money. Let me live, I beg of you. Our God, have mercy!"
Her screams echoed openly through the church.
The other woman, dragged beside her by another man, remained silent. She did not struggle. It was as if she had accepted her fate and chose to embrace it rather than resist.
The child, however, was stagnant.
Thin tears poured methodically from his brown eyes. His black hair was scattered and dishevelled, his small body battered and bruised, bearing marks far too heavy for someone so young.
"What is the meaning of this?" Lucien demanded.
"This is our sacrifice!" Aeron exclaimed joyfully. "Our god has provided for us once again!"