The hall remained silent long after the Goddess of Time vanished.
Arin stayed exactly where he was.
Kneeling.
Head lowered.
Breathing shallowly, as though even the act of inhaling might be considered disrespect.
His thoughts screamed at him to move—to say something—to do anything.
But fear crushed those impulses before they could reach his body.
What if she's still watching?
What if thinking is enough to offend her?
He didn't dare test it.
Then a voice spoke—calm, steady, unmistakably present.
"You may stand now."
Arin flinched.
Slowly, cautiously, he lifted himself from the floor. His legs trembled as blood returned to them, and only then did he realize how tightly he had been clenching his fists.
He inhaled.
Deeply.
For the first time since arriving in the palace, his lungs felt like they belonged to him again.
He turned his gaze slightly—careful not to raise it too high—and saw the man standing beside him.
Caelum.
There was no hostility in his expression. No judgment either. Just a quiet attentiveness, as though he were observing something fragile.
Arin hesitated.
He wanted to speak. Questions piled up inside his head, crashing into one another.
Where am I?
What happens to me now?
What did I do wrong?
How do I not die?
But fear held his tongue.
Caelum noticed.
"I know," he said, beginning to walk. "You have many questions."
Arin stiffened, then followed, careful to match his pace.
"But before you ask them," Caelum continued, "there are things you must understand."
They walked through corridors vast enough to swallow cities. The palace felt endless—walls of pale stone etched with symbols Arin couldn't recognize, yet somehow felt ancient beyond comprehension.
"First," Caelum said, "you are alive because the Goddess of Time allows it."
Arin swallowed.
"That is not kindness," Caelum added calmly. "It is restraint."
He paused, letting the words settle.
"You will remain in this palace for one year. During that time, your survival depends on obedience—not effort, not bravery, and certainly not curiosity."
That… didn't sound promising.
"Second," Caelum went on, "there is very little you are permitted to do."
Arin almost laughed. Almost.
"You may walk where I escort you. You may speak when spoken to. You may eat, sleep, and exist within the boundaries assigned to you."
He glanced at Arin briefly.
"Everything else falls under don't."
Arin exhaled shakily.
They continued walking.
"Do not approach the Goddess without being summoned. Do not attempt to observe her when she is unaware. Do not ask questions about time, fate, or eternity."
Caelum's tone remained even.
"And most importantly—do not think about her unnecessarily."
Arin stopped.
"…Think?" he asked before he could stop himself.
Caelum halted as well and looked at him directly this time.
"Yes."
Arin's stomach dropped.
"The Goddess of Time does not simply exist within time," Caelum said. "She is time. Thought, intention, hesitation—none of it is hidden from her if she chooses to listen."
Arin felt cold.
"Even careless thoughts can be… fatal," Caelum added. "I advise discipline."
Arin nodded quickly, panic rising in his chest.
Even thinking can kill me…
What kind of place is this?
They resumed walking.
At last, Caelum stopped before a door—simple compared to the rest of the palace, yet still far grander than anything Arin had known.
"This will be your room," he said.
Arin stared at it.
A room.
Not a cell.
Not a void.
Not nonexistence.
Just… a room.
"You will remain here unless instructed otherwise," Caelum continued. "The year will pass whether you are ready or not. Your task is simple."
Arin looked at him.
"Endure."
Caelum opened the door.
"And if you manage that," he added quietly, "you may leave this place alive."
Arin stepped inside.
As the door closed behind him, one thought echoed clearly in his mind—careful, controlled, terrified:
One year… just survive one year.
And for the first time, he wasn't entirely alone.