Chapter 6

(𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬)
This story contains dark and potentially distressing themes such as Twisted Religious aspects, Cult indoctrination , Gore, Psychological Horror and Death.
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“Alri, who fucking bit you?” Your fingers clamped around the meat of her wrist like a vise as you leaned forward, eyes slowly becoming lightless as a cosmic void.

Alri whimpered, her already tense body flinching and recoiling from the crushing pressure of your grip. “I… I don’t know.”

Both doubt and genuineness colored her voice as she shook her head, yet  it only made your already thin-patience dwindle even more.

“Don’t lie to me!” Your voice shot louder than you meant, anger warring with the genuine concern that clouded your eyes.

“I’m not lying,” A snivel escaped from the little girl’s throat, amber colored eyes wide and shimmering with a deluge of unshed tears.

“I woke up with it this morning—I thought it was from scratching in my sleep, or—or from the rats—” She stammered while twisting with her fingers nervously.

“That’s not a rat bite!” you barked, frustration spreading like fire in your chest.

“If it’s a rat bite, then it would just be a small puncture wound or a tear in the skin.”

Your free hand flew towards your temple, pressing against the throbbing pulse there, as if you could physically contain the spiraling thoughts.

 “That’s not a rat bite, Alri, it’s a fucking human bite!”

You let go of her wrist, pushing up to your feet with unsteady limbs, and respired a heavy breath to gather your thoughts.

A twinge of guilt tugged at you at the sight of the little girl openly crying now; Alri must’ve felt scared now — especially since you had yelled and  cursed at her.

“Look, Alri. I didn’t mean to yell at you, but fuck..  This is.. stressing me out,” A twinge of despair laced your voice as you looked at her wrist.

Alri’s lips quivered, gaze riveted to her hand, her confusion slowly giving way to a sliver of nascent horror. “I.. is it bad?”

“Don’t move,” Filling your mouth with air and blowing it out with a sigh, you try to collect your thoughts once more. “Don’t touch anything.”

“…Okay…” Alri feebly nodded, body stiff.

You knelt again and raised your knees to your chest, rubbing a hand over your temples.

The hourglass remnants crushed beneath your weight with a soft crick, and pain bloomed in your skin — yet, you did not make a move to pull away.

Your body was moving on its own, defaulting to some posture of comfort, but your mind— god,  you were splintering.

This isn’t something that you can just forget for a little bit and worry about later. 

Alri had a human bite on her hand — not a scratch, not a bruise, not a wound she could’ve made herself. 

You tried to convince yourself that maybe, Alri had just bitten herself — after all, kids do that all the time, don’t they?

But fuck, the tiny blackened veins spidering beneath her skin made it impossible for you to think otherwise.

You tried your best to soothe your nerves so that your wouldn’t lash out — but your mind was in such turmoil that it seemed impossible to quiet the racing thoughts. 

You’re frightened and terrified because just the thought of what’s going to happen to Alri fills you with so much dread that it blots out every rational thoughts.

What will happen to her if the virus were to fester within her veins? 

What if the zealots find out about the bite?

Surely, they would annihilate her because to them, to be bitten is to make someone’s soul impure and undeserving of grace and mercy.

How can you even prevent that from happening? You were sure that you can’t play hero at all — because you would end up six feet under with her if you were to do so.

Should you just hide her? No, how do you even hide her? 

You squeezed your eyes shut, but the darkness behind your lids offered you no solace; instead, your mind conjured multiple scenarios that would only end up in a stagnant, bad ending.

“I have to stop it,” You breathed out with an aggravated respire of breath as you shifted your head to face her direction.

Alri’s head snapped up, a knot of confusion tightening between her brows as she tilted her head innocently.

“Stop what?”

God, she looked so innocent and fragile to the point that you’re already starting to hate yourself for wanting to do the unthinkable to this poor girl.

Your fingers moved with terrible precision, gripping the shard of glass she’d tried to clean up with earlier, and you turned it slowly in your palm.

“If it’s spreading through the blood,” your conspiratorial words echoed through the small room as you slowly got up from your sitting position and made your way towards her.

“if I cut it out early, I can stop it. I can save you..” 

Alri’s eyes widened, panic overtaking the daze as her heart pounded loudly. “What?”

“I have to, Alri, I have to before it climbs further—before it gets to your your heart and your brain—”  Your voice was jittery and slightly squeaky at the end as you walked towards her.

You were probably intimidating her at this point, but fuck, you were too lost in your own thoughts that you didn’t even register her fear until her shriek tore through the haze.

“Vaelix— stop it— you’re scaring me,”  She scrambled backward, her heel catching on the grit of spilled sand, sending her tumbling against the cot.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” you snapped, teetering on the precipice of hysteria.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but you don’t understand, this is how it starts! This is how they start!”

“Who’s they?!”

“The undead! The fucking Zhurak! The people outside!”

Your hand gripped the shard tighter, the jagged glass now cutting your own skin as well.

You didn’t really felt it, and you only saw the black veins, the mark, and the infection.

You were feeling so dazed and dizzy — and your skin itched like something inside you wanted that mark in her hand to be gone.

It’s not her fault.

It’s the virus.

It’s in her now.

If I just cut it out—just a small slice—

Maybe it won’t hurt that bad—maybe she’ll thank me—

But one look at her — at the wide, dilated terror in her eyes, the violent shiver that wracked her small frame—  the red haze of your hysteria shattered.

“Vaelix,” she sobbed, voice cracking in fear. “It’s just a bruise. Please—please don’t hurt me.”

Your hands came to an abrupt halt, frozen in place. 

The blood from your own palm was dripping now—hot, and slick, streaking down the curve of your wrist.

The shard trembled between your fingers, before you eventually dropped the it, clattered beside her and spun uselessly across the floor.

Your hands clawed into your hair, pulling at the roots as you crumpled, sinking back down, knees drawn tight against your chest in guilt.

Your eyes flicked towards her in panic, and your heart immediately dropped at the sight of her looking so terrified, looking so afraid of you.

She looked at you, eyes filled with terror and specks of betrayal, as if you were a saint who had turned his back on her — as if you nothing but a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

The sight of it stuffed your heart with even more guilt — because she probably thought you were her safe place, but now you had became a haunted house.

What did you just do? 

“I’m sorry,” your throat was tight with  shame as your voice wavered, “I’m sorry—I didn’t mean—I wasn’t—”

You didn’t remember when you decided to move, because one moment, you were crouched beside Alri, the both of you shivering in silence amid blood and shattered glass—and then the next, your legs were carrying you while you were clutching her tightly against your chest.

Her breath hitched in bursts against the hollow of your throat, and her arms clung to your neck like the way sloths clings to a tree.

Slowly, her breathing began to gradually even down, and her eyes slowly fluttered shut and fell asleep.

Perhaps it’s because of the exhaustion that led her to be held in sleep’s arms.

You looked at her, heart aching as the guilt and the desire to save her warred within you.

But the former had won, thus, you carried her and  began to walk in a dazed, stumbling gait, one foot moving after the other.

If she was awake, she would probably ask you didn’t  where you were going — but it’s not like you’re planning to tell her — because you knew that she will immediately start thrashing and screaming the moment she finds out where you’re planning to take her.

You passed by with other people without even looking at them in the eye, passed the torch-lit sanctum where icons of Yzrivis’ symbol glared from every carved stone, passed the black pool doors that almost killed you.

You didn’t stop until you reached the edge of the settlement walls—where the corridors turned cold and utilitarian, where the scent of burnt sage gave way to the scent of metals and decay.

Alri stirred weakly in your arms and slurred. “Where… are we going…?”

“Shh,” you breathed as you adjusted her more comfortably. “just a little longer. I promise.”

You remembered hearing about this place from Elya once — because she got assigned to be on look out — and according to her, this is where they kept the weapons — for the lookouts, for the ones who roamed beyond the holy wards, and the ones who fight the undead daily.

You reached the heavy door at the far end of the corridor and pushed it open with your shoulder. 

Weapons lined the walls in brutal rows: spears lashed to racks, bows strung tight and stacked above crates of arrows fletched in black.

Maces hung heavy from chains bolted into the ceiling beams, and curved scimitars glimmered faintly from their sheaths on the far wall.

There were nets made of bone-spiked wire and a massive rack near the center bristled with blades of every kind, their edges kept immaculate despite the disuse.

But then, you froze solid like a human ice sculpture in the making when you caught sight the veiled man again.

He sat hunched at the workbench, on the corner of the room, sharpening an axe.

The blade shimmered with a strange gleam, and sparks danced and died with each slow drag of whetstone against the blade.

You stood there, mouth hanging open wide enough to catch flies, lungs staging a full-blown oxygen strike. 

The man looked at your direction to acknowledge your presence.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he uttered placidly, his head inclining slightly as the sharpening stone in his other hand descended with a soft clink onto the surface.

Your mouth dried, and your fingers spasmed against Alri’s small body as your [e/c] eyes connected with his covered ones.

You should have backed out because retreating was the prudent course, but instead, you stepped inside  like a defiant rebel.

You swallowed thickly as you scrutinized him with an apprehensive stare. “You…”

“Me,” he echoed as he placed the axe down, stood up before bearing slow — and intimidating steps to your frame — which sent a ripple of dread go throughout your whole body.

You held Alri tighter, shoulders shaking from the sheer nervousness that you were feeling.

“She’s—she’s been bitten,” you choked, and finally said the thing that had been eating your spine. “I think—no, I know—it’s the virus.”

“I know that it’s the virus .. It’s in her blood and I need—there has to be something here.”

“I need a saw, or a blade —i need something clean—I can still save her if I cut it off before it circulates through her whole body—”

“Flesh touched by the virus cannot be purified,” He let one of his fingers caress your lower jaw, his veiled face tilting down closer to yours.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. You want salvation.” 

“I want her to live!”

“She won’t.” He clicks his tongue while shaking his head.

“You don’t know that!” Your voice cracked, frantic now. “If it’s the blood, I can cut it out—if I move fast, if I amputate the hand or the wrist.”

“I know that the infected don’t turn instantly—it starts local, and then it spreads—and if I remove the infected tissue before the virus reaches the heart, before it can rewrite the nervous system, there’s still a chance!”

Your heart lurched in your throat as a burning fury coursed through your veins.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he murmured.

“Of course I’ve been thinking about this!” You were shouting now. Alri whimpered softly, but you couldn’t stop.

“You people sit in this hole and call everything a curse while children die. You drown them and call it holy, you throw them in black pools and call it penance, you burn people and call it cleansing, you beat people to death — but you won’t even try to understand what’s killing us—”

“She’s already marked. Yzrivis will not take her.”

“Then I will.” You angle your head back to sneer at him, and the veiled man went silent as he stepped back.

“Cut off her hand, then,” he said. “Let’s see if your theories hold more truth.”

Alri roused once more in your grasp, disoriented. “What…?” she mumbled, dazed. “What’s happening… Vaelix, who is that…”

Your gut clenched, the surge of adrenaline that had propelled you this far suddenly descending.

Your limbs were trembling and your mouth tasted like a mouthful of cinders as you looked at her hand—bandaged with your torn sleeve, already dark with blood, noticing that the black veins were crawling slowly.

You sank to your knees on the cold stone floor while Alri lay curled against you, her small frame limp with fatigue, her blood still blooming quietly through the cloth at her wrist. 

Her skin was scalding hot, as if she was having a fever, and her breath shallow, her pulse fluttering like a bird trapped in a cage.

Apprehension fills your veins, a nasty bitterness that corrodes your insides. 

“Test your theory,”  the veiled man repeated.

You looked up sharply, eyes narrowing in disdain.

“You said it yourself,” he continued, “that the infection spreads through blood, and that if you cut it off in time—she lives.”

“You’ve already come this far, Vaelix.”  Somehow, the way the name fell from his lips resonated like a chilling death knell.

Your respiration grew rapid and superficial as cold droplets of perspiration streamed down your brow.

 “She’s just a child—”

“She is,” he agreed with a nod. “And if you truly believe in your mercy—if you truly think you can save her with your hands alone—then this is your moment, isn’t it?”

“And if you’re wrong…  and she turns,” he added gently. “And Yzrivis will turn His face away from her forever. You’ll feel her fingers go cold in yours. And you’ll know it was your cowardice that made her damned.”

Your spine turned rigid, and your complexion blanched as his words began to encrypt itself into your brain.

“Shut up,” You grunt and shook your head. 

“She trusted you,” he went on. “She prayed for you. But.. you don’t even want to save her?”

Something nefarious seemed to be amiss beneath the surface of his words, though it remained shrouded in shadow because you were far too emotionally overwhelmed to be even paying attention to things.

“Please,” You croaked, hands shaking.

He crouched beside you. “Close your eyes, little broken boy,” he whispered as his gloved hand reached out—and gently pulled the blood-soaked cloth from your fingers.

“You don’t have to watch. If you don’t see it, it won’t hurt you.”

Your muscles froze as he took the veil from his own face and, slowly, wrapped it around your eyes from behind — but he was too fast to the point that you didn’t even get to see his face.

His veil was soft, and silk-smooth, but it was opaque and you could see nothing. 

You could still hear Alri breathing, and you could still feel the warmth of her body against yours.

“Vaelix?” she murmured. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” you answered, too quickly as your hand rose unbidden to Alri’s too-warm forehead, brushing aside the strands that clung there.

“Yes, I’m here.”

Your voice cracked on the last word as the veiled man pressed the handle of the axe into your palm — hell you didn’t even noticed that he picked it up back again, because you could only see darkness.

The axe was heavier than you expected, and the wood was warm from his hands, the blade was still slick from the whetstone,  its edge singing in the silence.

“You’ll feel her jerk,” he randomly remarked. “They always do.”

“No.” 

“If you hesitate, she’ll suffer.”

“If you delay, you’ll lose her.”

And with that, he guided your hands to the right position.

You could barely breathe as your fingers trembled around the haft of the weapon and you heard Alri’s breath catch.

You cracked the stiff joints of your neck in a vain attempt to relieve some of the built up tension and discomfort, as your hands began to tremble.

“Vaelix…?”

“Don’t be afraid,” you whispered.

“Are you crying?” 

“No.” you whispered, even though your voice was barely holding together—thin, splintering at the edges.

And then— you swung, and she screamed.

It was messy, and terrible. It hit her shoulder first, on the wrong place, and it splits the skin and the blade of the axe catches on her bone. You flinched, as if the pain was your own, and in your panic, you struck again—again—again.

Each blow was messier than the last.

The sound was sickening: wet, meaty thuds followed by brittle cracks. Her wrist didn’t sever all at once. It resisted you, stubbornly clinging with sinew and tendon. Her bones splintered, and blood sprayed in short, convulsive bursts, painting your hands, the veil that you were wearing and, your chest.

Your knees buckled instantly and you ripped the veil from your eyes and saw it.

Alri twisted on the ground, sobbing in shrill, broken hiccups, her arm ending now in a ragged stump just below the wrist.

Her hand lay limp in the pooling red beside her, fingers curled loosely like it had died.

Your hands were shaking violently as the axe clattered from your fingers while you scrambled to cradle her, pressing her against your chest, whispering apologies you couldn’t finish, over and over and over.

She screamed into your robe, muffled by fabric and pain.

“It’s okay—it’s okay, I’ve got you—stay with me, Alri, please—”

Your eyes blurred with tears, and you rocked her in your arms.

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I had to—I had to—”

Alri was wailing like a wounded animal in your arms, too hoarse to even speak, her body arching in agony as she clutched at her severed arm, but the blood would not stop coming.

You had tried to press your robes to it, had tried to hold her, to whisper something, anything, but nothing reached her.

Her little mouth was just open, cracked from the dry  air, screaming.

And you were sobbing too now—dry, pitiful sounds—no tears left to weep, only ragged inhales.

You ripped your robes without thinking—fingers slipping on the soaked fabric, your breath wheezing through a throat too tight to let anything else out.

The linen tore unevenly, sticky with Alri’s blood, and you tried to bunch it into a compress, trembling hands failing to find the right pressure, the right place—anything that could help.

“Alri—Alri, please—stay still, I need to stop the bleeding—!”

Her small foot lashed out, and it cracked against your face with a sickening snap.

You reeled, pain shooting from your nose as warmth gushed down into your mouth.

The world tilted precariously, and you tasted blood—yours this time—and fell backward, barely catching yourself on your elbow as the room spun with vertigo.

You wiped your face with the back of your sleeve, blinking rapidly, and forced yourself to move despite the splitting ache in your face.

But she was kicking at you with her good leg, shrieking every time you came close.

Her pupils were huge, blown out, wild with terror and her mouth wouldn’t stop moving—muttering—babbling something like “No, no, no no no, please, please—!”

You bared your teeth in a grimace, tore another strip from your robes, and lunged forward—catching her trembling arm in your hands.

“I have to stop it!” you cried. “You’re going to bleed out, Alri, please—“

She thrashed harder, clawed at your face with her remaining hand, while your skin tore beneath her nails.

Still, you pressed the cloth down—held it with your whole body, even as she kicked, even as you were getting engulfed by a searing pain.

You didn’t even notice when that man moved again.

You just blinked—and then he was crouched beside her, as gentle as a monk anointing a corpse.

His veil was in place again, but it was already soaked iwth Alri’s blood.

His long fingers moved with eerie calm as he reached out and then, his palm struck the side of her head, fast and surgical. 

Alri’s body stiffened, then slumped in your arms with a tiny gasp while you stared at him, aghast, until the scream that had frozen in your throat snapped free. 

“What did you do!?” Your vocal cords scraped against the confines of your throat as a shriek clawed its way out of your lips with the whites of your eyes stretched wide. “What did you do—“

“She’ll wake,” he assured smoothly, already wiping his gloved fingers on the inside of his robe with idle fastidiousness.

“Eventually.. or not. Either way, she’s quiet now.”

You rocked forward slightly, your knees scraping on the cold stone floor.

One hand cradled her head protectively — while the other clawed into your own hair, gripping it until your scalp screamed.

The world pulsed in and out, and you couldn’t feel your fingertips anymore.

“I didn’t mean to—” you whispered, feeling like you were going insane.

Your breath came in short bursts, like a fish on land, like something suffocating in the air.

“I didn’t want to—I just…”

“Yzrivis…” you rasped, not even thinking about the words as they spilled.

“He made me do it.” 

Laughter rains out of your lips as you hiccuped and leaned back to rest your forehead against Alri’s head. 

The veil shifted a bit, and you could see his succulent lips curving into a smile 

“Ah,” he breathed, the sound so pleased it made your skin crawl. “There it is.”

You blinked up at him in confusion, your chest was heaving — and your body felt like it had been scooped out and hollowed.

“You truly believe that, don’t you?”

You nodded without understanding why.

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Your voice lost its strength, and your shoulders tensed.

“But you did.”

“Hm.” He tilted his head the other way. “Interesting.”

You flinched as he reached into his robes again—and with slow, deliberate grace, withdrew something small and glossy.

A candy — the same as last night.

He held it out in his palm, and like a trained beast, you reached for it.

“Good boy,” he cooed.

The paper crinkled under your fingers, and your hands were still trembling. You didn’t even bother to unwrap it, you just put it between your teeth and bit down. The syrup burst across your tongue, cloying and warm — and it helped you calm down a bit.

The veiled man knelt again beside you. This time, he placed a hand on your shoulder, firm and heavy, and whispered something to your ear.

“Do you know,” he murmured, almost dreamily, “the story of the boy who wanted to save the world?”

His fingers continued to drift through your hair in slow, hypnotic motions.

You didn’t dare flinch again, because you didn’t know what he would do next if you did, and fortunately — he didn’t seem to mind your silence.

“He was bright,” he said, voice soft like a lullaby. “Obsessed with systems, biology, and contagion. He used to trap rats and birds and experiment on them. See what made them sick, and see what brought them back from the brink.”

“They thought he was just a curious child. Gifted, even — until he started making things sick on purpose.”

He chuckled faintly, as if recounting a fond memory.

“And then one day… he made a mistake.”

You looked up at him slowly. His gloved hand had come to rest against your scalp, thumb idly brushing along your temple like a master calming his pet.

“He created something,” the veiled man went on, “that didn’t stop. Something that remembered how to spread. Something that didn’t want to die.”

“Something like…” you rasped, blinking up innocently at him. “the plague that’s out there now?”

He tipped his head to the side and lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Maybe,” he hummed. “Maybe not. The story is old — you know how stories are.”

“You said the dead do not return,” You blinked slowly, disoriented, as though your own skin had started to feel too tight. “because they refuse to rest. Because something calls them.”

He chuckled again, fingers still combing your hair, slow and methodical.

“I did say that.”

“But now you’re saying it’s… a virus? An infection? Contagion?” You lean against the wall with your side while crossing your ankles, still holding Alri tight in your hands.

He leaned closer to your ear — and you felt the soft gust of his breath curl into your ear like smoke, warm and ticklish, but it raised a chill down your spine all the same.

“It’s just a theory,” he whispered. You turned sharply, and narrowed your eyes. “You—you said it like it was scripture—” 

You crinkled your nose before turning away at the proximity.

“I say a lot of things,” he nudged you slightly with his elbow.  “People likes scriptures. It helps them believe.”

He straightened, hands behind his back, and looked down at you like you were something both fascinating and deeply pitiful.

“You need to wait ten days.”

Your brows drew together at the randomness in his sentence, though a tremor still flickered in your jaw. “What?”

“Wait ten days,” he repeated, “and check the wound every dawn, smell it, feel the skin, and  watch her eyes.”

Your jaw tightened, tone inflicted with aggravation and bitterness. “Ten days for what?”

“To see if she changes.”

“And if she does change?” You respired a deep, heavy breath as you bit your bottom lip nervously.

Because what if you were indeed wrong?

What if amputating Alri won’t work? It was a brash decision that you made under pressure after all.

“Then you were wrong.”

“You’ll need supplies,” he added after a moment. “For the wait.”

“Supplies?” You questioned in confusion — what the hell did he meant by that?

He nodded. “Ten items. One for each day. I’ll give you a list.”

Your head snapped up as a slow, stuttering breath pushed through your nostrils as you questioned, “Why?”

He looked at you for a long time and then spoke, without inflection.

“I’m a physician. Remember?”

“I can help you prevent the virus from spreading.”

[ 宗教精神病; 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 ]

You awoke to screaming; it pierced through the haze of your sleep like a needle, jarring you upright with a gasp.

Your arms were stiff around Alri, who was still cradled against your chest.

Her small body hadn’t moved, and the wrappings you’d tied around her stump were soaked through and crusted now, her skin cold and waxy against yours.

Your head pounded, your body ached from where you’d collapsed on the temple floor, half-naked, draped in blood.

You didn’t know how long you’d been unconscious.

Minutes?

Hours?

You can’t tell because there was no sun in this sealed part of the settlement.

“—Vaelix?! Vaelix?! What have you—what have you done?!”

Heavy footsteps echoed down the stone hall — and then, the room was suddenly full of people. The voices bled together, buzzing like a swarm of bees in your ears.

You stared at them, wild-eyed, mouth parted but empty of words, your shoulders rising and falling with your unsteady breath

“Why is there blood?” one of the priestesses cried.

“Whose child is that?!”

“He was supposed to be in confession hours ago!”

“He desecrated the sanctum—!”

“Enough!” boomed a familiar voice—rich, deep, and brittle with judgment.

Father Halren entered the room, swathed in thick ceremonial garb. He stepped forward, jaw rigid, hands were clenched so tightly, you could hear the faint creak of bone beneath skin.

“Vaelix. Why are you here? What have you done?”

Your lips cracked as they parted,  the copper sting of dried blood flaking into your mouth with every breath.

“I…” you rasped, then swallowed hard.

“I didn’t mean to—I… I had to…”

“She’s bleeding out Vaelix!” Lysara exclaimed, stepping forward, livid. “What did you do to her?!”

“Yzrivis made me do it.”

Halren stared at you in frozen disbelief, as if your words were not sounds but an unfamiliar language—something unspeakable.

The others behind him had gone still too, a hush falling over the room, broken only by Alri’s shallow, rattling breaths and the faint wet patter of blood dripping from your own body onto the stone.

You clutched Alri tighter, swaying on your feet, knees knocking together.

Her body was so light now—too light—and your arms ached with exhaustion as her head lolled against your shoulder.

“Yzrivis spoke to me,” you repeated again. “He told me what had to be done.”

Lysara’s lips parted in disbelief at your audacity. “You—what are you saying—?”

“You hurt us all the time in His name!” you snapped, suddenly livid. “The baptism! The scourging! The silence! You drown us and beat us and call it cleansing! What I did—what I did — was no different.”

Halren took a slow step forward. “Explain.”

You gritted your teeth, frustration radiating from your head to toe.

“He whispered to me,” Your voice cracked open, laced with something manic and breathless. “He said she was tainted — that the rot was inside her, and that I had to act.”

“He said that if I loved her, I’d cut her arm off, So I did.”

“I didn’t want to,” you, murmured blankly. “I didn’t want to. But I listened — isn’t that what you always told us to do?”

[ 宗教精神病; 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 ]

The others left, one by one, they’d bowed, kissed your hand, left offerings—flowers, string-wrapped scriptures, vials of amber oil.

They knelt like you were something holy now, like the girl bleeding in your arms was some altar, and the blood on your skin a relic worth revering because of your hysteria-hazed babbling about Yzrivis.

You just sat there—on the edge of the cold sanctum floor, your back against the unlit brazier, your arms tight around Alri’s quiet body, rocking her gently.

Her skin had gone clammy, and the bandage on her stump was beginning to brown.

Everyone else had fled—muttering, weeping, scrambling away from the grotesque quiet you left behind—but not Lysara.

She hadn’t moved, and she stood like a statue, arms clamped across her chest, jaw set so tight the vein on her neck trembled.

“Say something,” you mumbled without looking at her, your voice soft and sweet, cracked around the edges.

You turned your head slightly, eyes sweeping toward the dim corner where she stood.

“What’s the matter, Lysara?” you suddenly taunted. “You don’t want Yzrivis’ will? Isn’t that what you always prayed for?”

Her expression contorted into a scowl. “Don’t.”

“What? I’m just asking.” You sneered derisively.

She stepped closer, voice low and steady. “Don’t start with that madness.”

You looked down at Alri, brushing sweat-damp hair from her forehead. “She’s still warm,” you whispered, almost in wonder. “Isn’t that strange? She should be colder.”

“Vaelix.” Lysara’s tone sharpened. “This isn’t you.”

You blinked at her slowly, like someone waking into the wrong dream.

“Isn’t me?” you echoed. “I think it is. I think this is exactly me, you were the one who taught me.”

She flinched, confused.

“Taught you what?”

You smiled again, teeth faintly pink where you’d bitten your tongue in the scuffle as your voice turned childlike, sing-song.

“How to believe in something so hard you’d kill for it.”

Lysara recoiled a step, her arms loosening at her sides, eyes darting to Alri’s limp frame.

Her mouth opened to speak, but no words spilled out from her chapped lips.

You could see the question forming on her lips: What did I do wrong?

“I didn’t teach you that,” she grunt, voice wavering. “I was trying to save you.”

She strode up suddenly and slapped you.

The sound snapped through the sanctum like lightning, and your head tilted with the force of it.

A searing pain bloomed in your cheek as a line of spittle flew from your mouth as Alri’s body jolted slightly in your lap.

But you didn’t flinch, instead, you just turned your head slowly back toward her, a thin rivulet of blood trickling from the corner of your mouth. 

Your tongue slithered out as you licked it absentmindedly — then, your grin came back.

Lysara’s voice cracked. “You’re delusional, Vaelix.”

“Then you’re not very devoted, are you?” 

You tilted your head, still cradling Alri like she might vanish if you let go.

“You used to pray with your mouth full of blood. You used to say pain was a form of proof. So why is mine madness?”

“I’m just like you, aren’t i?”

“So why would you, a sinner — judge another sinner for sinning differently?”

[ 宗教精神病; 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 ]

The room was quiet save for the flutter of mothwings battering gently against the lamp’s warm glass and the sound of your own breath—slow, deliberate, but fraying at the edges with exhaustion.

Alri lay motionless on the straw bed, her small form dwarfed by the coarse linens swaddled around her.

The fabric clung damp to her skin, stiff with balm and marbled with fading streaks of crimson, her stump had been freshly dressed, the bandages tight and neat despite you messing it up so many times. 

You could still feel the phantom burn in your joints from wringing out the cloth, and your knuckles raw, your palms tender — but still, if it meant saving Alri, then you would do it without any complaints.

The bleeding hadn’t stopped entirely, but it was slower and sluggish now.

You literally checked it fourteen times — and you knew every vein on her body now like how you memorized every constellations in the sky. 

You were just beginning to reach for the chipped wooden cup on the floor to moisten her lips when the veiled man popped out of nowhere again.

No sound preceded him, no displaced air, no creak of floorboards, hell he doesn’t even have a shadow. It was as if he’d always been standing there, and only now had you noticed.

But you were too tired to even question everything at the moment.

“You sleep with your door unlocked,” he remarked casually, as if he was amused. “That’s dangerous, Vaelix.”

You glared at him viciously, face weary with exhaustion and irritation. “You… you shouldn’t be here.”

 “I’m always where I’m needed.”

Despite the annoyance simmering just beneath the surface, a strange acceptance washed over you since you had kinda grown accustomed to this peculiar dude popping out of nowhere. Y

ou’re already traumatized, really — so nothing really phases you anymore.

Not after you got dragged into this settlement.

The man raised the object in his hand.

It was a herb and  its roots were gnarled and pale, spidery tendrils still clinging with clumps of unfamiliar soil.

The red stalks were thin, curling upward like fingers reaching for an invisible sun, topped with leaves so light they shimmered with strange iridescence.

“I found the first item,” he announced simply.

Your eyebrow arched as you tilted your head and walked towards him. “What is it?”

He stepped forward, and he lowered himself slowly to a crouch beside you, his knees barely creaking the floor, then — he took your hand, gently. You just noticed now, but his fingers were really long, and slender.

“Curanthus,” he murmured. “It doesn’t grow on this side of the mountains anymore. It grows where things decay slowly….”

Your brows furrowed together and you elbowed him slightly. “Dumb it down, please.”

“Outside the settlement.” He huffed in amusement as he stepped back and crossed his arms across his chest.

“What… what do I do?” You questioned, eyes flickering towards him then back at the herb that he had placed on your hands.

“Crush it,” he instructed and you obeyed.

You left the room without a word, your body dragging more than walking, and returned with a small wooden bowl from the kitchen.

The herb broke with a dry snap, stalk crackling like brittle bones between your fingers, and then the sap smeared against your palm, slick and cold, and faintly luminescent.

Then, he was handed you a small vial, the glass was still wet with condensation.

You uncorked it with shaking hands. The water inside shimmered faintly with a dull silver-green sheen, and you poured it over the crushed remains.

It hissed softly, the liquid bubbling where it met the pulp, then, a thin spiral of steam curled up from the bowl and into your face, carrying a scent that was earthy and sharp, like moss soaked in blood.

A nauseous sensation curled around your throat and you couldn’t help but gag softly.

“Ugh.. gross” you muttered, hand coming up to cover your nose as you turned your head away like a scolded cat. “You’re sure this won’t kill her?”

“It won’t,” he assured you  without hesitation, but the pause that followed his words made your eyes narrow.

You squinted at him suspiciously as uncertainty swirled within you. “You hesitated.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.”

“Dumb little wolf, don’t overthink it. You’re just hallucinating from sleep deprivation.”

“Not funny.”

You rolled your eyes and gave the mixture another stir with your fingers, wincing at the slimy texture. 

“This better not turn her into a frog or something.”

“She won’t.” He replied, trying to ease your concerns.

You blinked and turned back to Alri, but a sudden ache bloomed in your head, sharp and unexpected — but still, you tried to ignore the pounding in your head.

“She has to drink this…?” you asked, voice quieter now.

“Not all at once.” he murmured by your ear, his warm breath stirring the fine hairs on your neck — and you swore you almost jumped, because what the fuck — why is he so close???? “Let her taste it first. Then give her the rest slowly.” 

Your brows arched in bewilderment as a palpable sense of awkwardness washed over you. 

“Alright then…” you exhaled, shifting to lift Alri’s head slightly with one arm. 

“…Just a little.”

Her lips parted weakly, and you tipped the edge of the bowl to them and let a drop touch her tongue. She flinched faintly, but she swallowed.

You gave her another sip, the mixture trickling slowly down her chin, and you reached to wipe it with your sleeve.

“Slowly,”

“Let her taste it before she drinks.”

Your throat constricted and you tipped the bowl gently toward Alri’s mouth.

Her jaw, once locked with pain, softened and the skin between her brows smoothed, breath easing from shallow gasps to steadier draws, and her chest rose and fell more gently.

“She’s…” you whispered, barely daring to believe it.

“She’s healing,” he confirmed. “Bit by bit.”

And then, another sudden surge of dizziness hits you; it was a sharp, blinding pressure behind your eyes — like something was trying to dig out of your head. 

The  bowl hit the floor with a dull clink, rolling once before settling on its side — but you didn’t even flinch — because you were too tired—no, beyond tired.

A bone-deep weariness bled through every nerve ending, every breath, every fragment of thought, making your knees give out.

But before you could even brace yourself for the fall, he caught you.

His arm wound smoothly around your back, the other curling beneath your knees as if you weighed nothing, as if your trembling limbs and thudding heart weren’t some burden worth noticing.

His veil brushed your cheek as he adjusted you against his chest, his skin unnaturally cold through the silk layers.

“You’re pushing yourself again,” he murmured.

“Hah…” A faint, derisive sound escaped you. “Say… why do you haunt me?” You questioned randomly as your body leaned into his, knees crumpled awkwardly beneath you. 

“Is it because I question everything?” you asked deliriously. “Is it because I’m an atheist?”

You laughed softly, like a madman that had managed to escape from the mental hospital as your fingers twisted into his robe.

“…You’re Yzrivis aren’t you?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐄 ! !

Somnifera
—It’s a small, opalescent candy with a soft sheen-like a pearl pulled from a creature’s mouth rather than the sea. It’s the candy the veiled man has given Vaelix — and it tastes really sweet. It’s a hallucinogenic sacrament crafted from the dried resin of the Seraphis Root (Yzrivis’ favorite flower). The effects of consuming these said candies are: hallucinations, emotional amplification, religious delusions, and a sense of divine compulsion. Because Vaelix has no memories of his past and was already in a hyper-stressed, trauma-split state. Somnifera acts like kindling on dry wood. The more he consumed-unknowingly, the more his mind breaks.

Curanthus
—Though not fatal, Curanthus is dangerously neuroactive when handled without protection. The stalks and leaves release a subtle transdermal toxin that absorbs rapidly through the skin. The sap contains compounds that interfere with neural clarity, mimicking spiritual euphoria and divine influence — hence its association with religious rituals and dangerous “visions.” And because vaelix handled the herb barehanded, the toxin entered his bloodstream rapidly. The effects of this plant includes: extreme fatigue, hallucinations, disorientation, vertigo, emotional lability, and memory confusion.

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a/n: For those interested in updates or sneak peeks or theory shit abt this book, then feel free to join my discord server—the link is on my profile.