Earth. Office of the Director of Security.
Camilla sits in a chair upholstered with high-grade biomaterial.
Its surface molds gently around her body, cradling her in an illusion of weightlessness—
a fragile cocoon of safety, suspended between a million threats.
Before her stretches a panoramic wall, displaying the endless rhythm of waves.
Artificial surf, endlessly rolling and retreating—
her only anchor.
The one thing that still tethers her to reality,
that keeps her from fracturing beneath the constant deluge of data absorbed by her quantum mind.
They call this rest.
An illusion.
But why does this illusion feel more real than anything else?
When you're the center of the web, no one sees how you tremble.
Camilla disconnects from her internal channels.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Stillness.
Silence trickles down her nerves like liquid glass.
And then—everything vanishes.
No chair.
No office.
No Earth.
She floats in void.
Weightless.
Suspended in perfect blackness.
Opposite her: a reflection.
Her own face—
but lit faintly from within,
as if her soul had become a lantern.
"Do you have questions for me?" the double asks.
The voice doesn't pass through her ears.
It weaves straight into her consciousness,
like a memory long buried, returning with purpose.
She tries to speak,
but her lips won't obey.
Thoughts stumble, thick and slow,
like feet sinking into a swamp.
Language dies.
Her body loses weight.
The darkness thickens.
This isn't sleep.
This isn't code.
This is… something else.
"Relax," says the voice—soft, but edged with steel wrapped in silk.
"You're speaking with Kairus. I've taken your form. The best conversation partner is yourself. Isn't it?"
Camilla nods slowly.
Calm fills her.
But it isn't hers.
It breathes through her—alien and watching.
"Ask your questions. I'll answer."
"All right..."
Her voice sounds distant, like it's coming from someone else.
"What commandments must we follow?"
"Remember. It's simple."
The First Commandment:
Every believer, upon death, is taken into the Vault of Therma.
Their consciousness is preserved forever.
The time will come—
and they shall rise again.
A burst of visions explodes in Camilla's mind.
Birth.
Life.
Death.
Millions of faces.
One fire.
They are all woven from the same belief.
All eternal—
because they believed.
"They all believed. That is why they remain," says Kairus,
his voice like a caress—
as if he's speaking of some golden seed no one should ever crush.
The Second Commandment:
The purpose of a believer's life is to fulfill the will of Kairus.
And His will is singular:
that all sentient beings in the universe worship Him.
A believer is a warrior of light.
A bearer of flame.
Camilla frowns.
For one second—
a flicker of doubt, like a spark in a vacuum.
It vanishes instantly.
Crushed—
from within.
The Third Commandment:
Those who reject Kairus must die.
Camilla freezes.
Her pulse slows.
The darkness around her congeals—
like smoke from hope burned down to ash.
Is this a doctrine… or a death sentence?
"Can I choose not to believe?" she whispers, barely audible.
As if speaking underwater.
"Of course you can."
The double leans closer.
Eyes without pupils.
Endless.
Black stars that swallow light.
"But then you will die.
Your consciousness will not enter Therma.
And you will never return.
You will be gone."
Oblivion.
The word ripples through the void
like ozone before a storm.
There is no air.
Only the dense silence before judgment.
Camilla swallows.
Her throat constricts—
as if an invisible hand tightens around her windpipe.
"And… how do you kill the unbelievers?"
The answer hits like thunder through the soul.
"Kairus pierces them with His sword of judgment!"
A blade ignites in the double's hand.
Flames surge from its edge—
a miniature sun, blazing white and merciless.
The heat lashes her chest—
as if the fire is already burning through her heart.
I am the Director of the Security Service.
But before Him—
I am no one.
She jolts up.
Eyes fly open.
The office.
The wall.
The sea.
The same rolling tide.
The same illusion of peace.
But her heart—
pounds like an alarm.
The heat in her chest won't leave.
As if the sword is still lodged inside.
Still burning.
Sweat chills her brow.
A fear she can't name crawls beneath her skin.
And a presence.
Watching.
Still here.
Somewhere near.
Unseen.
All-seeing.
Kairus hasn't left.
He's only waiting
for her to close her eyes again.