"So there was time when there was no war?", the little boy with grey shiny hair and a white dirty blindfold on his eyes asked as he swung his legs back and forth, sitting beside Elio.
A deep voice answered his question, the boy could feel that he was a warrior dressed in silver armour as his right side that leaned against him felt very cold compared to the rest of his body.
"Yes, there was time like that too", Elio ended the sentence with a ridiculous huff.
"Is it true that the war started because the gods kidnapped the warrior's wife?", the boy felt the warrior beside him stiffen.
"No-Not, that is just half the truth.", a very hard and difficult answer came from his side.
"Do you think he can win?"
"Do you want all the spoilers now?"
"What is your story then?" The boy looked towards him as he slowly took his bloodied blindfold off his eyes. "Elio."
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The wagon groaned as it rolled over the cobbled road. Each jolt sent me swaying, clutching the leather satchel tight between my knees. My hands were stiff from the cold, yet my wife's skin felt colder still. She leaned against me, her face pale as the morning mist, only the faint bloom on her cheeks convincing me she still held warmth inside her. Looking at her carefully, her breath barely fogged the air.
There was still time before we reached the Temple of Altris. The road stretched endlessly ahead, the wheels crunching over loose stone. Uncle Barain had said the priests were warned two fortnights ago as a rider had carried the letter himself. Everything would be ready, he'd promised. When we arrived, the ritual would cleanse her and Mira would breathe again.
But if the spirit refused to leave her…
My fingers tightened around her hand. Her skin was cool and still, like something half-remembered. The thought of returning home without her - of sitting in silence again - made my chest hollow.
"We're here, Elio!"
Henry's voice cut through the rumble of the wagon. He reined the horses to a stop and their breaths steamed in the cold dusk. Henry had driven half the night without a word, and now he turned in his seat, eyes soft with pity. I murmured a quick thanks to Henry and clutched the satchel, then gathered Mira into my arms. Her breath barely stirred against my neck. "Hold on," I whispered, though her head only lolled closer to my shoulder.
The temple loomed ahead. Upon entering I was mesmerized by the temple walls that rose like frozen waves of white marble, every surface etched with sapphire patterns that shimmered in the torchlight. The carvings weren't mere decorations but they told stories. Gods locked in battle, angels with open palms, flowers that seemed to bloom mid-stone.
I clutched Mira closer to myself as the air felt more cold than ever, still, humming faintly with the echo of prayers buried in the walls. It felt less like stepping into a building and more like walking into a memory carved by divine hands.
A dozen women moved soundlessly across the floor, their white gowns flowed as distant waves. They were young, solemn, and watching me.
One of the older women stepped forward. Her silver-streaked hair was coiled into precise rolls, not a strand daring to fall out of place. When she spoke, her voice was soft but certain, like a hymn half--remembered.
"You must be Elio. The Grand Priest has been expecting you. Please, follow me."
I gathered Mira closer, her weight small and fragile against my chest. The marble floor bit through my boots, stealing what little warmth I had left. With each step, the cold seemed to rise — from the stone, from the walls, from the thought of what might come.
I was afraid. For her. For myself. For what this place might take from us both.
The echo of my boots carried through the corridor, a hollow rhythm swallowed by the marble around us. The air thickened as we entered the Grand Hall of Altris — a place built for gods, not men.
Light spilled from braziers set high along the walls, glinting off white stone and blue carvings that spiraled toward the vaulted ceiling. At the altar stood the Grand Priest, draped in an emerald gown that shimmered like wet leaves. A crown of peacock feathers fanned above his head, each eye gleaming with hidden color. Jewels traced his sleeves and throat, catching the firelight in quick, jeweled flashes.
He raised one hand — graceful yet commanding — and beckoned us forward. The air seemed to move with him.
I laid Mira gently on the raised altar, the marble colder than I'd imagined. The Grand Priest's jeweled hand lingered above her, steady and sure, as though he had done this a thousand times before.
"Perhaps the spirit of Metros—"
The thought stopped me cold. No. Not that name. The shopkeeper had whispered it once before his lungs turned to stone.
"My child," the priest said, his voice low and resonant, "pray to Altis, that He may forgive you for what has been done."
I knelt. The marble floor bit against my knees as I pressed my forehead to the ground. The statue of Altis loomed above, carved from the same white-and-blue stone, flanked by Gurdis and Listos, his eternal servants.
I whispered apologies I didn't understand, words scraping out of me like confessions torn from a dream. I didn't know if Altis could hear me—or if He would care—but if the priest had asked me to face the gods themselves, I would have done it for her.
The priestesses moved in silence. One laid flowers across Mira's chest, another circled with a candle whose flame wavered green in the draft. One by one, they dimmed the lamps until only the altar burned with light. Then, as the last flame flickered, they lowered their heads and began to chant incantations in a language that I could not understand.
The chanting rose, swelling until the hall itself seemed to vibrate with it and my ears shrilled from the noise. The priest's voice thundered above the rest, sharp and commanding, a sound too heavy for mortal lungs.
With my forehead pressed to the marble, I felt my pulse hammer against the stone. Then Mira's voice broke through the chorus — a raw, strangled cry that tore the air apart.
My prayers stumbled into panicked murmurs. I prayed faster, harder, as if speed could drown out her pain. The sound of her agony filled every corner of the hall, clawing its way into my chest until I couldn't tell if the one screaming was her or me as my tears wet the floor under me.
A loud thud rammed through the temple walls and I lifted my head, half-dazed with my palms still pressed against the marble. A second impact followed, closer this time, rolling through the temple like thunder trapped in a vault. The torches along the walls flickered, their flames bending inward, as if the very air was being drawn toward the altar.
The priest's chanting grew louder, each syllable twisting on itself until it no longer sounded human. I clamped my hands over my ears, but the sound slid beneath my fingers, worming through my skull. I could feel it in my bones, in my teeth. My breath broke into short, panicked bursts, and I began muttering my own prayers just to anchor myself to the world.
And finally the floor rippled beneath me. A pressure, thick and invisible, pushed at my chest, and before I could call Mira's name, a bright light erupted through the halls and heat lashed across my face; the scent of burning oil and iron filled my lungs.
I stumbled forward, half-blind, almost instantly my arms reaching for her. "Mira!" The name tore from my throat as I beckoned towards where she laid.
When my vision returned, the world looked wrong. The light was gone, but its afterimage seared every edge and shadow. The altar stood empty. Around it lay the bodies of the priestesses with their white gowns soaked in blood, limbs bent at angles nobody should make. Some with decapitated limbs and some with no limbs. The marble gleamed slick with blood and candle wax, and the smell was full of the sweet and metallic rot.
The Grand Priest was nowhere. Only his voice still echoed, faint and wet, as though trapped inside the walls themselves.
My eyes scanned around the room for my wife as I looked around the bodies with trembling hands. Please don't be her. Please.
A single, sharp scream pulled me out of my racing mind that made the hairs on my arms rise. Mira was in the air, her feet dangling and her head thrown back. A strange man stood behind her, one hand clamped around her throat. His silhouette shimmered through the leftover haze, the emerald robes of the priest clinging to his frame, the peacock crown still perched atop his head.
But his face—his face was no longer the priest's. The skin around his mouth rippled as though something inside was moving and soon the familiar priest was no longer in sight. An entity popped from his face, it had an otherworldly face, which made it so scary that it was so beautiful. His eyes had eccentric makeup of blue and white patterns and a face of ultimate masculine beauty.
"How dare you! Bow to your false gods!" the thing spat, every word a blade. "You carry Metros' blood!"
Its eyes burned with furious accusation; it looked at me as if I'd committed some holy sin I'd never known. My whole world narrowed to Mira's chest, the shallow hitch of each breath. I crouched and scanned the ruined bench beside me - a shard, a loose brazier, anything that could help.
"Answer me!" it demanded, voice magnified by the vaulted hall.
I felt the heat of rage rise in my throat. "Leave my wife. Give her to me." The words tore out of me, raw and shaking. My vision blurred with fury and fear; the thing's grin stretched too wide, and for a second it felt less human than the shadow behind the crown.
"Hmmm." The thing's grin widened, its gaze sliding from me to Mira's trembling body.
My throat tightened. At first, I thought it was panic—but then I couldn't breathe. Something unseen coiled around my neck, tightening until spots of light burst in front of my eyes. My feet left the ground. I kicked, clawing at nothing, the burn in my shoulders spreading down my spine. The force lifted me higher, my chest screaming for air—then threw me.
I crashed onto the altar where Mira had lain moments ago. The marble knocked the breath from me; pain shot through my back like cracks in ice. Before I could move, the air itself seemed to harden around me. My arms and legs were wrenched outward, held by something I couldn't see. I strained, muscles shaking, but the more I fought, the heavier it pressed.
The candles burst back to life—one by one, like eyes opening. The thing began to chant, low at first, then rising until it filled every corner of the temple. The sound clawed at the air, at my skin.
Pain crawled up my spine. My eyes burned from the light, white and endless, and my ears screamed as the pressure built until I thought my head would split open. My stomach twisted, the pain sharp and needling, like something was trying to dig its way out of me.
I couldn't tell if I was on the altar or floating above it. Everything was spinning, melting. Black spots drifted through the light, swirling, forming shapes that weren't there a moment ago.
Then the visions came-fast, violent. Flashes of someone else's life: a man in silver armor drenched in blood, fire reflecting off his blade. Men shouting around a campfire. A face with long hair, eyes that burned like mine. Dragons—red, glimmering, alive. Too many. Too fast. They tore through me until I didn't know where I ended and they began.
"Don't you dare slip into darkness!" the thing roared. "I'll kill her if you do!"
I tried-Gods, I tried-to keep my eyes open, but the light kept flickering out. Everything tilted and swam, and the edges of the world began to fold in on themselves. My body convulsed once, and then- silence.
I hit the ground hard. The sound cracked through the hall, followed by nothing. I couldn't move. My skin was soaked, heavy; water clung to me, pooling beneath my back before spreading outward, darkening into crimson. It took me a moment to realize it wasn't all water.
"Boy," the voice echoed, distant now, almost gentle. "Raise the temples… and come find her."
I tried to lift my hand, to reach for where she'd been. My fingers twitched once. That was all. Through the blur, I saw him-still wearing that stolen face-as he turned into smoke and vanished, taking her with him.
And then there was nothing. Just the sound of my own heartbeat, faint and hollow, echoing in the dark as I howled out a cry that even I had never heard before.