Elias''s skin still tingled from the purification rituals. Hours of bathing in strange herbal waters, being rubbed with oils that seemed alive as they sank into his marked skin, and listening to mind-numbing chants had left him mentally drained but too wired to sleep. The crystal they''d given him felt like it was burning into his wrist, its pulse matching his heartbeat in a way that made him wonder if the thing was somehow alive.


    The meditation chamber they''d left him in was bare - just a simple pallet, a water basin, and a single candle that burned with unnatural steadiness. The flame didn''t even flicker. Nothing in this place felt natural.


    "Reflect on your journey," they''d told him. Right. As if anyone could meditate while waiting to be sacrificed to some interdimensional maw at dawn.


    His mind kept racing between everything he''d learned - the cryptic words from the High Priestess, the scattered information from Church texts, the glimpses of other chosen ones during the rituals. None of it formed a complete picture, just fragments that refused to connect properly.


    Sleep wasn''t happening, and quiet contemplation had never been his strong suit. Instead, he pulled out the medallion Seraphina had given him, turning it over in his hands. The symbols etched into its surface matched nothing he''d ever seen, yet somehow felt familiar, as if they were calling to something inside him.


    A soft knock interrupted his thoughts. He quickly pocketed the medallion, expecting another acolyte with more instructions or rituals.


    Instead, Lyara slipped through the door like a shadow, closing it behind her without a sound.


    "We don''t have much time," she said, glancing back at the door. "The acolytes make their final rounds soon."


    Elias studied her face in the candlelight. The rituals had left her skin with a subtle glow, and the wing-like patterns painted over her marks seemed to have taken on a life of their own. Even with death looming at dawn, she looked calm, focused. Maybe even excited.


    "How''d you find me?" he asked.


    "I memorized the layout before I came." The casual way she said it caught him off guard. "And you''re the one I needed to speak with most."


    "Why me?" He leaned back against the wall, relaxed while staying ready to move if needed. Old habits.


    "Because of all the chosen, you''re the most likely to survive based on adaptability alone—but also the most likely to come back wrong if you don''t understand what you''re walking into."


    Her bluntness was refreshing after hours of mystical nonsense from the acolytes. "You''ve been watching all of us."


    "Since we arrived." She touched the patterns on her own wrist. "My family has records describing what these mark patterns mean. Yours are... unusual. They show adaptation, potential for transformation beyond the ordinary."


    "Your family and their ''independent knowledge'' of the Maw," Elias said. "What exactly does that mean? You religious rebels or something?"


    Lyara glanced toward the door, listening for footsteps. "The Church sees the Maw as purely divine, which is half-right but misses the point entirely."


    "And the full truth?"


    "The Maw is a remnant from the last civilization that fought the corruption—a mechanism they created to produce warriors capable of fighting the Forgotten World." She spoke more quietly now, almost whispering. "Archaeological evidence suggests it was designed as a defense, not a religious artifact. Over centuries, its purpose remained, but its methods evolved."


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    Elias felt the medallion grow warmer in his pocket. "You''re saying it''s just technology? Not divine?"


    "When technology becomes advanced enough, is there really a difference?" She shrugged. "What matters is its purpose—creating defenders against corruption through trials and transformation."


    "And these trials—what exactly are we walking into tomorrow?"


    "Two phases," she explained, settling into a crouch beside him. "First, we''ll find ourselves in a historical setting—a pivotal moment when humanity first confronted corruption. We have to navigate this environment, find artifacts that resonate with us personally, and reach a convergence point together."


    "Artifacts? Like weapons?"


    "Each chosen one gets exactly two—a weapon and a tool. They bond with you, evolving based on your choices through the trials." She traced the patterns on her arms absently. "How your artifacts interact reveals your true nature. Those whose weapons and tools work in harmony typically survive longer."


    Elias tried to reconcile this with the vague religious descriptions he''d read. "And the second phase?"


    "We''ll find ourselves in Azimuth—a city that existed at humanity''s peak before the Fall. We journey from the harbor to the Central Spire, meeting Phantom Citizens and fighting corrupted creatures. The city holds knowledge lost since the Fall, if you''re smart enough to look for it rather than just fighting your way through."


    Her knowledge was too specific, too detailed. "How does your family know all this when the Returned can barely describe what happened to them?"


    Lyara hesitated, then sighed. "Because members of my family have been entering the trials voluntarily for generations. Each returns with fragments, pieces we''ve assembled into something more complete." She met his eyes directly. "I''m continuing their work."


    "Continuing implies a goal," Elias noted. "What exactly are you after in there?"


    "The truth about what the Maw really is and why it''s changing. Our records show it''s evolving beyond its original design. Understanding those changes could be crucial for humanity''s survival."


    Elias searched her face for deception but found only conviction. Not a fanatic, but someone raised with absolute purpose. He knew the type.


    "Why tell me this? Why not Keldric or Tavin? They seem more the heroic type."


    She moved closer until he could smell the lingering scent of ritual oils on her skin. "Because the marks chose you for a reason, Elias. Your pattern shows potential for profound transformation—either toward extraordinary power or complete corruption, depending on what you choose in there."


    "And what should I choose?"


    "Survival alone won''t be enough," she said, echoing the High Priestess''s warning with eerie similarity. "When the moment comes—and it will—choose understanding over power, preservation over destruction."


    Footsteps echoed in the corridor outside—the acolytes making their rounds. Lyara rose quickly, moving to the door.


    "One more thing," she said, hand on the latch. "When we enter the historical setting, find me as quickly as you can. Together, we stand a better chance."


    "Why want me as an ally?" Elias asked bluntly. "I''m just a slum thief looking out for himself, not some heroic defender of humanity."


    For the first time, Lyara smiled—a real smile that softened her intensity. "Because that''s not all you are, and we both know it. I''ve seen the records of your life, Elias—the eastern breach, what happened afterward."


    Cold dread washed over him. "Those records don''t exist. I made sure of it."


    "My family''s network runs deeper than you think." Her expression softened. "The Maw doesn''t choose randomly, Elias. Remember that tomorrow."


    She slipped out as silently as she''d entered, leaving Elias with a mind more troubled than before and questions about how much she really knew about him.


    He lay back on the pallet, turning everything over in his mind. If she was right, the trials ahead made more sense but weren''t any less dangerous. Historical setting. Artifacts. Azimuth. Phantom Citizens. Each piece potentially useful if he could figure out how to use it.


    But her knowledge of his past—that was deeply troubling. The eastern breach was something he''d buried completely, had killed to ensure no records connected him to what happened afterward. If Lyara''s family knew those details, they were more dangerous than any Church officials.


    The medallion felt heavier in his pocket, the High Priestess''s words echoing: Intention and transformation determine survival. Lyara had said basically the same thing.


    What intention beyond survival could possibly guide him? What transformation awaited someone who''d spent his life adapting to survive at any cost?


    The candle burned lower, marking time''s passage toward dawn. Toward the Maw''s embrace. Toward whatever truth waited on the other side.