Consciousness came back in bits and pieces. First there was feeling—the gentle rocking of a solid surface beneath him. Then sound—a distant mechanical hum that rose and fell in rhythmic patterns. Taste and smell arrived together—recycled air with a faint metallic tang. Elias kept his eyes closed, instinctively gathering information before revealing he was awake.


    Something was wrong. The textures against his skin felt all wrong—smooth, clean fabric instead of the ceremonial robes he''d worn in the Cathedral. And the gentle rocking motion suggested he was on a ship, though nothing like the small fishing vessels that occasionally docked in Valtaros''s harbor.


    When he finally opened his eyes, the disorientation hit harder. He was lying on a narrow bunk in what looked like a small metal-walled cabin. A single circular window showed blue sky and even bluer water stretching to the horizon. This wasn''t the Cathedral, or any spiritual realm inside the Maw. This was... somewhere else entirely.


    Elias sat up carefully, fighting a wave of dizziness. His head felt strangely light, as though stuffed with cotton. The cabin contained sparse furnishings—just the bunk where he''d awakened, a small desk bolted to the floor, a chair similarly secured, and a cabinet presumably for personal belongings. Everything had a precise, functional design that spoke of technology beyond what existed in present-day Valtaros.


    Even more jarring was his changed appearance. He glanced down to find the ceremonial robes, ritual paint, and visible marks were gone. Instead, he wore a functional uniform of dark blue fabric with a small insignia on the chest pocket. His body seemed unchanged otherwise—same height, same build—but the black marks that had spread beneath his skin were nowhere to be seen.


    Yet when he focused his attention inward, he could still feel them there—dormant but present, like ink that had seeped so deep into paper it was no longer visible on the surface.


    The medallion was still there too, now hanging from a simple chain around his neck rather than hidden in a pocket. Its familiar weight provided the only tangible connection to the reality he''d left behind, the one piece of evidence that he hadn''t imagined everything that came before.


    A laminated ID badge lay on the desk, featuring his image alongside text identifying him as "Elias Varen, Research Assistant, Heraclea Expedition." The photo showed his face without the marks or ritual paint, his expression more open than he''d worn in years.


    "The Heraclea Expedition," he muttered, the name stirring something in his memory. Lyara had mentioned historical settings—crucibles where humanity had faced corruption at pivotal moments. The Heraclea... humanity''s first documented encounter with corruption—the beginning of the journey that would eventually lead to the Fall.


    The Maw had placed him in a historical moment, exactly as she''d predicted. But why this one specifically?


    A folder beside the badge contained orientation materials explaining his role aboard the vessel—credentials in marine biology and sample analysis, previous research experience, specific responsibilities. A complete fake history created with meticulous attention to detail.


    He picked up the folder, leafing through pages of technical information written in scientific language he somehow understood despite never having studied these fields. According to these documents, he was part of an oceanographic research team studying deep-sea thermal vents and their unique biological ecosystems.


    "None of this is real," he reminded himself quietly. "It''s a trial. A test."


    But the rocking motion of the ship felt real. The cool metal of the desk beneath his fingertips felt real. Even the slight nausea from what seemed to be mild seasickness felt undeniably real.


    Elias stood up carefully, testing his balance on the gently swaying floor. He moved to the small cabinet, finding it contained clothing identical to what he was wearing—several sets of the dark blue uniform, undergarments, a jacket for colder weather. All perfectly sized for him, as though tailored specifically.


    Next, he tried the desk drawers, discovering a tablet device containing research notes written in handwriting identical to his own despite never having written them. Personal items occupied another drawer—a small grooming kit, what appeared to be an electronic payment card, and photographs showing him alongside other researchers at previous expeditions.


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    The thoroughness was both impressive and unsettling. Whatever force or intelligence controlled the Maw, it could create or access complete historical scenarios with perfect fidelity. This wasn''t merely a visual hallucination but comprehensive reality construction down to the smallest detail.


    He examined the circular window more closely, noting how the glass seamlessly integrated with the metal hull—technology slightly beyond current capabilities in Valtaros. The seascape beyond appeared authentic, waves moving with natural randomness, occasional seabirds visible in the distance. If this was a simulation, it was indistinguishable from reality.


    Sudden dizziness forced him to grip the edge of the desk for balance. The cabin blurred momentarily, reality seeming to thin like fabric stretched too tightly. Through this temporary distortion, he glimpsed something else—the Cathedral''s darkness, twelve chosen ones falling, the High Priestess watching their descent with arms outstretched.


    Then the moment passed, reality snapping back into place with jarring finality. The experience left Elias with absolute certainty: this historical setting, however detailed and seemingly real, was ultimately a construction. The true trial lay in navigating it correctly, in understanding what it was designed to teach.


    He moved to the small washbasin in the corner, splashing cold water on his face. The water felt real—cold, wet, exactly as water should feel. The sensory detail reinforced the scenario''s overwhelming authenticity.


    His reflection in the small mirror above the basin showed a face subtly different from the one he knew—still his features, but somehow younger, less hardened by life in the slums. The manufactured history had physically manifested in his appearance, creating a version of himself that might have existed if his life had followed a different path.


    According to Lyara''s information, his task now was to navigate this historical setting, find artifacts that would resonate with him personally, and locate the other chosen ones who''d entered the Maw alongside him. Most critically, he needed to find Lyara herself. Find me as quickly as possible, she''d said. Together, we''ll have better chance of surviving both phases.


    But first, he needed to understand where exactly in the Heraclea''s timeline he''d been placed. Was this the initial discovery of corruption? The middle of the investigation? Or the final desperate moments before catastrophic containment failure?


    He examined the research folder more carefully, searching for dates or timeline indicators. The most recent entries were from the previous day, describing the collection of deep-sea samples from the thermal vent system. Nothing explicitly mentioned corruption or unusual discoveries, suggesting either the investigation was still classified or hadn''t yet occurred.


    The ship''s layout was included in the orientation materials—a research vessel of impressive size, with dedicated laboratories, sample collection equipment, and accommodations for thirty researchers plus twenty crew members. Elias memorized the deck plans, identifying key locations: laboratories where research took place, the bridge where command decisions were made, and potential escape routes if they became necessary.


    If the other chosen ones had been placed aboard too, they''d likely be assigned roles matching their apparent skills and backgrounds. Keldric might be security personnel, Maris an administrative officer or diplomat, Tavin perhaps another researcher. Finding them amid fifty people without revealing his own disorientation would require careful observation and patience.


    A knock at the cabin door interrupted his investigation. Before he could decide whether to respond, the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged woman in a similar uniform, her expression harried but professional.


    "Varen, you''re finally awake," she said, checking a clipboard with practiced efficiency. "Captain''s called an all-hands briefing in ten minutes. Something about anomalous readings from yesterday''s deep samples."


    She spoke as if they were acquainted, her manner suggesting an established working relationship. Elias nodded, falling into the role automatically—survival instincts adapting to this new environment as they had to countless situations in the slums.


    "I''ll be there," he replied, keeping his voice steady despite his internal disorientation.


    "Lab Three, don''t be late." She checked something off on her clipboard. "And try to look less like you spent the night celebrating. The Captain''s in one of her moods."


    The woman left before Elias could respond, closing the door behind her. Alone again, he took a deep breath, centering himself for what was to come. The trial had begun in earnest. He was now Elias Varen, Research Assistant, Heraclea Expedition—at least until he discovered what lesson this historical crucible was meant to teach.


    He adjusted his uniform, ensuring the medallion remained concealed beneath the fabric. As he reached for the door, his fingers brushed against the identification badge on the desk. He hesitated briefly, then attached it to his uniform, accepting the role he''d been assigned in this historical recreation.


    Whatever awaited him beyond that door was part of humanity''s first encounter with corruption. And somehow, navigating it correctly would determine whether he returned from the Maw transformed—or was consumed by it.