Erasmus blinked. Once. Then again.
This wasn't the room.
Not the one the Fractured Sight had shown him—not even close. The memory of the vision clung stubbornly behind his eyes, like an afterimage scorched onto the mind's canvas. He could still feel it—stone walls etched with spirals of sacrifice, a bone-thin altar hunched beneath a shaft of bleeding light, the air sharp with the weight of unseen judgment. It had felt inevitable. Predestined.
But here?
Here was something… else.
A tavern—if one could call it that—lay hollowed out inside the cavern's ribs, sculpted from pale, almost bone-like stone. It sagged into shadow like it had grown tired of pretending to be a place of rest. The walls were overtaken by black moss that writhed faintly with a rhythmic pulse, as if the cave itself was breathing in shallow, labored gasps. The floor in front of them opened into a still pool that stretched wide and patient, separating their platform from another at the far end—like a gaping throat waiting to swallow the unwary.
And in that pond, trees. Rooted in the water like monuments to despair, their trunks submerged, branches limp, leaves so dark they bled blue. They looked like they were trying to drown themselves and failing just enough to suffer.
Erasmus did not recoil. He did not question the rupture in prophecy.
Instead—he smiled.
Slowly. Faintly. The way a man might smile after spotting a new constellation no one else could see.
Well, he thought, amused. Isn't this interesting?
Behind him, the group arrived—one by one, silence clinging to their movements. Nobody spoke, though the weight of unsaid questions hung in the air like moisture before a storm.
Erasmus didn't turn around. He was too busy spinning theories like threads between his fingers. This deviation… what does it mean? The Sight never faltered before.
Variable interference? Perhaps some external force had jammed the signal.
Or maybe… maybe the Sight never promised certainty. Maybe its narrowed path—the "correct" one—was only statistically accurate. High probability. Not absolute.
Change. Unknown. Uncertainty.
Erasmus welcomed all three like conspirators to a familiar game. They were the signs that he was brushing against something real. Something raw. Something not yet catalogued by Creed or consequence.
"Hold up," Riven's voice broke in, low and grounded like a hook dragging them back to earth.
Riven stepped to the edge of the stone platform, eyes fixed on the water like it had personally insulted him. He crouched, plucked a jagged rock from the ground, and with no flourish or fanfare, lobbed it forward.
No splash. No ripple. No echo.
The stone didn't fall. Didn't bounce. Didn't land.
It simply passed through the illusion of a shallow pond floor like a ghost wandering into an open grave—and vanished.
"...Well, that's comforting," Mira said, the brightness in her voice brittle and false, like a candle flickering in a dying lantern.
"There's no floor," Riven confirmed. "Just the image of one. A trick. A test."
Another stone followed. Plunk. Gone.
His fingers hovered over the hilt of his blade, as if it could cut through lies.
"Well then—how do we cross?" Rei demanded, his voice sharper than usual, clipped at the ends. His eyes snapped toward Erasmus, already tired of waiting. Already halfway to fury.
Erasmus raised a single hand, calm as still water. "Be patient. My God hasn't whispered yet."
It was a lie. A tailored, beautifully dressed one. Like all the best lies.
There was no whisper. No visions to know anything beforehand. The Sight had gone silent, and this place was carved from unknown logic. His mind worked double-time beneath the surface, scanning symbols, architecture, emotional resonance—anything that might offer a solution.
Because something about this place was wrong in a way he couldn't grasp yet.
It wasn't the silence. Or the stillness.
It was the intent.
Erasmus realized this place wanted something.
Rei didn't reply. His jaw clenched instead, tension twitching behind his cheekbones. "We've followed you," he said at last, his voice stripped of anything soft. "Through rot. Through fog. Through whispers we're not even allowed to acknowledge. What is this, Erasmus? Where the hell are we?"
"Madness," Mira suggested. Too cheerfully. "Or lunch. Depending on the hour."
"At least lunch is something everyone can sit down together to safely eat," Brin murmured.
"Or it at least used to be," Mira sarcastically said. "I can't wait to just finish this Trial and meet everyone back home!"
She was already imagining herself on her comfortable bed.
Before another breath could ignite between them, Calden stepped forward. Arms crossed. Eyes steady. Voice clean as a scalpel.
"This isn't new."
Everyone turned. Even Erasmus, curious.
"It's a sanctum of offering," Calden continued, tone void of drama. "A false one. The architecture. The carvings. This is a mimicry of faith. A temple-shaped trap."
"You knew?" Mira asked, sharp-edged.
"I suspected. But we needed rest. I thought the price was worth it." His voice didn't tremble. "I was wrong."
Riven lifted a hand—firm, commanding.
"Enough. Sit. No more until we breathe."
And somehow, they obeyed. One by one, they sank down onto the cold stone, backs resting against moss-choked walls and overturned barrels that had no right existing here.
Mira broke the silence after long minutes.
"…Everyone doing okay?"
The words were small, but they struck like a chisel to ice. Her eyes searched the group—tired, cautious, human.
There were nods. Shrugs. A few murmured "yeahs" that didn't sound convincing.
Then—click.
The lantern overhead stuttered once. Twice. Darkness swallowed the tavern like a mouth snapping shut.
Every sound—the trickling water, the whispering moss, the breath in their throats—was gone.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Time stretched, elastic and cruel.
And then, light bloomed back into the space, harsh and abrupt. Like someone had remembered the world was supposed to be seen.
But something had changed.
The barrel in the corner—was it always facing that direction?
The stool by the counter—had that been there before?
Mira stood abruptly. "I don't like this," she said, voice shaking at the edges. "I don't like what this place wants from us."
Rei's eyes didn't move from the water. "Does it want anything?"
No one responded as the group was entirely focused on the problem at hand.
The lantern dimmed once.
Just once.
A whisper followed—thin, curling into their ears not from the air, but from within.
Something old. Something buried.
Not a command, but a question.
What would you give to reach truth?
And deeper still—
What would you fake to pretend you already had?