After waking on top of a pile of dead bodies who would sleep.
I had made sure my eyes didn't even close for a second and I was right too because they eventually came for me.
Two of the Mergehold's waiters, each wearing that spotless white linen that somehow never seemed to wrinkle. It allowed me a moment of respite since in there own position they were of the lowest rank too.
Their expressions were carved from the same stone as the walls until they spoke at least
"Sister of the Third Veil wants to see you."
"Me?"
They didn't give an answer.
Just waited till I left the room and followed them.
We went through the quickest corridor that connected dorms to the dwelling of the sisters.
Lanterns hanging from the ceiling trembled in their glass cases, bleeding yellow light over the stone floors. I caught my reflection in one of the windowpanes—a round face, thick neck, hair clinging to my sweaty skin. The boy whose body I now wore.
He was fat. Ugly, even. The sort of child who'd always end up carrying the blame when the bread went missing from the kitchen. Yet, beneath the layers of softness, I could see it—the faint suggestion of bone and shape, the shadow of what he could've been if life hadn't kept him caged. There was potential here. If he had lived long enough to slim down, maybe people would have looked twice before looking away.
I knew his memories now. I could feel how little he was liked. The way people's eyes followed him as I passed—some in disgust, others with that cruel, amused pity reserved for those who never fit the pattern.
"May the supreme deities be worshiped."
I bowed with the willless ladies in front of me for the umpteenth time in front of another sister whoes face, though smiling demanded we say those cryptic lines.
We passed through the main hall, where the colors of the robes began to shift—white, gray, crimson. The deeper the shade, the fonder Mama was of them. No one said this aloud, but every child learned to notice.
Whispers followed me. Not loud enough to make out, but clear enough to sting.
When we reached the inner door, one of the waiters gestured for me to enter. The other placed a hand on my shoulder and then let me go
The door creaked open, spilling a line of blue light across my shoes.
Somewhere behind me, someone laughed.
I took a breath, felt my too-tight clothes strain against my belly, and stepped through—into the place where questions went to die.
It was the two murders from yesterday my nightmares yesterday. In all of Rin's thoughts I could remember they were nice people. They were strong all right but didn't go around killing people .
I looked at Bola nursing her cup again, fingers wrapped around the pottery, and steam fogging her lashes.
The angelic image overlapped with her blood soaked cloth but I still bowed.
"May the supreme deities be worshiped."
"Yes indeed forever and ever"
A brass weighing scale sat between us, one pan bowed with coins, the other gleaming and empty. Little details like that anchored me when I entered new places.
Bola set the cup down. "Which country were you born in?"
"Aureilla?"
I blinked. "No, sister. I was born here in Tarungi.,"
Bola's gaze flicked toward Miriam. The other woman didn't look up—her eyes were fixed on the scale, watching how its left pan trembled.
"He's lying," Miriam said.
The words hit harder than they should have. I opened my mouth to argue, but something twisted inside my chest. A low pressure at first—then a violent pull, like my ribs were folding inward.
It came fast. The first cough tore through my throat. Then another.
I staggered, choking, my knees scraping the floor. The sound turned wet. My mouth filled with something thick, metallic. Blood splattered the stone between my hands, and with it came something else—sharp and slick, dragging its edges through my throat as it rose.
I gagged. The pain blurred my vision until it finally left me, it landed with a dull clink on the floor—a small, glassy object half-soaked in blood and bile. A shard, no bigger than a finger. It pulsed faintly, like it was breathing then broke apart.
The room went still. Even the lanterns stopped their tremor.
Bola stared at the place the shard had been for a long time, then murmured, almost to herself, "Truth weighs heavy."
The scale gave a faint creak and adjusted itself
I wiped my mouth and stood starlight
"Let's try that again," Bola said quietly, adjusting the coins on the scale.
I swallowed hard. What kind of penalty was that.
Another question shall we? "On your wrist—what you're wearing."
I looked down and felt my soul freeze. I hadn't remembered wearing it.
"It's… from my dad," I said.
The scale twitched but did not move.
"Did your awakening come from the events of yesterday?"
I shook my head "No Ma."
Bola exhaled slowly. Her fingers relaxed around the edge of the table.
"Do you remember the events of yesterday ..."
This device from the second question had proved to be defective my dad had given me the watch but not directly. It had come in a beast with 4 tires, and my mum had been the one to hand it over.
Did the scale weighed truth, not fact? Then the trick was in framing it—saying enough truth to stay alive, enough vagueness to keep secrets intact.
They kept at it, question after question, their rhythm precise. I had been playing along.
"Where were you yesterday morning?"
"In bed, I think." I let confusion bleed into my tone. The scale remained level.
Their eyes darted between me and the shimmering device, looking for cracks. I gave them none.
I coughed occasionally—enough to look fragile. I let my gaze wander, my hands twitch, my voice shake. The performance of someone with gaps in his memory.
Miriam's stance shifted. One heel turned slightly outward; her weight leaned toward the door. A practiced pivot, ready to move fast. Bola's chair was angled back from the table—not close enough for comfort, but perfect for distance.
The silence thickened until Bola finally spoke. "You expect us to belive you were asleep for nearly twenty hours?"
"Yes. yes" I said looking at the scale.
Miriam stepped forward, her eyes tracing the faint blood stain near my shoe.
"Since you've… forgotten things," she said slowly, "it's only right we remind you of the rules."
She didn't mention memory tampering. She didn't have to. The careful phrasing, the sideways glance at Bola, the unspoken apology buried in her smile—all told me exactly what had been done.
She straightened, her voice smoothing into something ritualistic.
"Rule one…"
"When you go outside, no one can know you are Awakened. Or at least… not an Awakened from this temple."
She straightened, her tone brightening — domestic and deadly.
"Second: wake when the bells toll. Sleep when the bells toll. There is no other time. If you doze outside the rhythm, the temple will notice."
"Third: never leave your assigned wing after nightfall. If you hear knocking — you didn't hear it. If you hear a voice calling, it's not a voice you know."
Her eyes flicked sideways. The hint of a laugh was a razor.
"Fourth: eat everything given to you. Even if it rots in your mouth. Especially if it rots in your mouth."
Her smile went flat.
"Fifth: do not speak about home. Home doesn't exist here. The past is poison, and poison spreads."
Her fingers drummed the table — one, two — like a metronome.
"Sixth: do not bleed in the halls. If you're wounded, cover it. If you cannot cover it…" Her voice dropped to a sacred hush. "Pray. Loudly."
She studied me with a look that tested my bones for disbelief.
"Sevent
h: never question Mama. If she smiles, smile back. If she weeps, stay silent. If she doesn't look at you… hope she never does."
Her voice thinned, almost mournful.
"Eighth: when a child disappears, forget them. Their name no longer exists here. Not in speech. Not in thought."
Silence followed. Then the tiny scrape of her chair as she leaned closer, her breath cool on my face.
"And the ninth rule," she said, mock-innocent, "you'll discover it yourself."
Every rule was another link. I saw them for what they were — a cage with hinges that could be worked, if I learned which teeth to pry. If I wanted out, I had to test the bars.
She dangled a key on its ring between two fingers, the metal winking in candlelight.
"Room Haven-13," she said, as if the name were a private joke — the kind that eats people.
The key dropped into my palm. It felt heavier than any key should, like iron that had gathered other people's weight. I closed my fingers around it, feeling both the boy's clumsy grip and my own foreign hunger for escape.
The coffee dried along my hairline. The scale on the table sat in mute, sensible balance, as if nothing monstrous had just been handed out in the name of order.
Outside, the corridor kept its ordinary noises — footsteps, distant chants — unchanged. Which made the rules all the darker for how quietly they bound us.
I walked toward Haven-13 with the key cold in my fist and the boy's memory of loopholes whispering how to use it.