This blackout was different. Previously time was compressed. Hours into minutes. I fainted, had a few minutes of dream, then woke up the next morning.

  But today, I opened my eyes in the night. Terrified in a dark room. Where am I?

  My whole body cold and shaking.

  Who am I?

  Something deep inside me was crawling, making my internals itch.

  Memories and realization came down slowly, like water after a drought, refilling the dry riverbed.

  I'm Leonard. Leonard... I struggled to recall my surname. Leonard... Dmovsky.

  I'm in... in Australia, in my home. A soft blanket brushed against my jaw. The bedsheet was wet from sweat.

  I have a fever... Am I sick?

  My eyes searched for something familiar in the shadows, but there was none. At least at first. Strange desk illuminating the wall with faint amber light. Window with warm, ambient light outside. Rough stone wall pressing against the space, encapsulating me.

  No. This is not Sydney. I'm in the Temple. It's the other world.

  The night that followed was filled with resurfacing memories that were slipping away the moment I tried to hold onto them. With turning from side to side, because the weight of my body against the bed was too much to handle. With annoying scratching that didn't help at all.

  When I finally fell asleep, it was already dawn. Time for morning routine. Breakfast. Walk around the Temple. Evadne was nowhere to be found, I was left with Severus and Silvanus. The former was walking right beside me. The latter secured our backs.

  When I had roughly forty minutes before 'my body starts eating itself', per Althea's gentle reminder, Evadne joined. She seemed disturbed. Her lips a thin line, hands shaking—barely noticeable movement, but still. I asked her what happened, but she deflected with, "Everything's alright, you have your own worries, Saint Leonard."

  She doesn't trust me? Or I'm not someone she can share her worries with? The former thought rubbed me the wrong way. I stared at her with nothing but silence.

  "The meeting with Inquisitors," she said, "they asked a lot of questions. Fortunately didn't... didn't use force. I was afraid they might. They're..." her voice trailed off. "Under special circumstances, The Main Inquisitor could even overrule Pythia."

  So that's why they were so cocky. Time to change the subject.

  "Show me the Prayer Room, in private, if possible." I recalled her promise from yesterday. I knew she was joking back then, but I wanted to tease her back. My words made the corners of her eyes reveal the suppressed laugh. Success.

  "Naturally," Evadne said, giving a shallow nod, her hands calming. With Severus leading the way, we reached the Prayer Room in no time.

  Silvanus remained outside while the smell of incense and quiet murmur of prayers welcomed us through the widely open, wooden door. Severus followed me and Evadne inside, where there was an open space that was bright from the orbs under the ceiling. The air was heavy, dense with people, despite the raised windows.

  In front of the entrance beside the wall, was a stone altar with a transparent, glassy bowl on top. Beside it, a jug levitated, pouring water into the bowl. A place for offerings? Baptism? I mused.

  Behind the bowl, a life-sized sculpture in stone. A pregnant woman sitting on a rock, one hand held the swollen belly, the other in a welcoming gesture. The sculpture was made with divine precision, its colors natural, making it feel like a real person. Behind her head a bright yellow sun shone, but part of it was covered with a silver, full moon.

  Is that you, Mother of All? You look quite lovely. But I had a different impression from our last encounter. Calculated, cold, indifferent. Motherly? Hell no.

  People were standing randomly, alone or in groups, and they had their pale skin exposed as much as possible. Men usually wore only pants, and women panties and tank tops, poor clothing dominated the room.

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  People prayed whispering, their arms spread out to the sides and heads turned toward the ceiling. Only the regular residents of the temple remained normally dressed—priests, guards, and servants.

  For me, it looked grotesque, unsettling. Like people on a festival, who took a bit too much of unhealthy substances.

  "How do I pray?" I asked Evadne, feeling the seed of worry taking root inside me.

  A lock of her shiny, brown hair fell on her face as she tilted her head smiling. "Just say what's weighing on your soul, Pandora will listen." Her golden eyes were full of hope that I lacked.

  My focus narrowed to the sculpture.

  I walked before the altar with heavy steps, the hard stone cold beneath my boots. One or two believers lost in their religious rapture nudged me with their outstretched arms when they rotated to face different orbs, humming. Severus was right behind me, a silent shadow, while Evadne walked by my side, her elbow touching my arm.

  As I stood with my head high, looking up at the sculpture, I started in my mother tongue, "Pandora, can you take me back to my world?"

  The only reply was the overlapping murmur of other prayers and my own rising heartbeat, pounding in my ears. I waited, letting the silence stretch, a hollow space where a goddess's voice should be. Minutes passed.

  The resolve I'd carefully guarded began to curdle into a familiar, sour dread. I asked again, quieter, my voice melding with the whispers of other prayers, unnoticed, unanswered. The sweet, heavy smell of incense that filled the room became unbearable, cloying, like this whole situation.

  Pythia doesn't know.

  Pandora doesn't answer.

  My Guide insists my past life is gone.

  I'm on my own.

  Something cracked inside me. I shoved it down—this is just a distraction—but the fissure spread a little more before I contained it. Like trying to hold together a breaking dam with my bare hands.

  "This is a waste of time," I finally said, my voice rough. I had to blink rapidly to stop the tears. I turned toward Evadne saying, "Thank you," and she nodded with a reserved smile, studying my face for a moment.

  I turned away, unable to look at the faith still shining in her eyes. She finally reached out to me. "It's just a first step, Saint Leonard. Now let's take another, it's time for training." I didn't stop her hand when it brushed my cheek, just nodded with my jaw clenched.

  "Severus," I turned to my guard, "lead the way."

  We went out—Evadne, my shadows, and the weight I couldn't leave behind.

  The Prayer Room swallowed our footsteps.

  The training swallowed me.

  Pylades gave me a simple task. Crawl.

  On the cold, uneven, damp stone of the Temple's walls.

  At first I enjoyed the chilly surface—it fought back my fever. Pleasant contrast pulling my thoughts away from the Prayer Room. Simple, mundane task occupying the mind.

  If I was sweaty before, after a few minutes I was soaked as if I'd bathed.

  The fire inside me burned out quickly, replaced by the catalyst's itch. The itch was quite effective at distracting me.

  My elbows and knees slipped on the stone, forcing my soft tissue to adapt. To stretch. To shrink. When I thought I had this, Pylades said, "Now with the weight."

  A backpack loaded with stones. They shifted inside with my every move, forcing me to compensate.

  Itch evolved to tearing. The tearing was super effective at distracting me.

  The guards in the watch tower stood above me when I passed them. Silent.

  When our eyes met, I expected judgment, pity, or mockery. It was none of those, but I was too exhausted to figure out what. The stone scraped my elbows raw. That I understood.

  I took short breaks between sessions, drinking like I hadn't had water in days. When I couldn't crawl, Pylades ordered me to roll on the floor. Simple.

  Well, it wasn't. Not after crawling for what felt like days.

  What I was proud of, though, was that it was the first day without me passing out. If lying motionless counted.

  "Catalyst bound at 86%, Leonard. Move," Althea insisted.

  I didn't.

  How could I?

  My arms and legs just lay there, unresponsive. Something blocked my movement. Self-preservation? Primal instinct?

  "If you won't move, I'll have to," Althea said calmly.

  Naturally, when my muscles left their post, Althea stepped in. A jolt from my wrist sent forceful commands, trying to overwrite my will. Out of pure defiance, I resisted. Once. Twice. Thrice. Each her attempt was successful, but delayed. Every milisecond of resistance tasted like victory.

  "I'll protect you, Leonard," she said with confidence.

  Eventually I let go, I needed her help to push my body past its limits.

  She didn't have to do much. Just a few muscles in my core were enough to turn me around like a puppet. As a bonus, my floppy arms kept hitting the floor.

  This repeated.

  Ninety-eight percent.

  One hundred percent.

  "Excellent, Leonard. Another successful day!" Althea said ecstatically.

  They dragged me to my bed. Short sleep. Then dreamless struggle until dawn.

  Next day fell into routine. Morning? Hangover. Then short walk to the Prayer Room. New kind of torture with squats and wall kicks right after. I finished it on my own, without Althea's "help". My Victory.

  Feverish night. In the morning Pandora's silence to my prayer. Stairs down. Stairs up. Althea helped me stay lucid. Victory didn't last a day.

  Restless until dawn, then She ignored me again. Then mix of previous 'trainings' with more weight. I had to rely on Althea to stay up. Again.

  Half-lucid waste of time in the Prayer Room. Hitting wall with elbows and knees? Fists and feet? Althea helped hitting with maximum force that didn't shatter my bones. Another day survived.

  The whole week passed in a blur of pain and silence. Before I knew it, the day I was to visit the Princess arrived.

  Everything was prepared.

  Evadne.

  Pythia.

  Legatus.

  Extra escort.

  The journey planned down to the minute.

  I dismissed them all.

  “I’m not going.” The only reason I provided.