The alley narrowed, lined with broken crates and rusted bins. A torn sheet hung from a window above, coated in soot.
"That one," Echo said.
I paused at the corner and looked out.
A monk walked past the far end of the alley, his pace slow and familiar. He looked to be in his thirties, round-faced with a soft build.
His brown robe dragged just slightly, showing wear from use. He moved like someone that have passed this route daily. Probably just returned from noon prayer.
"A harmless priest," I said.
"No, his name is Marek," Echo replied. "He's one of the corrupt. In the last cycle, he was part of the circle that drained prayers from orphans. You killed him before, do it again."
I didn't hesitate. My body moved by instinct
He didn't hear me until it was too late. One hand clamped over his mouth, the other drove my blade into the side of his neck.
He spasmed, a sharp breath choking on blood. His body sagged. I lowered him gently to the ground and waited until he stopped moving.
For a moment, I just stood there. It was my first kill, but the stillness that followed, the way his body twitched once and then went quiet, didn't bother me at all.
I lowered him gently, checking his robes. Clean, unmarked by blood. The cut hadn't pierced anything visible.
I stripped him quickly and changed. The cloth smelled of incense and dust, heavy from use. His hood hung low enough to hide most of my face.
As I tightened the sash, a thought pushed forward.
"How did someone like him receive a blessing from the goddess?" I asked. "He sacrificed orphans."
"He did," Echo said. "And that's exactly how he earned it."
I paused. "What?"
"They welcomed the children in. Gave them shelter, food, warmth. Built trust. Let them feel loved," Echo said, calm as ever.
"And when the time came, they offered them to the goddess. Not as an act of cruelty, at least not on the surface.
They called it devotion. A personal sacrifice on those they loved, and so earns the favor."
My chest tightened. "And she accepted that?"
"She rewards what she's given. The Goddess doesn't measure good and evil the way human do. It doesn't care what you think is right, only that you believe it."
Echo's tone was quiet. "They raised those children with care. Gave them warmth, safety, love. And then they let them go."
A chill passed through me. Not from the cold.
"They believed it was mercy," he continued. "That by offering them, they spared them a harder life.
That sacrificing something precious like them made their devotion pure.
In fact, the goddess doesn't demand indifference. What matters is the sincerity. The deeper the pain, the greater the offering."
"So much for 'truth and virtue,'" I muttered.
"They're ornaments," Echo replied. "Solaris wants everything to look clean. But underneath? Real faith is measured in what you give up, and how much it hurts."
I crouched beside the body and ran ash-streaked fingers through my hair, dulling the color strand by strand until it turned a pale gray. Then I pulled the hood low over my face.
"Now take his blessing," Echo said.
"Is that even possible?" I muttered. "A god's favor doesn't just change hands."
"With most, no. But this is why you spend all those effort. You now carry the ouroboros.
Focus on the warmth in his chest. That's where the light settles."
I placed my hand over the monk's heart. There was a flicker of warmth, faint but present.
I reached inward. The ouroboros responded.
Part of the mark on my chest split open, dark lines uncoiling like threads. One strand crept down toward my fingers, before shooting forward.
The strand turned into a dark snake opening it's jaws wide.
CHOMP!!!
It teeth sunk deep into the monk chest carving everything, the flesh, skin, while taking all the faith, devotion and blessing. All of it.
The snake pulled back slowly, bloated with stolen light, and vanished into my hand. My arm seized up. I fell to one knee.
Pain started to spread from my chest, like fire crawling beneath my skin. My heart pounded like a drum. My eyes narrowed.
"It's consuming the blessing," Echo said, voice flat as ever. "The pain won't stop until it finishes."
I gritted my teeth and asked, "What about the body?"
"Shadow," he replied. "Use the same element we called on before. Combine it with the rune.
Let the blessing act as the anchor. Shape the shadow into concealment, wrap the body in it like a veil."
I nodded. I wasn't sure what I was doing, but I remembered the magic before, the way the runes responded when I layered intent.
I draw the shadow rune once more, closed my eyes and focused. Shadow energy flowed easier this time. It moved like breath.
I willed it around the monk's body. The stolen blessing vibrated inside me. I pressed both forces together, and shaped them into my will.
The body didn't actually disappear. It was still there if someone reached out, but to the eye, it looked like it had turned to ash and blended into the dirt.
"You'll need to hide more than the corpse," Echo said. "There's invisible mark on you.
Anyone with True Sight will know you're a heretic. Use the blessing. Half of it."
"Half?" I asked. "What about the rest?"
"Later. You'll need it."
I bit back a reply and refocused. I traced a small rune over my chest, drawing in the stolen light. As I consumed it, I could the pain also lessened.
Echo than guided me, telling me how to shape it, how to cloak not just skin but my soul. When it took hold, I felt it spread.
My features blurred. My voice softened. Even my scent changed, familiar incense and wax.
To them, I was a monk of the light.
"Good enough to walk around," Echo said.
I pulled the hood tighter and stepped into the main path. No one gave me a second glance.
"Head northeast. Stay close to the walls until you reach the market turnoff.
Then take the stairwell down to the lower ring. You'll see the back arch of the Sanctum's servant gate."
I followed the directions without comment. The streets were uneven, lined with cracked stone and open gutters.
Most people kept their eyes down, shoulders hunched, moving with the tired rhythm of routine.
Beggars leaned against walls. Merchants shouted over spoiled produce. A child ran past, barefoot.
"Where we going?" I asked.
"A academy," Echo replied. "Your past lives studied there."
"Is it safe?"
"More than safety," he said. "You left something there in this timeline, a identities. For now, this should work."
We reached a side path between two shuttered shops. A crooked stairwell led down, half-covered in moss. I slipped through and followed the tunnel until faint light appeared at the end.
A stone arch marked the gate. Faded runes above it read: Academia Sanctum of Lumina Caeli.
I stopped in the shadows.
"Change again," Echo said. "You don't look like him yet."
I crouched behind a crate and drew from the remaining blessing. My fingers tingled as I worked the illusion.
I adjusted the lines of my jaw, changed the curve of my nose. I thickened my eyebrows, straightened my posture.
"How did he speak?" I asked.
"Softly. Clear and formal.
You used open gestures, steady hands, and paused after key points to let them settle."
I tried to match the tone. I cleared my throat and tried again.
"Light guide your path," I said quietly, pitching my voice lower. It came out flat.
Wrong tone. I shook my head and tried again.
"Light guide your path." Still stiff. I forced a smile, added a slight nod.
"Blessings upon your step. May the truth reflect in all you do."
"Closer," Echo said, somewhere near the edge of my thoughts. "But not so rigid. He spoke like he believed it."
I adjusted my stance, let my shoulders fall just a little. Relaxed the grip in my fingers.
"Blessings upon your step," I said again. This time with less weight. "May the truth reflect in all you do."
Then the third part. I held my hands together, mimicking the motion he'd shown me.
Right palm open, left hand flat against it, fingers pointed upward like a rising flame. The gesture was meant to represent the light revealing truth, a sign of humility.
I bowed my head slightly as I spoke.
"I request entry, in service of the sanctum. May my learning honor the goddess and the will of light."
I paused, waiting for Echo to criticize. Instead, he said, "There. You'll pass."
I exhaled slowly and nodded.
"Then let's hope no one asks too many questions."
I stood, fixed my hood again, and stepped toward the gate. Now, I was a scholar returning home. Lucian Klein