[SFX: water dripping in a cathedral the size of a world • distant heartbeats • stone shifting underwater]
Leo walked until the screams behind him softened into something almost like lullabies.
He didn't run.
Running drew attention in places like this—predators felt the vibration of panic through the water.
So he moved like a man with nowhere to be and no one left to save, barefoot across black stone, letting the cathedral's silence drape itself across his shoulders like a shroud.
The nave stretched longer than physics allowed. Columns rose and branched into ribbed vaults disappearing into darkness, each arch carved with saints willingly drowning themselves so the world could forget their names. The black water never rose above his ankles, yet every step made him feel heavier, as though it were climbing inside his skin.
He passed the first corpse ten minutes in.
A boy—seventeen, maybe—Asian features, school uniform clinging to him like seaweed. His throat had been opened ear to ear with something serrated. The water around him shimmered red for a heartbeat… then drank the color and turned black again. His eyes stared upward, reflecting the distant glass bell. His mouth hung open in a silent O—like he'd tried to scream a name and forgotten which one belonged to him.
Leo crouched.
Searched the body with the same calm efficiency he'd once used to steal wallets in subway crowds just to feel something.
Nothing. No weapons. No pockets. No lucky charms conveniently waiting to advance the plot.
Only a faint warmth over the boy's chest.
Leo pressed two fingers there.
The skin was cold.
But beneath it, something pulsed once, like a second heart trying to escape.
When he pulled his hand away, a single symbol—neither letter nor rune—had burned itself into his fingertip in pale silver.
It hurt exactly as much as remembering your mother's funeral.
He hissed and wiped his hand on his tunic.
The mark didn't smudge.
Instead it simply sank—through cloth, through skin, nestling somewhere behind his ribs like it had always belonged there.
A girl's voice, soft and curious, spoke from directly behind him.
"You felt it too. The Name that isn't yours."
Leo didn't flinch.
He'd heard her footsteps stop three seconds ago.
He turned.
Silver hair. Golden eyes. A white robe clinging damp to a body carved from cathedral marble. A glowing sigil on her collarbone—Seraphine vi Altair, if he had to guess. She stood in the black water as though it were consecrated ground. Barefoot like him, yet untouched by the cold.
Up close she was younger than he'd expected. Nineteen, maybe twenty.
The kind of beauty that made people want to kneel—or burn something.
Leo let his shoulders sag and exhaustion coat his voice.
"I don't know what I felt. I just… he was alive a minute ago."
Lie number one.
The boy had been dead at least an hour; the water simply hadn't decided to reveal him until Leo walked past.
Seraphine's eyes softened.
"Death is only a door here. The Saint teaches that nothing is truly lost, only… rearranged."
She offered her hand.
A tiny sphere of golden light hovered above her palm, warm as sunrise.
"Come. We should stay together. The Trial is cruel to the solitary."
Leo studied the light.
Studied her face.
Compassion: 60%.
Missionary zeal: 30%.
Calculation: 10%.
Acceptable.
He took her hand.
Her skin burned like fever. The moment they touched, the silver mark inside his chest flared in silent agony.
He hid the wince behind a shy, grateful smile.
"My name is Leo. Leo Valerius. I… I don't know why I'm here."
Lie number two.
He knew exactly why he was here—the bus, the rain, the truck that never braked. The way the world had inhaled and held its breath just before impact.
Seraphine squeezed his fingers gently.
"None of us do, at first. I'm Seraphine. And you are not alone anymore."
Behind her, four others approached through the gloom:
Cassian, the giant swordsman, grinning like Christmas had come early.
Mira, a Korean-American girl with a recurve bow already strung.
A blind teenage girl in ragged black, guided by a boy whose face Leo couldn't focus on.
And one more, shadow-light, whose footsteps made no sound at all.
Five people who would probably try to save him.
Five future problems.
Cassian's grin widened.
"Fresh meat! You any good in a fight, Leo?"
Leo glanced at the dead boy, then back to him, offering the perfect portrait of prey—wide eyes, trembling stance.
"I've never even thrown a punch."
Cassian laughed, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to stagger him.
"Stick with me, kid. I'll make a killer outta you."
Seraphine's grip tightened—almost protective.
Then—
[SFX: BOOM… a pulse from the glass bell overhead]
Something vast moved far above. The drowned water rippled outward from an unseen center, carrying the scent of deep oceans and old altars.
Mira notched an arrow without even glancing.
"Company."
From the side aisle, between two columns carved with weeping angels, the water bulged upward.
A woman rose from it as if the blackness were her wedding train.
Her dress—once white—hung heavy with centuries of drowned brides.
Her veil was human hair.
Her eye sockets were tidepools crawling with crabs.
She opened her mouth.
No sound escaped.
But every person present heard the same thing inside their skulls:
Give him back.
He was supposed to marry me.
The temperature dropped.
Frost spiderwebbed across the water.
Cassian whooped.
"First boss already? This Nightmare's got manners!"
Seraphine stepped forward, golden light exploding into wings of radiant fire behind her.
"Stay behind me, Leo."
He did.
Very close behind her—close enough to count the feathers of holy flame, close enough to smell the faint incense on her skin.
And while the Drowned Bride drifted forward, trailing corpse-flowers, while the others shouted battle plans and raised weapons—
Leo pressed his stolen silver mark against his sternum and whispered to the thing waking inside his chest:
What happens if I let her die here?
The mark replied in a voice that tasted like rust and lullabies:
Then her Name becomes yours.
Leo smiled against the fabric of Seraphine's robe—small, polite, sincere.
"Thank you," he murmured.
She thought he meant for protection.
He didn't.
Above them, the heart in the glass bell beat once—slow, savoring.
The Drowned Bride raised her arms wrapped in funeral lace.
The battle began.
And somewhere in the dark between heartbeats, Leo Valerius took his first real breath since dying.
It tasted like betrayal.