The bells rang at midnight.
They never rang at midnight.
Evin woke to the sound already vibrating through his bones—low, deliberate, wrong.
Not the call to prayer. Not the marking of hours.
This was a summons.
The dormitory stirred in confused fragments. Someone whispered. Someone else cursed softly. Rell was already sitting up, eyes sharp, jaw tight.
"Don't move yet," Rell murmured. "Listen."
Footsteps.
Not handlers.
Too measured. Too many.
Boots struck stone in perfect cadence, spreading through the undercatacombs like a tightening net. Doors opened down the corridor. Names were called—quietly, efficiently.
Then—
"Evin Veylan."
The name landed like a blade.
Rell's hand shot out, gripping Evin's wrist. "Don't answer fast," he whispered. "Make them repeat it."
Evin swallowed.
"Evin Veylan," the voice came again, closer now. Calm. Certain. "Present yourself."
The shadows around Evin's cot thickened instinctively, pressing in like breath held too long.
No, he thought sharply.
They obeyed.
Barely.
Evin stood.
The door slid open without a sound.
Three figures waited outside.
Not priests.
Not knights.
Inquisitors.
Their armor was matte black, etched with silver scripture that did not bless—it defined. No helms. No visible weapons. Their faces were bare, expressions neutral, eyes empty in the way of people who had long ago outsourced judgment.
The one in front inclined his head. "You have been observed."
Evin said nothing.
"That is not an accusation," the Inquisitor continued. "It is a statement."
Rell moved to stand beside him.
The Inquisitor's gaze flicked to Rell—dismissive. "Not you."
"I'm not leaving," Rell said.
The Inquisitor smiled faintly.
Rell screamed.
He hit the floor hard, body locking as invisible pressure crushed him down. Not magic. Not force.
Authority.
Evin lunged forward without thinking.
The Veil surged.
The shadows leapt—
And stopped.
Pain detonated behind Evin's eyes. He dropped to one knee, gasping, the world warping as something clamped down on the Veil itself.
"Correction," the Inquisitor said mildly. "You will not do that again."
Evin's vision swam. Blood dripped from his nose onto the stone.
"You felt that," the Inquisitor continued. "Good. It means the anomaly is responsive."
Anomaly.
Not person.
Not summoned.
The Inquisitor gestured down the corridor. "Walk."
Rell strained against the pressure, teeth bared. "Evin—don't—"
Evin looked back at him.
Rell's eyes burned with helpless fury.
"I'll come back," Evin said.
It was the first lie he'd told tonight.
The corridor swallowed them.
They did not take him upward.
They went deeper.
Past purification chambers. Past sealed doors marked with warnings scratched out and replaced. Past places where the stone itself felt nervous.
Finally, they stopped before a chamber Evin had never seen.
The door bore no sigils.
Only a word carved deep into the stone:
CORRECTION
Inside, the room was circular. Empty. No altar. No chains.
Just a circle etched into the floor—layered, overlapping burn marks, all centered on one point.
"Stand there," the Inquisitor said, pointing to the center.
Evin did.
The door sealed behind them.
"You have begun to remember what was erased," the Inquisitor said. "That is unacceptable."
"I didn't choose this," Evin said, voice hoarse.
"No," the Inquisitor agreed. "You endured it."
He raised one hand.
The Veil screamed.
Not in sound—in absence. Evin felt something tear loose, not taken, but forced open. Memories he did not own clawed at his spine. Ash. Screams. Refusal.
Evin collapsed, convulsing.
"This is correction," the Inquisitor said calmly. "We apply pressure until anomalies conform—or break."
Evin dragged in a breath that tasted like smoke. "You're afraid."
The Inquisitor paused.
Just for a fraction of a second.
"We are vigilant," he said.
The Veil shifted.
Not outward.
Inward.
Evin stopped fighting the pain.
He let it pass through.
The pressure spiked—then slid, as if it couldn't find purchase.
The Inquisitor frowned.
"That is new," he murmured.
The shadows beneath Evin's body did not surge.
They stayed.
Present. Watching.
Remembering.
Somewhere deep in the catacombs, something unseen took note.
And for the first time—
The Inquisition hesitated.