The corridor sloped gently downward. Not enough to notice consciously, but enough to demand attention. My steps shifted without thinking. Balance was something the body remembered before the mind.
Others were there. Kneeling. Bodies arranged with care. Small, precise adjustments. No one spoke. Not exactly. Just the sound of breath and clothing, measured and contained.
They didn't look at me. Not avoidance. Focus. Concentration. Practice.
At the far end, a figure stood elevated. Not towering, just enough to anchor the room.
"You are seen," they said.
"You are useful. You are enough."
A wave moved through the kneeling bodies. Not obedience. Relief. The kind that comes from being understood without permission.
I stayed at the edge. Waiting. I didn't need to be invited.
"You already know this," the figure said. "You've done it before."
I did.
The floor beneath me seemed warmer as I bent my knees slightly. The slope accepted the movement. Nothing demanded it, yet the motion made sense.
"You learned early," the figure added. "Staying was survival."
The others remained kneeling. Quiet. Contained. Whole, even when fractured.
"What if someone stands?" I asked.
"They may," the figure said. "And they will feel the floor differently. Responsibility shifts to them."
I straightened. The warmth faded. No one corrected me. No one judged.
"You may go," the figure said. "Some return."
I believed it.
The corridor leveled as I walked away. My body, unused to uprightness without assistance, resisted subtly. I adjusted. Slowly. Carefully.
Behind me, the Devoted remained. Waiting. Still. Unseen.