Time passed slowly within the confines of Laylin's cell, each moment stretching into the next with little to distinguish one from another. The only human interaction he had came from the guards who delivered his meals. But even those offered little comfort—thin vegetable broth and hardened bread, enough to sustain him but never enough to satisfy.
He endured it quietly.
Tessa returned the following day, continuing her questioning with the same calm persistence. For the sake of simplicity, she settled on calling him Laylin, matching the name embroidered across his shirt. It gave him something to answer to, even if it did not truly feel like his own.
Together they confirmed that he could read and write, but the language he knew remained completely foreign to her. The symbols bore no resemblance to anything she had studied, and in turn, Laylin could not understand anything she wrote. Whatever knowledge he possessed existed in isolation, cut off from the world around him.
By the fourth day, the routine finally broke.
The lock clicked, and Laylin lifted his head as the door opened. A guard stepped inside and motioned for him to stand. He did so without hesitation, watching as the man crouched and unlocked the shackle around his ankle. The weight fell away, and Laylin instinctively shifted his leg, noticing how unfamiliar the freedom felt.
There was no time to adjust.
A firm push guided him forward, and he stepped into the hallway where another guard waited. Without explanation, they positioned him between them and began to walk. Laylin tried to ask where they were taking him, but the guard behind him wore no ring, and his words went unanswered.
The corridor eventually opened into a large, well-kept room. It stood in stark contrast to his cell. The stone walls were polished smooth, the space clean and orderly, and the faint scent of something fresh lingered in the air. The room was not extravagant, but it was comfortable in a way that made it feel almost out of place within the same structure.
At its center sat a single chair.
Laylin was guided toward it and pressed down into the seat. Before he could react, the guards secured him in place. Leather straps bound his wrists to the armrests and his ankles to the legs of the chair, leaving him unable to move. Once finished, the guards stepped away and exited the room, leaving him alone.
The quiet that followed was heavier than the silence of his cell. Here, it felt deliberate, as though the room itself were waiting.
That stillness was eventually broken by the sound of approaching footsteps. The door opened, and two soldiers entered first, their presence immediately drawing attention. Their armor was unlike anything Laylin had seen—polished to a near mirror sheen, with intricate golden carvings tracing along the edges. They moved with practiced precision, stepping to either side of the doorway.
Then she entered.
Laylin felt his breath catch in his throat as she stepped into the room. Her presence was immediate and undeniable, not overwhelming in force, but in contrast. She was dressed entirely in white, soft fabric cascading around her in gentle folds that seemed untouched by the world. The light in the room settled naturally around her, as though drawn to her without effort.
Her face held a quiet, natural beauty that made everything else seem lesser by comparison. It was not striking in a sharp or dramatic way, but rather in its calmness, its clarity—something that drew the eye and held it without demanding attention.
She stepped forward with measured grace, her gaze settling on Laylin with a softness that felt out of place given the circumstances.
Tessa entered shortly after, offering Laylin a small nod before retrieving the now-familiar box. Opening it, she handed a ring to each of the guards and then to the woman in white. Finally, she approached Laylin and slipped the last ring onto his finger, giving his hand a reassuring pat before turning and leaving the room.
The guards did not acknowledge her departure. Their attention remained fixed entirely on Laylin.
"Hello," the woman said.
Her voice carried a gentle, melodic quality, soft yet clear enough to fill the space between them without effort.
Laylin looked up, the words catching in his throat as he tried to speak.
One of the guards behind her shifted slightly, seemingly offended by his failure to return the greeting"Lady Celia is addressing you," he said, his tone sharp.
Before the words could settle, she turned her head slightly toward him. The motion was subtle, but it carried enough weight to silence him immediately. When she looked back at Laylin, her expression had not changed.
"I apologize for Marcus," she said calmly. "You don't have to speak if you don't wish to."
Laylin swallowed and nodded faintly.
"As previously stated. My name is Celia and I'm a priestess from the Saint Schull church in the royal capital."
She stepped closer, stopping just in front of him. Up close, the difference between them became more apparent. Dirt clung to his skin and clothing, his condition a stark contrast to her untouched appearance.
"These are my guards, Marcus and Darius," She will gesture to the two. "And we have been tasked by master Thane to determine if what you say is true or just an alteration of your memory."
She took one last step and lowered herself in front of him, kneeling with a smooth, controlled motion that drew a visible reaction from the guards. Their posture tightened, hands shifting subtly toward their weapons, though neither spoke.
Her attention remained entirely on Laylin.
"Do you have anything to say before we begin?" she asked.
Laylin shook his head at first, but his expression faltered. His gaze dropped as uncertainty crept back in.
"They think I killed them," he said quietly.
Her expression did not harden or shift in judgment.
"Did you?" she asked.
Laylin looked up immediately, his voice tightening. "No. I didn't. I didn't even know them."
He explained what he remembered, recounting the events as clearly as he could. The darkness, the box, the hallway, the creatures—each detail came out unevenly, the memory still raw in his mind.
When he finished, she regarded him in silence for a moment.
Then she spoke without turning. "Marcus, bring me water and a cloth."
The guard hesitated. "My lady, you should not go to such lengths. This man is possibly a murderer! It would be best—"
A faint, soft scripture escaped her lips.
"Evil is a stain that darkens the soul," she whispered. "But those it has merely brushed are not made unclean… only wounded—and wounds are meant to be tended, not feared."
Marcus fell silent and could not refute the words of a saint. Turning he left only to returning shortly after with what she had requested.
Laylin watched, confusion evident in his expression, and for the first time he spoke. "What are you doing?"
She accepted the items and set them beside her.
"I was sent to find the truth," she replied. "And I intend to do so without prejudice."
Then she began to hum.
At first, the sound was soft and barely noticeable, like a quiet melody carried on the edge of breath. But as it continued, it deepened, growing fuller, richer—layering upon itself until it filled the space around them.
It was not simply a song.
It was something that reached inward.
When she dipped the cloth into the water and gently took hold of his foot, Laylin felt it immediately. A warmth spread from the point of contact, subtle at first, then steadily intensifying. It moved upward through his body, not like heat, but like something alive—something searching.
The melody followed it.
It slipped into his mind, weaving through his thoughts, softening them, dulling the edges of his awareness.
As she moved to his hands, the sensation deepened. The warmth spread through his arms, into his chest, and from there outward, filling him completely. His breathing slowed without his control, his thoughts becoming distant, blurred.
The sound was no longer something he heard.
It was something he existed within.
When she lifted the cloth again and brought it to his face, the warmth surged upward, flooding his mind. The melody expanded, becoming vast, overwhelming—no longer a single sound, but many, layered into something that felt endless.
Laylin's sense of self began to slip.
The room, the guards, even his own body—all of it faded into the background as the melody consumed everything else. There was no fear, no resistance. Only the sound, and the warmth, and the slow unraveling of his awareness.
His vision turned white.
And in that blank, endless space, his memories surfaced.
Not fragmented.
Not distorted.
Complete.
Every moment unfolded exactly as it had happened—from the instant he woke in the box, to the hallway, to the creatures feeding in the dim light. Each detail replayed with perfect clarity, untouched by fear or confusion.
There was no room for doubt.
Only truth.
When it ended, the world returned all at once.
And his body could not hold.
Laylin slumped forward, unconscious.
Celia caught him gently, her hands steady as she supported his head for a brief moment before lowering him back. The faint glow that had surrounded him faded, leaving only the stillness of the room behind.
When she rose, there was a slight pallor to her complexion, though her posture remained composed.
The guards moved toward her immediately, concern evident in their movements.
"My lady, you should not have harmed your self for someonelike this," one of them said.
"I owe Thale my life." She offered a faint smile. "This is the least I can do."
One of them steadied her, though she seemed otherwise unaffected. She gave a small, reassuring gesture before turning toward the door.
"We should inform him lady Tessa," she said.
As she stepped out, she paused just long enough to look at Laylin's pitiful figure and tell the guilds guards, "He has endured enough. Return him to his room."
With that, she left.