Marionette Strings

Silas didn't sleep long. He had already woken before Velira stirred, seated quietly near the wall of the library with a half-empty bottle of water in one hand and his gaze fixed on nothing in particular.

He wasn't looking at anything. He was thinking.

Thinking about what he had seen. About his effigy—how it had mutated, how it moved of its own will, and how it had dragged him, soul and all, toward the basement of the cathedral. The forbidden room. The scroll. And that word carved at the top like a scar: Erbe.

His thoughts moved in strange loops—memories of Earth bleeding back in, almost out of place in the gloom of this world. Trains, cold wind, his father. And the terrible realization that he hadn't thought of that man—not once—in sixteen years.

Something inside him had broken open during the ritual.

Or maybe it had unlocked.

His thoughts scattered as Velira sat up nearby, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

She blinked at him a few times, then frowned slightly.

"You're up early." Her voice was casual, but her eyes were sharper than usual. "You didn't sleep much."

Silas shrugged, trying to rein in the weight in his head. "Didn't need to. Just… recovering."

She didn't press, but she didn't look away, either.

"You sure you're alright?"

He hesitated. Then, a practiced deflection.

"Yeah. Just… weird after the refinement, that's all."

Velira gave a dry smile. "Weird, huh? Not, say, about-to-explode weird?"

"Let's not talk about that," he said, managing a chuckle. "We both made it through. That's what matters."

"That was, like, ten seconds ago."

"Exactly. We're survivors. We move fast."

Velira rolled her eyes. "If your effigy kills me, I'm haunting you." Then, more softly: "So. You gonna check what it actually does, or do we leave that to chance again?"

Silas nodded and exhaled. "Let's see."

He closed his eyes and let his awareness drift, sinking into the connection between himself and the effigy. The threads appeared again—eight glowing lines from his hands to its joints. Puppet and puppeteer. But it didn't feel like he was in control. It felt more like… balance. A truce.

His vision expanded. Everything sharpened. He could feel the library. The books. The wooden beams. He could feel Velira's soul, glowing with a soft, pulsing blue light—and her effigy echoing the same hue like a reflection in still water.

Then—something was wrong.

A pressure, cold and visceral, spread across his skin.

Dread. Repulsion. The scent of iron and rot.

Before he could speak, there was a knock at the door.

His eyes snapped open.

he said sharply. "Stop."

She was already halfway there.

She turned slightly. "What's wrong?"

But it was too late. She opened the door.

Silas stood, half-expecting a monster, his effigy reacting to his pulse.

But there was no beast.

Just a priest.

He stepped inside with that same calm, distant smile that always felt a little too practiced. "Is everything alright in here?"

Velira hesitated—just a beat longer than usual. Her tone didn't change, but her posture did. Less casual now. Guarded.

"We're fine, sir. Can we help you with something?"

The priest's eyes scanned the room. "No, nothing urgent. I heard a disturbance and thought I should check in."

"Just refinement," she replied evenly. "Silas helped me through it."

The priest turned to Silas. "Ah, and you—have you refined yours as well?"

Silas forced a smile. "I finished yesterday. Before the medical post."

"How wonderful." The priest folded his hands. "In that case, perhaps the timing is just right. The Church is currently short on hands, and our water reserves are lower than we'd like. Velira, as a Water-path user, you'd be the perfect candidate to fetch more." He glanced at Silas. "And I'm sure your help would be appreciated as well."

There was a beat of silence.

"You mean outside the city," Velira said flatly.

"Yes. A simple journey to a nearby lake. Safe, if you stay on the path."

They both knew that was a lie.

No trip outside the walls was ever safe.

Still, refusal wasn't an option. Not for those bound to the Church.

"We understand," Velira said after a moment. "We'll go."

The priest smiled again. "Good. I'll show you the path."

As he turned to leave, he reached into his robe and handed each of them a small straw doll, bound in red thread and marked with a faint white sigil.

"In case you get lost," he said. "We'll be able to track you."

Silas stared at the doll in his hand. It felt light, but wrong—like it was stitched together with a whisper.

As the priest stepped into the shadows of the corridor and the door closed behind him, Velira glanced at Silas.

"You felt it too, didn't you?"

He nodded slowly.

"Yeah. Before he even knocked."

She didn't say anything after that. But the straw doll trembled slightly in her hand.