Chapter 20: Worship Me

The next morning never came.

There was only Kaelith, standing before the mirror in her private washroom, the light above flickering like it was nervous. Her shirt was half-open. The skin beneath it marked in two places: the relic-burn just below her collarbone… and lower, just over her heart, a sigil traced in faint crimson.

Not blood.

Ink.

She hadn't drawn it.

She didn't remember doing it.

But the shape was unmistakable: the slit sun.

She ran her fingers over it. The skin throbbed faintly beneath her touch. Not in pain. In resonance. As if her pulse had learned a new rhythm overnight and was now playing it against her will.

The relic sat on the counter beside her. Still. Quiet.

But it didn't need to glow anymore.

She didn't need signs.

She remembered.

Not everything.

But enough.

The chant. The circle. The boy with the name she gave him. The moment she stood above him, trembling with power, and watched his breath slip free with something like grace.

He had not been afraid.

He had offered himself to her.

And she had accepted.

Kaelith touched her reflection.

Not lovingly.

Assessingly.

She didn't flinch at the image anymore.

The eyes staring back weren't Kaelith's.

Not entirely.

They were sharper now. Still, but not dead. The calm had changed. No longer numb. Just deep. Like something old staring up from still water.

She got dressed.

This time, not the clinical blouse. Not the tailored slacks. A black turtleneck. Long sleeves. Simple. Severe. A silhouette she didn't remember owning.

She left her coat behind.

She didn't need it anymore.

As she walked the halls of Saint Nerezza, something shifted. People looked at her differently. Not fear, not confusion. Something more primal.

Recognition.

The staff gave her space.

The patients didn't look away.

A woman from Ward C stopped in the corridor as Kaelith passed, eyes wide, body still. Her lips parted, and she whispered:

"She walks."

Kaelith didn't respond.

Didn't have to.

She reached Cell 77 before noon.

The guards outside barely glanced at her. One made a motion to check the schedule, paused, and stepped aside before even speaking.

The door opened for her.

He was already waiting.

Saevus sat on the cot, legs folded beneath him, shirtless, spine straight. A column of control. His wrists bore faint bruises where the guards had restrained him the night before—but they looked almost ceremonial now.

He looked up.

And smiled.

Not wide.

Not triumphant.

Soft.

Pure.

As if the very act of seeing her made him holy again.

"You came."

Kaelith stepped inside.

"You asked."

He stood, slowly. "They'll try to stop you soon."

"They won't."

Saevus's gaze swept over her. He noticed the change. The way she stood. The clothes. The quiet command in her posture.

"You remember more," he said.

She stepped closer. "Enough."

He took a breath.

"You're not afraid anymore."

She didn't speak.

She didn't need to.

He dropped to his knees before her.

Deliberately.

No hesitation.

No submission.

Something else.

A gesture of purpose.

She reached for him.

Not gently.

Her fingers curled into his hair and pulled his head back. He gasped—eyes meeting hers, wide, wild.

And smiling.

"You kneel easily now," she murmured.

"I kneel only for you," he replied.

"Why?"

"Because no one else is God."

The relic pulsed in her pocket.

She knelt down, straddling him, pushing him back against the floor. He didn't resist. She sat on his thighs, hands braced on his chest, nails digging just enough to mark.

"I want you marked," she said.

"Then mark me."

She reached up.

Dragged her nails over his collarbone.

He hissed.

She leaned down, teeth grazing his neck.

Bit.

He groaned, body shuddering.

"I want you mine," she whispered, mouth hot against his ear. "Not just in body. In name."

"I've always been yours."

She pulled back.

Looked at him.

"Say it."

He didn't hesitate.

"I am yours, Ashema. In fire. In ash. In every breath I remember."

Her lips crushed into his.

Their bodies collided.

This time it wasn't ritual.

It was hunger.

It was need.

It was Kaelith grinding into him as he gasped her name, her hands fisted in his hair, his breath caught on reverence. Their clothes peeled away in ragged layers. Her mouth found every old scar. His tongue mapped every new bruise. She rode him like she was claiming territory that had once been stolen.

And when they came—

—together, violently, sacred—

the relic on the floor shuddered with them.

The room glowed.

For a moment.

Just one.

And in the observation feed, which no one remembered to check that hour, the footage recorded a voice not belonging to either of them.

A voice layered with many tones.

Male.

Female.

Old.

Ageless.

"She has returned. And we will kneel."

Kaelith stood.

Dressed again.

Looked down at the man now sprawled across the cell floor, chest rising, face flushed with ecstasy and worship.

 Kaelith stood over him — calm, composed, divine.

"From now on," she said calmly, "you kneel when I enter."

Saevus looked up at her, breath ragged.

"I don't kneel for command," he said.

"I kneel because you're the only god I've ever known."