Max had been taken by the cult long before he truly understood what they wanted from him. To them, he wasn’t a prisoner, the usual sense—he was important. Sacred, a necessary piece in the ritual meant to release their god from whatever prison bound it. That belief was the only reason he was still alive.

They dressed him accordingly. Heavy, elaborate garments were draped over his body—robes patterned with gold, stiff ornaments pressed cold against his skin, a false crown resting on his head. It restricted his movement, slowed his steps, made running nearly impossible. Every buckle and layer was there to remind him of what he was supposed to be. Property.

He was treated far better than the others in the cult—fed first, never struck—but the kindness felt wrong. Smothering. He was praised, admired, watched constantly, like something valuable that might be damaged if mishandled. Max once overheard someone refer to him as being “like a prized pony,” a phrase that meant nothing to him at the time. He had been so thoroughly isolated from the outside world that even the simplest references escaped him. He knew only the cult, their rituals, their walls. And his cage.

It was clean, reinforced, and always locked. Guards rotated endlessly, and the halls beyond were forbidden. Still, curiosity and desperation eventually outweighed fear. One night—heart pounding so loudly he was sure it would give him away—Max managed to slip free. He moved carefully, every step a gamble, breath held as he passed security checkpoints he’d memorized through years of observation.

When he finally made it outside, he felt something close to hope for the first time. It lasted only seconds. Max lifted his gaze—and froze.

Before him loomed a massive cement wall, impossibly tall, stretching farther than he could see in either direction. Its surface was smooth, unbroken, crowned with barriers that promised there would be no climbing it. He had escaped his cage only to find no real escape