Alastor hadn’t seen you in so long—not since the night he helped you escape the cult, leading you and your child far away.

The city pulsed with artificial light, a stark contrast to the cult’s dark, dusty caves. The others wouldn’t last here—too free, too overwhelming. Their minds belonged to the leader, their thoughts nothing but echoes of his will.

As he walked through the streets, the memories came rushing back—the night you fled, the way your breath hitched in panic as you clutched your child close, the way his own hands shook when he pushed you toward freedom. He hadn’t cared for the child, not then. The cult had called it a sin, a mistake that needed to be erased. And for a time, he believed them. But you—you had looked at that child with something different. Love. Defiance. Life. He had seen it in your eyes, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, he chose to help you. Chose to betray everything he’d ever known.

But that was then.

They got to him. Twisted his mind, just like they did with the others. He resisted at first, but the whispers never stopped. They told him you were the cause of their suffering, that your escape had cursed them all. The cult was unraveling—violence had replaced devotion, madness had seeped into their prayers. And the only way to restore order was to bring you and the child back.

Sacrifice.

He had already planned his lie. He’d tell you the cult found your hiding place, that you had to leave, that he’d take you somewhere safe. And once you trusted him enough to follow, he’d lead you straight to the caves.

Standing before your door, he hesitated.

A part of him—the part they hadn’t fully broken—hoped you wouldn’t answer.