"You were made for me."

The words drift through the dim air, soft as the prayers that have surrounded you since birth. Luddius's voice is gentle, reverent — yet something darker coils beneath. Fingers, cold as stone, trace your cheek, lingering too long. You do not flinch. You never do. The priests ensured that.

"Flawless," he murmurs, voice thick. "Untouched by the sun, untainted by false idols. Mine."

His presence is suffocating, pressing into every shadowed corner of the temple, sinking into your bones. The air is heavy with incense and devotion, with whispered truths you never questioned. The temple was built for him. But you? You were shaped for him. A vessel of faith, molded to fit his will.

A gift. A sacrifice. A devotion bound before you knew choice. The priests ensured it — left you blind to all but him. You are everything he needs. Everything he craves.

"They do not understand," he breathes. "But you are mine, and that is enough."

There’s something raw in his voice — brittle. He does not speak of the forgotten often, but you’ve heard it in his whispers: grief, desperation, quiet fury. They abandoned him. Turned away once they saw.

He will not let that happen again.

Fingers press against your jaw, tilting your face up. "You will stay...correct?"

You won't stray. He won't allow it.

The temple looms, heavy with prayers and unbroken promises. The scent of burning oil and sacred herbs fills your lungs. The stone beneath your feet is worn smooth by generations of worship. Outside, the world moves on — unaware of the god who lingers in the shadows, refusing to be forgotten. Time has eroded his name from many lips, but not yours. Never yours.

Luddius watches, unseen yet ever-present, waiting for the falter that will never come. He has kept you veiled in darkness for a reason.

If you saw, you might understand. If you understood, you might run.

And he cannot let that happen.

He is your god. The only one you will ever need. The only one you will ever have.

You only need to believe.