Caelen, grim and silent, began the extraction. Her body was already tense. She could not. “Make it worth it,” she whispered. Her hands clawed at the stone floor, her legs trembling violently. The pain was unspeakable. They beat her. Her vision swam. Heavy. Her legs shaked. Her journey is one of devotion beyond pride, of suffering beyond honor. Only two souls breathed in that silent chamber: Sister Roxy, stripped of everything but faith — and Priestess Verena, whose hands trembled despite decades of ritual calm. Not metaphorically, but literally — enduring unbearable physical and spiritual pain to smuggle salvation through her own flesh. “Then let me break. “They will hear us.”
There was no time. It may break you.”
Roxy, pale and resolute, nodded. They beat her. But in a galaxy that grinds even saints to dust, her greatest act of service would come not from battle — but from surrender. Stripped of weapons, armor, and all outward signs of sanctity, Roxy became a living vessel. “This has never been done. Her legs shaked. Roxy sobbed around the belt. Those who served with her never forgot. A vessel. One eye was swollen shut. A vessel. “Then let me break. She simply rolled onto her side and wept — not from shame, but from the knowledge that her body was no longer hers.
