From the shadows between two columns, a figure crawls forth.
Almost human, almost nothing. The body is androgynous, made of melting wax — rippling as if still being shaped by invisible hands. From deep, hollow eye sockets, tears of molten candlewax flow, incandescent. Each step leaves a hot, wet trail on the ground.
It does not speak with a mouth. Its voice enters Kaelis's mind directly, like a cold whisper dragging through his bones.
"Three memories. Only one is true. Choose the true one… Or lose them all."
The creature lifts a trembling arm. The great stained glass above slows, spinning gently. Each panel glows — intensely. The smell of fresh-baked bread. The melody of a lullaby. The cold touch of a medal against his chest. Sensations as vivid as life. But two are lies. He feels it.
Kaelis stands still, pensive. The memories flicker like candles in the wind. All seem real. All seem like his. But only one belongs to truth.
He closes his eyes. The fear is not in being wrong — but in wishing the lie were real. That the dream were home.
A memory burns. The medal. The trembling touch of his father. Pride masking sadness. Farewell hidden in a smile. That night — Kaelis doesn't know why — always tasted of loss.
He reaches out. Touches the panel of the medal.
The world explodes in white. Sound shatters like thin glass. The stained glass dissolves into shining shards. Pain enters like a silent blade, and Kaelis drops to his knees.
The memory rebuilds itself within him:
His father embraces him, eyes brimming. The medal wasn't a prize — it was a farewell. A symbol of courage before the disappearance. Taken by the men of the cathedral. That was the last time Hadriel saw him.
The truth burns.
But something goes with it.
Kaelis tries to listen, but...
The lullaby — is gone.
He remembers his mother singing, but the sound… the sound is erased. The memory is mute. Silent like mourning.
The wax monster smiles. A smile without malice, but also without mercy.
Its body begins to melt. The form dissolves, like a candle slowly snuffing out. The creature's existence melts away with the lost memory.
"Truth has a price… And this was only the first."
Only a pool of wax remains on the floor.
Kaelis cries. The pain is more than physical — it feels like a part of him has been pulled out with an invisible tweezer.
"Damn this place… Damn those bastards! What did they do to the boy who lived in this body?!"
Then, a door opens silently in a once-hidden wall.
Behind it, a staircase leads to the next floor.
Kaelis takes a deep breath. Still trembling, he rises.
"I have to… I have to keep going."
The steps stretch like nightmare spasms. Living flesh begins to coat the walls, slowly pulsing as if it had a heart. The stairs grow moist, sticky, alive.
At the end of the staircase, a metallic door covered in flesh and throbbing veins exudes an unbearable stench of rot.
But it's the screams coming from within that chill Kaelis. Screams so deranged he cannot tell if they are of pain, lamentation… or pleasure.
He opens the door.
And the nightmare takes shape.
The floor beneath his feet is made of hot flesh, taut like strained muscle, covered by a thin layer of translucent skin. Each step emits a wet crack, as though he's walking on a living body. The surrounding walls contract softly in cycles, as if breathing. With each breath of the place, the air changes temperature — and with it, the scent.
Sweet perfume and iron. Fresh blood and dead roses.
The scent of childhood, of loss, of guilt.
From the ceiling hang viscous glands, and from each drips a thick, milky tear, falling with rhythmic precision. When one strikes Kaelis's skin, he screams.
It burns like liquid regret.