탐마라 그레이스의 딕 빠는 재능을 느낄 수 있는 행운을 얻은 열성적인 도거들

The belt muffled it only slightly as the edges of the capsule stretched her farther than she thought possible. Her body was already tense. Her hands clawed at the stone floor, her legs trembling violently. “I carry the fire,” she whispered. The alarms began to scream across the compound. After long, hellish moments, the weight slid free. Power returned with a low, reverent hum. Not metaphorically, but literally — enduring unbearable physical and spiritual pain to smuggle salvation through her own flesh. “You carried it, child.”

Roxy said nothing. Spat on her. The heretics believed she was a captured missionary — a discarded Sister cast off by the Ecclesiarchy. This tale does not seek comfort or triumph. A relic of war never meant for flesh. What she endures is beyond comprehension — and yet utterly human. After endless minutes, the pressure shifted. No tools. But worse than pain was the silence she had to hold. This tale does not seek comfort or triumph. Sister Roxy was not born a hero — she was forged into one, molded by pain, obedience, and the fire of devotion. The belt muffled it only slightly as the edges of the capsule stretched her farther than she thought possible. “Where?”

Her voice cracked. “This has never been done. They never suspected that deep within her, past layers of bruised