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Each movement brought fresh waves of agony. But he looked up as she entered. She endured, because there was no choice. She didn’t have to. A vessel. “You’ve already done enough.”

He locked the core into his broken plate. Her journey is one of devotion beyond pride, of suffering beyond honor. And then the bolter fire began. Roxy sobbed around the belt. 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. The pain was white, all-consuming. Her vision swam. She had prepared the core, anointed it, warmed it with sacred oils to ease the passage. “Are you certain?” Verena asked quietly. She endured, because there was no choice. She lay on the cold stone floor on her side and forced the leather belt back into her mouth. But it is holy. No armor. This is the story of an unspeakable mission. She did not scream. “Inside. Each movement brought fresh waves of agony. “Then let me break. She arched her back. Her will flickered — but never failed.