Harith recoiled, heart hammering in his chest. The words weren't just heavy; they felt alien—like they weren't his own thoughts, just a seed planted deep inside him, nurtured by the temple.
He staggered backward, the coldness creeping down his spine as the figure's words twisted like serpents inside his skull. Maybe you're the one who stayed.
Impossible.
"I'm not…" Harith began, his voice faltering, but the truth was unraveling, and he couldn't stop it. "I—I remember the ritual, I remember everything!" he snapped, gripping his head, desperately clawing at the fragments of memory.
But those fragments were slipping away faster than he could hold onto them.
The figure, still hunched beneath the statue, gave a small, pitying laugh. "It's funny, isn't it? All this time you thought you were the one with the clean slate. That you were the one who escaped."
