Pressure gathered around Vencian. It had no weight and no edge. His body lay somewhere else, distant, answering late.
Movement came without steps. The drift carried him forward while time stalled. A scrape of air passed his ears.
Air pressed his skin.
Walls assembled as he went. A ceiling stretched high and kept stretching. He realized he was standing in a corridor only after his feet were already taking him through it.
The corridor ran long and straight, its surfaces clean and muted. Stone tiles lined up with careful gaps. Two doors faced each other, one on each side.
The door on his left stood open. A woman knelt on bare stone with her head bowed. Her lips moved without sound, and her hands were pressed together until blood slipped between her fingers and marked the floor. She kept her gaze down.
The door on his right opened onto a raised pulpit. A man stood behind it with a practiced smile set on his face. Benches stretched behind him in ordered rows, fading into distance.
