Thanks to the candied apple, Erian managed to endure until the end of the first rite. But at dawn, the priestesses returned for him.
They lifted him by the arms without saying a word, hauling him through the corridors. They gave him neither water nor time to rest.
They led him to an even colder room. The air, stifling, was thick with incense. In the center stood a statue of white marble: the Goddess of Purity. Tall, serene, and imposing. Erian couldn't perceive it, yet the statue's gaze pressed upon him with stern demand.
The floor was smooth, but in the center, the priestesses had scattered a thick layer of salt. They forced him to kneel on it.
Erian felt the burn as soon as his knees touched the ground. The salt ground into his skin with slow cruelty. The priestesses told him that this ritual was meant to purify him, to strip away the impurity of having been born male. Then, they handed him a tablet with a prayer carved in relief.
"You must not fail in reciting the prayer," one of them said. "Every word must be perfect. If you make a mistake, you start again."
Erian slid his fingers over the rough surface, carefully tracing each line. He felt the carved letters like scars in the stone.
He knew how to read, in his own way, because Malric had taught him when they were children, using broken tablets. But his education had been brief, almost clandestine, and many of the words inscribed there were unfamiliar.
His fingers trembled as he tried to string together the sounds in his mind, silently correcting himself when he lost his way among the curves and angles of the engraving.
For hours, Erian repeated the words in a hoarse voice. At first, haltingly. Then, with greater fluency, despite the burning in his throat.
As time passed, his lips cracked and his tongue dried. Every time he hesitated or a word was spoken out of order, one of the priestesses would strike her staff against the ground to signal that he had to start again.
The pain in his knees became unbearable. He felt the salt like blades digging down to the bone.
He didn't know how long had passed. Only that he had lost count of how many times he had restarted the prayer.
The last time he recited it, his voice was nothing more than a worn whisper. His whole body trembled. A thin trail of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.
At last, his lips could form no more words.
And he collapsed.
His body toppled to the side, onto the salt. No arms caught him, no hands lifted him up. The priestesses watched in silence, noting the time on their tablets. Then, they walked away.
They left him there, completely alone and lying helpless before the Goddess of Purity.
Erian had not fainted. He was still awake, trapped in a body that barely responded, silent tears running down his cheeks.
He couldn't move his lips, but in his mind, he was screaming.
Everything hurt, his body, his faith, life itself.
And yet, in the midst of that pain, he remembered the scent of lilies. That fragrance that had filled the air during the fast and the fever. He remembered the small hands brushing his face, the sweet little voice that called him "Eri" and told him everything would be all right.
"You must eat…," Nalia had said. "If you don't eat, you won't grow strong and healthy. You won't be able to take care of me."
Erian squeezed his eyes shut. Even breathing hurt. But that memory, miracle, hallucination, whatever it was, gave him a reason to hold on.
Erian stayed there, motionless, with the salt clinging to his wounds and his forehead pressed against the stone, praying in silence.
Not to the Goddess of Purity.
To the God of Ruin, the one who had given him a fleeting moment with Nalia and offered him comfort with the fragrance of lilies.