His knees buckled beneath him.
The weight of a hundred eyes pressed down like chains, and his breath came in ragged gasps.
"I… I don't understand," he stammered, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
"Where am I?"
The crowd did not answer. Instead, they bowed even lower, their voices rising in a deafening chant:
"Glory to the Savior! Glory to the Savior!"
He backed away, his hands shaking. His heart hammered against his ribs, louder than the chant itself. Every instinct screamed at him to run, but the massive doors behind were shut tight.
Then—footsteps.
From the far end of the hall, a figure emerged. A man clad in robes of crimson and gold, his crown gleaming with unnatural light. His smile was warm, but his eyes… his eyes were sharp as blades.
"Do not fear, Chosen One," the crowned man said, his voice calm, almost tender.
"You have returned to us at last."
The whisper in his mind stirred again, colder this time:
"He lies."