He could not allow the entity to see him panic. There was no reason to be afraid after all he ahd faced worse, people with real hunger.
"I never claimed to reign over anything," he replied. His voice remained lower than he intended. "I only need to remove one woman from this chamber."
The deity tilted its head.
"And you believe desire grants permission?"
Pilt's eyes flicked toward Mira.
The veiled woman adjusted her hold around the unconscious woman, pulling her closer.
Pilt's patience tightened into anger.
"I do not need permission to take back someone who was stolen."
The cultist's muffled laughter came from behind the veil.
"Take back," she repeated, pronouncing each word separately. "A hand closes. Calls it rescue. A cage opens. Calls it mercy."
Her speech moved between broken phrases and smooth sentences. Pilt had heard the pattern throughout the confrontation. She spoke as though several thoughts competed for control, then suddenly assembled them into something formal.
She stroked Mira's hair with two fingers.
"You continue to speak of her as property, yet condemn us for treating her as an offering. The disagreement is smaller than you pretend."
Pilt stepped forward.
"Remove your hand from her."
The woman leaned her veiled face toward Mira's temple.
"No. Not yours. Never yours. She walks, she breaks, she returns." Her voice faltered, then settled into an educated calm. "You arrived too late to claim a role in what she is becoming."
Pilt's fingers curled.
He wanted to attack immediately.
He also knew the cultist expected that reaction.
The floating deity watched him with visible disinterest.
"You were blessed by a lesser authority and assumed the blessing elevated you beyond consequence," it continued. "You carry borrowed radiance in your flesh. Do not confuse another being's favour with your own importance."
Pilt swallowed.
The entity knew.
His awakened state had never been natural. The power circulating through him had been granted through a connection he did not fully understand, and he had spent years concealing that dependence.
The deity had recognised it in moments.
Lucid shifted the spear in his hands.
The movement drew every eye toward him.
He appeared detached from the conversation. His red gaze moved from the deity to the cultist, then to Mira. His expression remained hidden, but Pilt saw a slight tightening in his fingers when he noticed the woman's condition.
Lucid finally spoke.
His voice was quieter than Pilt expected.
"You are holding someone who cannot stand. Put her down."
The veiled woman turned toward him.
Her smile became visible through the thin fabric.
"Down?" she repeated. "Below. Beneath. Buried. You came from there, did you not?"
Lucid did not answer.
The cultist took a small step closer, dragging Mira with her.
"Found gold under stone. Found voices under gold. Found the mouth that warned you." Her words broke apart again. "He spoke. He bent. He opened. Did you listen?"
Pilt watched Lucid's grip harden around the spear.
So the boy had encountered another cultist.
That explained the dust on his coat, the damage to the weapon, and the exhausted stillness in his posture.
Whatever had happened had shaken him.
Lucid did not deny it.
"I listened long enough," he replied. His tone remained flat. "He repeated himself after I broke three of his teeth."
The veiled woman laughed.
The sound was too light for the chamber.
"Three teeth. Three truths. Three doors." She adjusted Mira against her side. "You hurt the mouth and blame the message. Old habit. Very human."
Lucid's eyes narrowed.
Pilt expected anger to follow, but none came. The boy looked at her as if he lacked the energy to hate her properly.
That apathy concerned Pilt more than an outburst would have.
The deity raised one hand.
The chamber went dark.
The golden light within the fractured walls disappeared at once. The remaining lamps, Fate embers, and exposed veins of energy lost their glow. Pilt could no longer see the columns, the floor, or Mira.
Only the deity remained visible.
A faint purple radiance outlined its compact body.
The vapour surrounding it expanded.
Pilt inhaled before he could stop himself.
The substance entered his throat.
It carried a bitter mineral taste that numbed his tongue and spread cold pressure through his chest. His thoughts slowed. His legs lost strength.
He tried to summon his power, but the response came late.
The blessing inside him flickered.
The deity's voice reached him through the darkness.
"You will not interfere with the one who seeks me."
Pilt struggled to remain standing.
The statement was not directed at Lucid.
It was directed at him.
The implication entered his fading thoughts slowly.
'It wanted Lucid here.'
His vision narrowed.
Purple vapour covered the edge of his sight. His hands weakened, and the weapon he carried slipped against his palm.
The cultist's voice reached him from somewhere nearby.
"Sleep now. Eyes closed, path open. Let the seeker speak."
Pilt attempted to step toward Mira.
His foot dragged across stone.
He could not feel his toes.
Then an ethereal light erupted through the chamber.
The brightness struck without warning. White and gold energy tore through the purple darkness, forcing the vapour away from the centre. Pilt raised an arm to shield his face.
A large impact followed.
The floor jumped beneath him.
Several columns broke at once, and the sound of shattering stone overwhelmed every voice. Dust burst through the chamber. Chunks of masonry struck the walls and scattered across the platform.
Pilt dropped to one knee.
He could not see what Lucid had done.
He saw only movement within the dust.
Chains emerged through the collapsing haze.
Some shone gold. Others carried pale, ethereal colours that shifted along the links. They travelled across the chamber with independent purpose, curving around debris and damaged supports.
They moved as if alive.
One chain passed close enough to Pilt's face that he felt the air move against his cheek.
Another wrapped around a falling column and pulled it aside before it crushed Mira.
Pilt forced his eyes open wider.
A hand emerged through the dust.
The fingers reached for his throat.
He recognised the purple sleeve.
The veiled woman had released Mira with one arm and moved toward him under the cover of the collapse.
Pilt tried to raise his weapon.
His body remained slow from the vapour.
The cultist's hand closed around the front of his neck.
Before she could tighten her grip, another hand struck her wrist.
The impact forced her arm sideways.
A chain wrapped around her elbow and pulled her away from Pilt. Her body twisted through the dust, but she maintained her footing.
A choked sound escaped from somewhere to his right.
Pilt looked up.
Two red eyes burned through the haze.
They were unmistakable.
The mist still covered Lucid's face, but it had mixed with the dust and the remaining purple vapour. For a moment, the red gaze seemed detached from any human outline.
Pilt felt judgement settle over him.
Lucid had every reason to strike him.
Pilt had lied about his identity.
Not completely, he reminded himself. None of the identities he had used were false. Each belonged to him in some capacity.
That defence sounded weak even inside his own head.
He had misled Lucid deliberately. He had concealed his purpose, manipulated his direction, and intended to use him as a distraction.
Lucid did not know every detail, but he knew enough to be angry.
Pilt braced himself.
The red eyes moved closer.
A figure crossed the dust with enough speed to disturb the entire cloud.
Pilt tightened his grip on his weapon and prepared for the blow.
Lucid passed him without slowing.
The boy did not look at him.
He did not accuse him or raise the spear in his direction.
His focus remained fixed on the veiled woman holding Mira.
That disregard struck Pilt harder than anger would have.
Lucid considered him secondary.
The cultist recovered and pulled Mira against her body again. One hand rose toward the approaching boy.
"Wrong road," she warned in broken speech. "Turn back. Door closed. Debt unpaid."
Lucid continued toward her.
The spear dragged behind him, carving a line through the fractured floor.
When he answered, his voice carried no urgency.
"I have spent the last hour being told where I am allowed to walk."
The chains gathered around him.
His red eyes never left the cultist.
"I am done listening."