The cave breathed.
Ellie stood barefoot at its mouth, her thin ceremonial dress clinging to her damp skin. Three days without food. Three days without water. Three days without words. Her lips were cracked, her throat raw from swallowing nothing but silence.
Above her, carved into the stone, glared the mark of Orkhan: a circle of teeth devouring its own tongue. The priests called it holy. To Ellie, it looked hungry.
"Step forward, child."
The High Priest's voice echoed, cold as the cave itself. He was cloaked in black, his face hidden in shadow, his hands carrying the staff of bone that had chosen countless names before hers.
Ellie clenched her fists at her sides. She was not supposed to. Supplicants came with open palms, with meekness carved into their posture. But she couldn't help it; the fists tightened as if her body knew something her mind did not.
The cave opened around her, swallowing her whole. In its heart lay the pond, glowing faintly with bluish green light. The water was still, too still, as though it held its breath. Beneath it rested Shalom, the second wife of Orkhan, the first woman to kneel and surrender her voice. The priests told stories of her obedience as if it were beauty.
Ellie stepped closer, shivering. The pond's glow painted her skin in ghost-light.
"Three days you have fasted," the High Priest intoned. "Tonight, you kneel as Shalom kneeled. You surrender as she surrendered. You enter the holy water, and you will not rise until silence has cleansed you."
Ellie's lips parted, instinct screaming to speak to say no, to run, to scream, but silence bound her throat like a curse. She lowered herself, her toes breaking the pond's surface. Cold shot through her bones like a blade.
She sank.
The water closed over her head. Darkness pressed against her chest. It smelled of stone, of rot, of something older than breath. Somewhere beneath her feet, the bones of Shalom slept.
Ellie's lungs burned. She wanted to thrash, to claw her way up, but her fists only tightened. She stayed. She endured.
When she emerged at last, the cave was waiting. Torches hissed. The High Priest stood at the edge of the pond, his staff raised.
"She is cleansed." His voice cracked through the silence like a whip. "From this night, she bears a new name."
The priests gathered around her. Their chants rose, echoing off the cave walls. The High Priest's eyes narrowed as he looked at Ellie, no, through her as though seeing the fire in her clenched fists, the defiance she hadn't yet spoken. Somewhere, it displeased him.
"She shall be called Vehrin, Ellie Vehrin."
The word struck the air like a curse. Rebel. Shame. Outcast. Defeated.
The priests laughed low and cruelly, pleased with the irony. A child marked forever with disgrace.
But Ellie's fists did not open. And somewhere deep in her chest, the name sparked like kindling.
The priests thought they had broken her. They did not know they had just given her a weapon, a fire for their doom.