A shadow moved near the altar. It was Father Thomas, his footsteps echoing like slow heartbeats on the marble floor. He stopped, looking not at the altar, but at Elias. The old man didn't speak, but his eyes held a strange, sad recognition. For a moment, Elias felt a surge of guilt, a desire to confess everything. But then he remembered the map tucked into his boot and the way the wind had tasted of brine that morning.
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He stood up, the floorboards groaning under his weight. He didn't look back as he pushed open the heavy oak doors. The cold air hit him, sharp and invigorating. As he stepped into the downpour, he felt the heavy burden of his family name wash away, replaced by the terrifying, beautiful weight of his own future. The clock struck eleven. He had one hour to become someone else. A shadow moved near the altar
The rain hammered against the stained-glass windows of the cathedral, turning the world outside into a blurred mosaic of grey and green. Inside, Elias sat in the back pew, the scent of old wood and beeswax wrapping around him like a heavy coat. He wasn't there to pray; he was there to wait. The old man didn't speak, but his eyes