"Samuel? Are you alive? If yes, knock once. If not… knock twice."
Veilin froze.
That voice.
Oh no. or Oh yes?
This body knew that voice far too well.
Ah, so he was going to survive Chapter One after all...
Veilin stood up—slowly, stiffly—with what little dignity he had left.
Then he opened the door.
There he was.
Elias Throne.
A little damp from the rain, of course, but somehow he made it look intentional. Like the storm had dressed him personally, just to add dramatic effect. A few strands of wet, dark hair clung to his forehead
And the grin—oh, gods, that grin. Wide. Stupid. The kind of grin you'd expect from someone who either just found buried treasure or set a library on fire and got away with it.
In his hands? A paper pouch. Crumpled, slightly soggy, and held like it was a gift from the heavens.
Veilin, now fully resigned to the name Samuel, narrowed his eyes, voice flat.
"...What are you doing here?"
Elias blinked, as if surprised that was the question.
He held up a crumpled, slightly damp paper pouch like it was an offering to the gods.
"Brought snacks," he said, ever so cheerfully.
"Thought you might be... hungry? Emotionally unstable? Both?"
Then, without waiting for permission—as if the concept of personal space was some foreign luxury—he stepped inside like he owned the place.
Rain still clung to his robes, water dripping gently onto the floor as he made himself at home with the confidence of a man who'd never faced consequences in his life.
"I figured, hey, post-cult existential spiral? Needs some crisped moonfruits. You know—healing !!!!"
He was halfway through another breezy sentence when his eyes suddenly caught something.
He stopped mid-step. Froze.
His gaze locked upward, to the rope dangling from the cracked wooden beam. Still swaying slightly, like it remembered.
Then it dropped—slowly, quietly—to Samuel's neck.
To the rope still there.
Wrapped loosely.
Like an ugly necklace. Or a bad decision you hadn't quite managed to untie yet.
Elias blinked once. Then tilted his head slightly, as if studying a piece of art.
"…Did I interrupt something important?" he asked.
Samuel followed his gaze after locking the door.
His stomach dropped.
"Shit," he muttered under his breath, reaching up quickly, fumbling at the knot.
"It's not—it's not what it looks like, I was just—"
But before he could get the words out, Elias raised a hand.
"No need to explain," he said, suddenly solemn, almost sagely. "I know, Samuel."
Samuel's heart nearly stopped.
He knows.
He knows I'm not him. He knows I'm Veilin.
It's over.....
He braced himself, throat tightening—already trying to figure out if he could reach the hidden dagger by the desk in time—
But then Elias spoke again.
And it was... not what he expected.
"Rejection hurts, man," Elias said, tone dramatic and full of faux sympathy.
"But seriously—which girl was it? Gotta be someone from the library, right? The quiet ones always hit the hardest—reading ancient curses by day, breaking hearts by night. Absolute menaces to mental health."
Samuel just stared.
Mouth open. Words broken.
"And come on," Elias added, shaking his head like a disappointed older brother.
"If you're gonna try something that final, at least lose your v-card first. And maybe—I don't know—write a will? Leave your collection of banned texts to someone worthy? Like, I don't know… me?"
There was a beat of silence.
Samuel was still speechless.
"I…" he started, then stopped. "You think this is because of a girl—?"
Elias nodded solemnly, opening the snack pouch like a man delivering wisdom from the mountaintop.
"It's always about a girl, Samuel."
Then he casually popped a crisped moonfruit slice into his mouth.
Crunch.
"Trust me," he added with a wink, "this place breaks people. But heartbreak? That's the real cult."
Samuel had no idea whether to laugh, scream, or cry.
So he just sat down.
Still wearing the rope.
Still completely unprepared for Elias Throne.
Elias flopped onto the chair like he owned the place, kicked his feet up on the desk.
"Sharing is caring," he said, mouth already full. "Besides, you look like you need salt and trauma in equal measure."
Samuel hesitated, still eyeing the pouch like it might sprout legs. But curiosity—and a deeply buried sense of hunger—won out. He reached in and grabbed a piece.
Crunch.
…Oh.
It was amazing.
Crispy on the edges, soft in the middle. Sweet and spicy, with a tang he couldn't place but absolutely wanted more of.
For a moment, just a brief blessed second, he forgot he'd woken up from a suicide attempt and now lived in a cult temple filled with maniacs.
He blinked. "This is… really good. What is it?"
Elias looked at him like he'd just asked if the sky was blue.
"You always ignored these. I told you they were good. You'd make that same stuck-up face and say, 'I don't eat snacks, Elias,' and then I'd end up eating the whole bag alone. Again. Tragic."
Samuel narrowed his eyes. "You're dodging the question."
Elias sighed, theatrically.
"Fine, fine. It's crisped moonfruit slices glazed with spider-honey and deep-fried in marrow oil extracted from corpse centipedes."
Samuel froze mid-chew.
"...Come again?"
Elias brightened.
"Corpse centipedes. Big bastards, live in catacombs. You boil them alive in vinegar first so their glands explode, then scoop the oil out from their back sockets. Tastes better if the centipede died mad."
There was a full beat of silence.
Then Samuel sprinted to the corner and vomited like he was trying to purge his entire soul.
Elias didn't even blink.
"Rookie numbers," he said between crunches.
"First time I had them, I hallucinated a centipede god who called me 'son.' Good times."
Samuel staggered back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes blazing.
"I swear to the abyss, Elias," he hissed, "I'm going to strangle you with your own intestines."
"You asked," Elias shrugged, tossing him another slice.
"Not my fault your palate's as fragile as your will to live. Want another?"
Samuel didn't even bother to respond.
He just glared.
Soul-weary. Trust obliterated. Stomach still protesting.
And Elias?
He just kept eating.
Like none of this was weird at all.
Because, for him, it wasn't
Soon, the two of them were sitting side by side on the narrow bed, like it was just another rainy day and not a day that had started with a dramatic near-death experience and existential revelations.
Elias was still eating that nightmare snack.
Loudly. Obnoxiously.
Each crunch echoed like thunder in Samuel's skull.
Crunch. Crunch. Slurp. Slurp.
Samuel twitched. "Do you have to chew like that?"
Elias blinked at him. "What? This is how it tastes better. You gotta let the marrow oil hit the back of the throat."
Samuel made a noise halfway between a sigh and a cry for help. He rubbed his temples. Then slowly… an idea slithered into his thoughts.
Brilliant.
The foggy fragments of memory he did have told him enough—Samuel had always been a little… off. The kind of guy people avoided eye contact with just in case he started quoting death poems.
Elias, on the other hand, was clearly unhinged in a completely different flavor—like someone who got kicked in the head by a divine beast as a child and never quite recovered. But he was talkative, reckless, strangely kind, and most importantly... an outcast. Just like Samuel.
So maybe—just maybe—this was someone he could trust. Or at least tolerate. Which was practically friendship, as far as cult standards went.
He cleared his throat.
"Elias… my friend, I need your help."
Elias didn't even pause chewing. He just waved a hand dramatically, as if fending off a ghost.
"No, Samuel. I cannot help you. I've been single since my mother's womb. Relationships are a mystery to me. You must face this heartbreak alone."
Samuel stared at him. "I'm not talking about a girl."
Elias blinked. "You're not?"
Crunch.
"I'm saying I hit my head. Hard. Like—fell-from-the-ceiling hard," Samuel said, gesturing vaguely toward the rope still dangling like a bad omen.
"My memories are kinda… foggy."
Elias paused mid-chew.
"Foggy?"
"Yeah. Not completely gone," Samuel lied smoothly.
Elias stared at him.
Then blinked.
Crunch...
Then crunched again. Slow and thoughtful this time.
"Ohhh," He said, slowly nodding like it all made sense now. "That explains it."
"Explains what?"
"Huh," Elias said, licking oil off his fingers. "So that's why you're acting weird today."
Samuel's spine stiffened. "What do you mean?"
"Well," Elias drawled, leaning back, "I actually thought you were possessed. Was gonna report you to the temple… right after lunch."
Samuel's heart didn't just skip a beat—it performed a full cardiac interpretive dance.
"…What?"
Samule asked, tone calm, face composed, but inside?
Panic.
Full-blown inner screaming.
What gave me away? Am I that different from this body's original owner? What did I do? Breathe too normally? Look someone in the eye for more than three seconds?
Elias tilted his head, looking at him as if he were explaining something obvious.
"Well, you're usually super creepy," Elias said conversationally.
"Always muttering stuff under your breath—like cryptic chants or poetry or death threats, hard to tell. Everyone kind of avoids you. Me too, at first. But since I'm also ignored by basically everyone, I figured, hey. Bonding opportunity."
He grinned. "We kinda became friends. Trauma pals, you know?"
Samuel blinked.
Trauma pals?
Elias noticed his stunned silence and waved it off with a greasy hand, laughing lightly.
"Oh, come on. I'm joking. If you were possessed, I really wouldn't care," the voice said with an easy chuckle.
Samuel narrowed his eyes.
"Let's say, hypothetically, I was possessed—which, to be very clear, I'm definitely not—wouldn't you be a little more… concerned? You're just sitting here, eating weird snacks, cracking jokes. What about the original Samuel? Don't you feel sad? Or scared I might, I don't know, murder you in your sleep?"
Elias didn't flinch.
Instead, he grinned. Wider than before.
"If you did possess him, then yeah—he's probably dead. What's the point of crying over dead people? They're not gonna appreciate the effort."
He tossed another slice into his mouth, still talking between crunches.
"I'd rather make a new friend. Build a new relationship. Share snacks with the ghost that took over his body, you know?"
Samuel just stared at him.
"And hey," Elias added, shrugging like this was all a casual weather report,
"Maybe you're secretly some ancient sage infiltrating the temple to burn it down from the inside. I wouldn't even be mad. Honestly? Kinda refreshing. Most of us here hate this place. Not officially, of course. But, like… if a meteor fell on the temple tomorrow, there'd be applause."
He looked at Samuel, eyes twinkling. "So if that's the plan, count me in. Allies, right?"
Samuel didn't answer.
He just stared. Long. Slowly.
Then said, voice dry, "Now I understand why no one here is your friend."
"Thank you," Elias said brightly, taking it as a compliment.
"But hey, if you did lose your memories, you're not alone. Happens more than you'd think around here. Cult life is hard on the brain."
And with that, he crunched another chip.
He leaned back, stretching like he had all the time in the world.
"So. Let me guess—you want a crash course on this charming little corner of hell?"
Samuel nodded, eyes narrowing with focus.
"Exactly."
Elias grinned.
"Welcome to the Temple of Abyss," he declared, like an overly dramatic tour guide giving a monologue at a haunted mansion.
Samuel raised an eyebrow. "Sounds… welcoming."