Part 1
**⛓️ My mentor publicly shamed me and announced a brutal ritual — but his true plan was far more sinister.**
I didn’t think much of it when Elder Silas asked me to move some of our communal property documents into the new annex.
Three days later, I was standing before the entire congregation. I was being forced into a crudely woven “robe of penance” for the sin of “questioning leadership.”
He then announced my name for the dreaded Ascension Ritual. This was a grueling physical and spiritual ordeal known to break even the strongest adherents.
His eyes promised I wouldn’t just stumble; I’d shatter.
The scratchy robe chafed my skin, a constant reminder of my public disgrace for questioning property transfers. My sister, Lena, watched from the crowd, her face a mix of sorrow and devotion to Elder Silas.
Silas’s voice, usually a comforting balm, now dripped with false piety.
“Elara must purge herself of doubt,” he declared to the assembly.
The Ascension Ritual was scheduled for dawn. I felt a cold dread, knowing its brutal reputation.
Later, fetching water near the annex, I heard hushed voices. It was Silas, urgent and low, speaking to Benedict “Benny” Cross, a local real-estate agent.
“Expedited transfers,” Silas was saying. “We need this finalized before the ritual concludes.”
Benny Cross chuckled.
“Don’t worry, Elder. Parcel 7 will be off the books by then. No one will notice, especially with Elara preoccupied.”
My breath caught. The ritual wasn’t just penance; it was a scheduled distraction designed to exhaust and discredit me. It would remove me as an obstacle while Silas finalized a major land sale.
What other secrets was he hiding, and would I even survive the ritual to find out?
Part 2
The next morning, the “communal cleansing” began. Elder Silas ordered everyone to discard personal items into a central bonfire, replacing them with commune-issued necessities. As an elder, I was assigned to sort through designated communal chests for items meant for the fire, including Silas’s rarely-accessed personal chest.
My hands brushed against a loose panel at the bottom. I felt a false bottom and lifted it. Beneath, tucked away, was a crisp, non-commune-branded receipt, dated just days before my ritual.
My eyes scanned the text: “Down payment for Parcel 7” and Benedict Cross’s agency clearly visible. A substantial sum was listed. My heart hammered against my ribs. I quickly folded the paper and slipped it into the rough fabric of my robe, hoping no one saw. What did “Parcel 7” mean, and how deep did Silas’s betrayal truly run?
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