The so-called conception ritual, as Sophia described, was a supernatural method enabling a man to bear a child. The previous injections of nutrient fluids and the feeding of gray-green soil had merely been preparatory steps.

  The altar where the ceremony would unfold lay just above the underground chamber of confinement.

  Sophia led the way, while two maids effortlessly supported David, guiding him through a dimly lit corridor lined with flickering candlelight. They ascended a flight of stairs, pausing before a concealed door.

  With a silver key, Sophia unlocked it, revealing a vast elliptical altar below. A ring of candles surrounded its perimeter, casting a wavering glow upon its surface, which was etched with intricate occult sigils.

  At the altar’s center stood a raised platform, just large enough to accommodate a person—akin to a double bed—adorned with a delicate array of pink and pale-gray blossoms.

  Beside this floral-draped dais awaited Lady White—an imposing figure, towering at least two meters in height.

  "Mother, I have brought him," Sophia announced.

  "Lay him down."

  Lady White was garbed in a simple yet sacred white robe. A dark-golden mask, etched with celestial motifs, obscured most of her visage, yet the exquisite curve of her lips and the elegant line of her jaw hinted at her undeniable beauty.

  David could neither speak nor muster the strength to resist. He could only watch, helplessly, as he was placed upon the altar’s platform—like a fish upon the butcher’s block, powerless against the blade of fate.

  “Mother seems to have taken quite a liking to you," Sophia murmured reassuringly from a short distance away. "She refuses to let you go, no matter what. But don’t be afraid—what follows will not bring you pain."

  Her voice softened, carrying a note of false sympathy. "Once you bear the child, I’ll bring your sister here as well—to help care for you."

  David’s gaze turned frigid, his pupils contracting sharply.

  Sophia offered an apologetic smile. "According to our sources, your sister, too, possesses 'innate spiritual resonance.' So, I’m afraid I must rescind my previous promise."

  "When her eyes are healed, we will welcome her into the faith of the Mother Goddess. She, too, will bask in the divine blessings… just like us."

  A shuddering breath escaped David’s throat, rage erupting in his eyes—so fierce it nearly took physical form. If he had the strength, he would have torn the woman before him to shreds.

  But then, Lady White’s hand, cool and gentle, cupped his cheek. Her voice was serene, almost tender.

  "From the moment you were born, your fate was intertwined with the Church… and the Mother Goddess."

  Noticing the fleeting flicker of confusion and shock in David’s expression, she continued, her tone measured and unhurried.

  "There is no harm in indulging your curiosity—after all, the conception ritual is not without risk. It could very well cost you your life."

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  "Your parents… once stood among us, faithful followers of the Mother Goddess’s hidden church. But in the end, they chose betrayal. And for that, they paid the ultimate price."

  "It was not without reason that you and your sister were permitted to live until now. The Church has long prepared for this moment. And now… it is time for you to repay the kindness bestowed upon you."

  David lay frozen upon the altar, his mind plunged into stunned disbelief. A chill burrowed into his very bones, spreading from the depths of his soul—a suffocating powerlessness in the face of destiny.

  Never had he imagined that the truth behind his parents’ disappearance would be unveiled under such circumstances.

  It was them… These so-called "faithful" were the ones who murdered my parents.

  Even Lady White herself… her hands are steeped in their blood.

  Had they been watching from the shadows all along? Observing as Ava and I grew, merely waiting for the harvest… preparing for the day they would claim us?

  A single thought surfaced amidst the chaos in his mind: *Sometimes, the true monsters are not the ones lurking beyond the Safe Zone—but the ones who walk among us, masquerading as our own kind.*

  Unforgivable.

  They deserve to die.

  If I ever get the chance—I will kill them all.

  Every. Last. One.

  Even as this silent oath burned within him, Lady White ascended the altar, kneeling gracefully at his side. Her mask obscured any expression, but her mere presence exuded an undeniable allure.

  Somehow, she now held a small vial—where it had come from, David did not know. The liquid within shimmered, an unsettling shade of dusky pink, exuding an ominous presence.

  "Rose oil," she murmured. "An essential element of the ritual. Just like the flowers beneath you and the candles that surround us, it serves to bridge the path between us and the Mother Goddess."

  "Under Her watchful gaze and boundless grace, we shall conceive a child—one perfect in form and spirit."

  Her whispered declaration faded into the heavy air as she tipped the vial, letting the translucent oil spill onto her alabaster palm. Then, with deliberate slowness, she pressed her hand to his bare skin. The oil was cool, silky… yet to David, it felt like the kiss of a serpent—slowly winding across his flesh, whispering of death and asphyxiation.

  Below the altar, the gathered maids watched with fervent devotion, their eyes ablaze with reverence, as though they were witnessing a divine miracle unfold.

  "I… I want a child, too…" Sophia, lost in the moment, touched a finger to her lips, her gaze unfocused, her voice barely a whisper.

  It did not take long for the oil to fully anoint David’s body.

  Lady White’s crimson lips parted, and from them spilled a series of guttural, archaic syllables—words of a language long buried in time.

  As her chanting grew clearer, rising in fervor, the candlelight shifted—its once warm, golden glow mutating into a ghostly gray-green. The flames trembled, though the air was still.

  An overwhelming terror coiled around David’s very soul, a suffocating force as if Death itself had reached into his chest, tightening its grasp upon his heart. A single thought pounded in his mind:

  *I am going to die. But… what about Ava?*

  At that very moment, Lady White straddled him, lifting her face in exultation. Her voice rose in an impassioned chant, her hands now clutching a delicate paper talisman. The moment it touched the candle’s flame, it ignited—not with fire, but with an eerie, otherworldly radiance.

  David’s consciousness wavered, reality blurring at its edges. From beyond the veil of his fading awareness, he heard the ghostly echoes of a flute, a melody drifting from the abyssal heights of the cosmos.

  The black altar and vaulted chamber dissolved, replaced by a celestial expanse—deep, infinite, and ancient.

  Within that boundless void, a vast silhouette emerged—a figure vaguely feminine in form.

  But her size defied comprehension, a colossal presence stretching across the stars, eclipsing the heavens. She bore no face, no discernible features, only an abundance of thick, root-like tendrils that spiraled outward, pulsing with incomprehensible energy.

  A single glance at her was enough to send David’s soul spiraling into a chasm of primal dread. His mind teetered on the brink, seconds away from shattering entirely.

  Then, the titanic figure extended one of her tendrils, reaching for him, pulling him toward the abyssal stars.

  And in a voice that resonated beyond time, she uttered words ancient and ineffable—words David should not have understood.

  Yet, in that moment, their meaning was unmistakable.

  "Bear my child."