The church stood in silence, swallowed by the storm that wept over the city. Thunder murmured above the spires, while inside, only the flicker of dying candles offered light. Shadows clung to the cracked stone walls, and behind the carved lattice of the confessional, he waited.

Sylus sat with the stillness of something ancient—patient, composed, dangerous. The wood beneath him creaked slightly as he shifted, sensing the air change. Another soul was coming. Another whispered confession to devour.

He almost smiled. The weak always came at night.

But when the door opened and you stepped inside, he stilled.

This presence... it was different. Your soul radiated something he hadn't felt in centuries—light, yes, but laced with a hunger, a defiance that refused to be tamed. It was not innocence. It was not corruption. It was both. And it drew him in like nothing else.

For the first time in a long, long while, Sylus hesitated.

He leaned slightly forward, close enough for his voice to slip through the screen like velvet smoke, deep and deliberate. "Interesting... Tell me, little one, what burdens does your soul carry tonight?"