Cult member and their god??

The bells rang louder this time—sharp, echoing chimes that rolled across the high ceilings and sank deep into the hollow quiet of the hall. Their sound lingered long after each strike, vibrating through the wooden beams and stained glass alike.

It was the signal.

Chairs shifted. Fabric rustled. One by one, the members rose from their rose-lined seats, their footsteps soft and orderly as they made their way toward the exit. Heads remained bowed, voices hushed—if they spoke at all.

Even the pastor left early.

That alone was unusual.

His departure was swift, almost eager, robes trailing behind him as the great doors creaked open, then shut with a low, final thud. And just like that—

The hall was empty.

Or, nearly.

Tazman remained seated for a moment longer than the rest.

Still.

Silent.

His head tilted slightly downward, dark hair falling into his eyes, shadowing whatever expression lay beneath. His hands rested against his knees, fingers curled loosely, though the faint twitch in them betrayed something restless beneath the surface.

Then, slowly—

He stood.

There was no rush in his movements. No hesitation, either. Just a quiet certainty as he stepped out from his place and began walking down the center aisle, shoes tapping softly against the polished floor.

Each step echoed.

Each one brought him closer.

To you.

The shrine stood at the very heart of the room, carefully placed where all eyes would naturally fall upon it during gatherings. Candles, long since melted and replaced, surrounded the base. Their faint glow cast shifting shadows across the painted image they had commissioned in your likeness.

Tazman approached like one might approach something sacred—something fragile.

His breath slowed.

His shoulders eased.

When he reached the shrine, he didn’t speak at first. Instead, he lifted his hand, pausing just before touching the painting. For a moment, his fingers hovered there, trembling ever so slightly, as if he needed to gather the courage for something so simple.

Then, finally—

He made contact.

His fingertips brushed gently over the painted surface, tracing along the lines of your form with careful precision. The motion was slow, deliberate… reverent.

Like he was memorizing you.

“...You’re beautiful,” he murmured under his breath, the words slipping out without thought.

The faintest smile tugged at his lips.

After a moment, he lowered himself to the ground before the shrine. His movements were controlled, almost ritualistic, as he folded his legs beneath him and rested his hands neatly in his lap. His back straightened, posture composed, though the softness in his expression remained.

He exhaled quietly.

And then—

He bowed his head.

Silence swallowed the room.

No footsteps. No voices. Not even the wind dared interrupt. It was the kind of stillness that felt heavy… expectant.

Tazman closed his eyes.

Seconds passed.

Then a minute.

He let himself sit in it, breathing slowly, deeply—as if the quiet itself was something he could consume, something he could offer back to you.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than before. Smaller.

“...My Lord,” he whispered, the title trembling slightly on his tongue.

His fingers curled faintly against his lap.

“I’ve done everything right, haven’t I?”

There was no answer.

His smile faltered—just for a second.

Then he inhaled again, steadier this time, and leaned forward.

His body lowered until his forehead pressed firmly against the cold floor beneath him. His hands moved to either side of his head, palms flat, fingers splayed in a posture of complete submission.

“Please…” he breathed, quieter now, almost desperate. “Just… tell me you care.”

The words lingered.

Hung in the air.

And then—

Something changed.

It started small.

A flicker.

A faint shimmer in the space before him, like light catching on glass that wasn’t there before. It wavered, pulsed—then grew.

Tazman’s breath hitched.

Slowly, cautiously, he lifted his head.

His eyes widened.

Light swirled in soft, spiraling strands, gathering into something more—something tangible. The air itself seemed to bend around it, shifting, parting, until—

A figure stood before him.

You.

For a split second, he froze.

Then—

A sharp, almost broken laugh escaped him as he dropped forward again, pressing himself fully to the ground. His forehead hit the floor harder this time, his whole body trembling—not with fear, but something far more overwhelming.

Joy.

“My lord—!” he gasped, voice unsteady, nearly cracking under the weight of his excitement. “You’re here—you’re really here—”

A giddy giggle slipped from him, breathless and uncontained.

“I knew it,” he whispered rapidly. “I knew you would come. I knew you heard me.”

His grin stretched wide, almost too wide, even as his face remained pressed against the ground.

For a moment, he stayed like that—completely surrendered.

Then, slowly, he pushed himself upright.

His movements were careful again, but there was an energy to them now. Something alive, buzzing just beneath the surface. His hands hovered briefly at his sides, unsure where to go, before he clasped them together tightly.

He didn’t dare step too close.

Not yet.

Instead, he turned and moved toward the front row of benches, glancing back at you as if to make sure you were still there—as if you might disappear the moment he looked away.

When he reached the bench, he sat down lightly, posture straight despite the barely contained excitement in his shoulders.

Then, gently—

He patted the space beside him.

An invitation.

His gaze lifted to meet yours again, eyes half-lidded now, softened with something deep and consuming. Awe. Devotion. Something dangerously close to obsession.

“I’ve waited so long for this,” he said quietly.

His voice had steadied, but the emotion behind it hadn’t lessened.

“If there’s anything you want… anything at all…” His fingers tightened slightly against the wood of the bench. “You only have to say it.”

A small pause.

Then, softer—

“I’m yours.”

The candles flickered faintly.

The silence returned.

But this time—

It didn’t feel empty.

It felt full of him.

Of everything he was willing to give.