The apartment building rose from the fractured earth like a concrete gravestone, its upper floors lost in the perpetual gray mist that had replaced the sky since the Arrival. Elias stood on the rooftop garden he'd cultivated over the past three months, tending to plants that grew in ways that defied every law of biology he'd once known.
The tomatoes were blue and pulsed with their own bioluminescence. The carrots grew in perfect spirals, their orange flesh shot through with silver veins. Everything here was touched by divine influence—the rain that fell wasn't quite water, the soil wasn't quite earth, and the sun that sometimes pierced the mist wasn't quite the same star that had once warmed a sane world.
But it was food, and food was survival.
"Another successful birth, I see," came a voice from behind him.
Elias didn't turn around. He'd been expecting this visit. "Hello, Morgan."
Morgan Vale stepped onto the rooftop, her Order Knight armor gleaming despite the eternal gloom. She was everything the Iron Creed demanded of its servants—disciplined, righteous, and utterly convinced of her own moral superiority. The fact that she lived on the rooftop directly across from his made their conversations inevitable.
"The screaming carried quite far," she continued, moving to stand beside him at the rooftop's edge. "The whole district heard it."
"Birth is rarely quiet," Elias replied, plucking a spiral carrot from the soil. "The Womb Eternal's gifts don't come without cost."
Morgan's hand rested on the pommel of her sword—a blade that hummed with the Iron Creed's blessing. "Is that what you call it? A gift?"
Elias finally turned to face her. Morgan was younger than him, maybe thirty, with the kind of fierce determination in her eyes that only came from absolute faith. She believed in her god, believed in the righteousness of order, believed that the system imposed by the Old Gods was somehow better than the chaos that had preceded it.
She was also, Elias had realized, testing him.
"I call it necessary," he said carefully. "The Womb Eternal provides for those who serve faithfully. The trials ensure that only the worthy survive."
"And the unworthy?" Morgan's voice was casual, but Elias caught the trap in her question.
"Become vessels for the worthy," he replied. "As the Eternal wills."
It was the correct answer, the orthodox response that any true believer would give. But Elias caught the slight narrowing of Morgan's eyes, the barely perceptible shift in her posture. She was evaluating him, measuring his faith against some internal standard.
"You speak the words well," she said finally. "But words are just noise. Faith is demonstrated through action."
"I've been demonstrating my faith for three months," Elias countered. "The Womb Eternal has blessed me with seventeen successful trials. My devotion is beyond question."
Morgan smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "Is it? Tell me, Doctor Crane, what did you feel when you delivered the Iron Creed's justice to that heretic last week?"
Elias's blood chilled. She was referring to the public execution he'd witnessed—a former Order Knight who'd refused to carry out a purification directive. The man had been flayed alive in the district square while Morgan read the charges against him.
"I felt..." Elias paused, accessing his talent for deception. The ability to detect lies worked both ways; he could sense when someone was probing for truth, and adjust his responses accordingly. "I felt the righteous satisfaction of seeing order maintained. The heretic's punishment was just."
Morgan nodded slowly. "And when you held the Midwife's Knife today? When you looked into that creature's eyes before you granted it mercy?"
The question was a test, and Elias knew it. Morgan was probing for signs of doubt, of weakness, of the kind of hesitation that marked a potential heretic. His answer would determine whether she reported him to the Iron Creed's inquisitors.
"I felt honored," he said, meeting her gaze steadily. "Honored to serve as the Womb Eternal's instrument. The creature was beautiful in its way—a perfect expression of divine will. Its death was necessary, but that doesn't make it less sacred."
For a long moment, Morgan studied his face. Elias felt the familiar tingle of his lie detection ability, but it remained quiet. Morgan wasn't lying, exactly—she was evaluating, testing, trying to peer into his soul to see what lived there.
Finally, she seemed to reach a decision. "You speak with conviction," she said. "But conviction can be feigned. Faith, true faith, burns like a flame that can't be hidden."
"Then look closer," Elias challenged. "See if you can find any doubt in my service."
Morgan's hand moved to a pendant at her throat—a silver symbol of the Iron Creed that glowed with soft light. "The Creed grants its servants clarity of vision," she said. "We see truth where others see only shadows."
The pendant's light intensified, and Elias felt a strange pressure in his mind, as if something was trying to peer inside his thoughts. He forced himself to remain calm, to project the image of faithful devotion while his true feelings remained buried beneath layers of practiced deception.
After several seconds, the light faded. Morgan's expression was unreadable.
"Interesting," she murmured. "You truly believe in your service to the Womb Eternal. There's no deception in that."
Elias allowed himself a small smile. "As I said, my faith is beyond question."
What Morgan didn't realize was that he did believe in his service—believed that it was necessary for survival, believed that playing the role of faithful servant was the only way to stay alive long enough to find a way to bring the whole system crashing down.
Belief and faith weren't the same thing, but the Iron Creed's magic apparently couldn't tell the difference.
"I should return to my vigil," Morgan said, turning toward the edge of the rooftop. "The district requires constant watch. Chaos stirs in the shadows, and order must be maintained."
"Of course," Elias agreed. "May the Iron Creed guide your steps."
"And may the Womb Eternal bless your service," Morgan replied, then leaped gracefully across the ten-foot gap to her own rooftop with inhuman grace.
Elias watched her go, then returned to his garden. The spiral carrots needed harvesting, and the luminescent tomatoes were almost ripe. Simple tasks, normal tasks, the kind of mundane work that helped him maintain the illusion of humanity in a world that had forgotten what the word meant.
As he worked, he thought about the trial, about the creature he'd killed, about Morgan's probing questions. The system was testing him constantly, through trials and through other players. Every interaction was a potential trap, every word a chance to reveal the heresy that burned in his heart.
But he was learning to navigate the maze of faith and deception. Each lie came easier than the last, each performance more convincing. The gods might demand worship, but they were blind to the hatred that worship could mask.
The sun—whatever passed for the sun now—began to set, painting the sky in colors that hurt to look at directly. Elias gathered his harvest and headed for the stairwell that led down to his apartment.
Tomorrow would bring new trials, new tests of faith, new opportunities to prove his devotion while secretly plotting rebellion. The game was rigged, but every game had rules, and rules could be exploited by someone clever enough to understand them.
Elias Crane had always been a very clever man.
As he descended into the building, he didn't notice the figure watching from the shadows of the opposite rooftop—someone who'd observed his entire conversation with Morgan, someone who'd seen the subtle interplay of truth and deception that had kept him alive.
Someone who might prove to be either his greatest ally or his most dangerous enemy.
The game was just beginning.