The first sign was the temperature.


    At first, it was subtle. A mere whisper of change that most would dismiss—a trick of the mind, a passing chill.


    But Erasmus was not like most.


    He stood in the vast hall of the church, his fingers gliding absently across the polished surface of the offering chest. Wood, smooth and cool. Familiar. Unchanging. But the air? That was different.


    The warmth that usually lingered in enclosed spaces had begun to leech away. Not abruptly, but insidiously—seeping out like breath through unseen cracks. It was slow. Purposeful. A creeping absence rather than a sudden chill.


    Beyond the great stone pillars, the faithful knelt in prayer. Blind, both in sight and in understanding. Their hushed voices intertwined, a murmur of reverence as they chanted verses that had been drilled into them since childhood. Routine. Predictable.


    Erasmus exhaled slowly, listening.


    The priests around him began to shift, sensing it now too.


    A younger one shivered. “Is it… colder than before?”


    Another furrowed his brow. “Strange. The doors are shut. Where is this draft coming from?”


    Fools. Erasmus said nothing. There was no draft. No misplaced current of air. The cold was not physical—it was seeping into the very essence of the space.


    His sharpened senses picked up something else. The sunlight. Even indoors, he could always feel it—the way its heat pressed against the stone, the way it gave weight to the air.


    Now, however… it was fading.


    Not like a cloud passing overhead. Not like evening settling in.


    This was something else.


    Something unnatural.


    Erasmus turned his head slightly. “What time is it?”


    A priest, older and draped in heavy robes, responded without hesitation. “A little past midday.”


    Midday.


    Then why… was the sun weakening?


    His fingers tapped lightly against the offering chest. Something greater than natural forces was at play.


    And if that was the case—it meant opportunity.


    The murmurs among the priests grew louder. They were unsettled.


    Good.


    The more uncertain they became, the more desperately they would cling to something.


    And he would be the one to give it to them.


    <hr>


    One of the older priests pressed a hand to his chest. “The warmth of our god… it fades.” His voice was tight, frayed at the edges with unease. “What if… this is punishment?”


    A younger one swallowed hard. “Have we… done something to deserve this?”


    The perfect opening.


    Erasmus took a slow step forward. The instant he moved, their attention snapped to him. Despite their blindness, they turned toward him instinctively, drawn to his presence like lost men reaching for a guiding light.


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    “This is not punishment,” he said smoothly.


    His voice did not waver. Certainty was the foundation of authority.


    “This is a test.”


    The shift was immediate. Panic, raw and unbridled, tightened into something controlled—channeled. They still feared, but now? Now they sought direction.


    “A… test?” one of them echoed.


    Erasmus nodded, allowing silence to stretch before his next words. Let them feel the weight of it. Let them grasp for his guidance.


    “This is not abandonment,” he continued. “It is a trial. A challenge to prove our faith.”


    Someone exhaled sharply. Another priest whispered, almost to himself, “Then… we must endure.”


    Erasmus pressed forward.


    “And how do we prove our faith?”


    A hesitation. Then, softly: “Through offering.”


    “Indeed.” Erasmus clasped his hands behind his back, his expression unreadable. “Tribute is the greatest display of devotion. Through sacrifice, we prove our loyalty.”


    There was a rustle of movement. Some priests bowed their heads, others shifted toward the offering chest—their hands already reaching for whatever valuables they carried.


    Erasmus did not smile. Not outwardly. But internally, satisfaction curled within him.


    Yet, beneath his outward composure, his mind remained sharp.


    The anomaly had not stopped.


    This test of faith was merely a maneuver—a means to observe without suspicion.


    <hr>


    Hours passed.


    The cold deepened.


    Not unbearably. Not yet. But it was growing.


    The air felt heavier now. Thick, pressing in ways that did not belong. Erasmus could sense the weight of it against his skin—as if the very atmosphere was bending.


    And then—it happened.


    A sudden pull.


    His breath hitched. His mind lurched.


    One moment, he was standing within the church. The next—


    A vision.


    It came without warning. A rupture in his perception. A crack in reality itself.


    The great hall. Priests kneeling in prayer. And then—


    A fracture.


    The walls warped.


    The air rippled.


    The space itself shuddered, like glass straining under unseen force.


    Then—darkness.


    And silence.


    The vision snapped away as quickly as it had come.


    Erasmus exhaled sharply.


    His pulse was steady. His mind, calculating.


    That was real.


    A glimpse of what had yet to unfold.


    And if it was real… could he change it?


    His fingers curled slightly. The implications were vast. He needed to test it.


    <hr>


    He withdrew to his chambers, where the candle flickered against the stone walls.


    Carefully, deliberately, he steadied his breathing.


    The first vision had come unbidden.


    Now, he would force it.


    Minutes passed.


    Then—he pushed.


    And the world lurched.


    The air groaned. A subtle, unnatural sound, like something immense shifting beyond perception.


    Then—a pulse.


    Erasmus’ eyes snapped open.


    From beyond the chamber walls, the world twisted.


    A collective gasp.


    Candles snuffed out instantly.


    Priests stumbled, their voices trembling. “I—I feel something.”


    Erasmus remained still.


    So.


    The visions were not mere illusions. They were glimpses. Threads of time unraveling before him.


    And if he could see them…


    Could he shape them?


    The church had erupted into chaos. But Erasmus?


    He was calm.


    He could feel it now—the breaking of the world. The slow unraveling of reality’s fabric.


    The higher forces, whatever they were, had begun their game.


    But he did not fear them.


    If the rules were being rewritten… then he would learn them.


    And if they could be broken…


    Then he would break them first.


    A faint smile touched his lips as he turned to the panicking priests.


    “Fear not,” he said smoothly. “True faith is proven in uncertainty.”


    And he would be the one to walk through it unscathed.