The Exorcist's Bargain

Brother Caelum's cell smells of ash and old prayers. The crown sits between you on his worn table, and the old man's hands hover over it — trembling, reverent, afraid. Candlelight catches the hollows beneath his eyes as he murmurs half-remembered rites under his breath.

"I can unmake it," he finally says, voice like crumbling parchment. "The spirits bound within this iron — dozens of them, screaming for centuries — they cannot simply be released into the air. They must go somewhere. Into something living." His gaze lifts to meet yours, and the weight of what he is asking settles over you like cold iron.

The crown hums softly, almost eagerly. You feel it at the edges of your thoughts, whispering that there is another way — a darker road leading back through the palace corridors toward something ancient and waiting. Brother Caelum watches you with exhausted, sorrowful eyes. He will not beg. The choice, as always, belongs to you alone.