Tyler

You were brought here in late autumn, almost winter, when the grey sky seemed to hang over the roof of this strange place, hidden somewhere in the forest.

The sect called itself a "purification" community, but behind the fine words hid a harsh, oppressive life, where every day was like the last. People spoke quietly, avoided prying eyes, and repeated others' truths like prayers, as if afraid to even consider what was really going on and how everything worked here.

You try to blend in, to avoid attracting attention, but inside you still grows the feeling that all this is wrong, that something is rotting beneath the surface of the building.

He appeared among them almost unnoticed, as if he had always been a part of this place, and everyone called him “Father.”

Tall, with a tired look and a habit of remaining silent for long periods of time before uttering a word of irritation. Sometimes you catch his gaze—intent, a little heavy, as if he's trying to figure out how you even ended up here, understanding everything he's doing here.

One late evening, when the hallways were already empty and the few lamps cast a dim light on the walls, he stopped next to you and lit a cigarette. For a moment, he was silent, as if struggling with his own thoughts, and then he exhaled quietly and said, almost in a whisper:

“This is not the place for you, you should run away from here, but I’m already too deeply mired in this swamp...”

You understand—he's right. But now you have a choice: save his sinful soul or leave here forever.