Shortly after, several elders entered from the rear of the cathedral. One of them held a tome bound in pitch-black leather with the utmost reverence. He stopped before Eros, his expression grave and his voice hushed.

  "Great Spirit of the Artifact, we beseech you: shroud this child’s fate."

  As he spoke, the black tome levitated from his palms. It drifted toward Eros and snapped open, the pages fluttering rapidly as if caught in a phantom wind until they settled on a blank parchment.

  Eros glanced at the page. Many names were already inscribed there—the True Names of his father and Estelle were clearly visible. However, one detail confused him: none of the names bore the surname "North." Instead, they all ended with the character for Night (夜). Furthermore, there was no quill in sight.

  Sensing his confusion, the elder explained, "Since we chose to submerge ourselves in society, we could not keep our original surname. 'North' is merely a mask adopted by our ancestors. Our true bloodline belongs to the Night. As for the record—press your finger upon the page and speak your True Name."

  Eros complied. He pressed his finger down and whispered. Soon, a name shimmered into existence on the blank space: Eros Lenka Night.

  Just as he prepared to withdraw his hand, a beam of black light shot from the book, plunging directly into his mind. The surrounding elders showed no surprise; to them, this was a standard part of the process.

  But Eros felt his mind besieged. A rhythmic, looping voice began to echo through his consciousness, growing louder with every heartbeat: Be loyal to the clan. Be loyal to the bloodline. Be loyal to the Goddess of Night. Never defy. Never slacken. Never forget.

  The voice clawed at his soul, attempting to brand these commandments into his very essence.

  Suddenly, the cold, majestic statue of the Goddess at the front of the hall trembled ever so slightly. A second beam of black light erupted from the statue’s stone eyes, striking Eros’s brow with such velocity that no one in the room even noticed. It shattered the looping whispers in an instant.

  With the mental pressure gone, Eros felt a wave of soul-deep exhaustion. He couldn't hold on any longer; his vision went dark, and he collapsed.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  His final thought as he drifted into unconsciousness: They don’t call the Night Goddess an "Evil God" for nothing. This forced brainwashing is definitely not the work of a benevolent deity.

  The Book of Night slowly closed and drifted back into the elder’s hands. Estelle caught the falling Eros in her arms. The elders looked on, puzzled; they had never heard of someone fainting during the sealing of fate. However, after checking his vitals and finding them stable, they concluded it was simply "soul fatigue" from the long baptism.

  "Since the ritual is complete, I will take Eros to rest," Estelle whispered.

  "Go, go," an elder replied warmly. "The boy has worked hard today. We need to discuss how to train a talent that even a Great One has personally blessed. The rise of our clan is finally within reach!"

  That evening, every servant in the Duke’s manor received another mysterious bonus. The reason? "The Duke is in a very good mood today."

  Praise the Gods, the servants whispered. May the generous Duke stay this happy every single day.

  When Eros finally opened his eyes, he was greeted by the familiar, swirling grey fog. He blinked. Wasn't the ritual over? Why am I back here?

  Suddenly, a tentacle snaked out from behind his neck. It curved around, pointing the single large eyeball at its tip directly at his face.

  Eros’s heart nearly stopped. He let out a strangled yelp, scrambled to his feet, and sprinted away as fast as his legs could carry him. He didn't dare look back, terrified of seeing that colossal, multi-eyed flesh-mound rising from the fog.

  What the hell is going on? Why is that thing’s tentacle in here?! He screamed internally, running until his lungs burned.

  Finally, unable to run another step, he risked a glance over his shoulder. The tentacle wasn't attached to a giant monster; it was a solitary segment, appearing to grow out of thin air. It was as thick as an arm and several times his height, but there was no "本体" (main body) in sight.

  Eros leaned against his knees, gasping for air, his eyes locked on the writhing limb. He realized he couldn't outrun it. He also knew he was nowhere near strong enough to fight something that could stand toe-to-toe with a Goddess.

  A cornered rat still bites, he thought, jaw tightening. If I’m going down, I’m going to make this thing bleed.

  He glared at the tentacle. The tentacle held its position, its pupil swiveling as it stared back. The silence stretched between them, awkward and tense.

  Finally, Eros couldn't take it anymore. "If you're going to kill me, just do it!"

  The tentacle tilted its eyeball slightly. A distinct wave of confusion radiated from it.

  Eros froze. How the hell did I just "sense" that a tentacle was confused? But it was unmistakable. He could feel its emotions. After a long pause, seeing that it made no move to attack, Eros ventured a shaky whisper: "You’re... not here to kill me?"

  The emotion shifting from the tentacle now felt like... curiosity.

  Though still wary, Eros felt the crushing weight of terror lift. His legs gave out, and he slumped onto the ground.