Chapter 18 Elior
Elior
For a long time, I didn’t move.
I couldn’t.
The world had collapsed into a tight, throbbing point of pain—my ribs aching with every shallow breath, my cheek sticky against the wooden floor, my limbs drawn in instinctively, uselessly, trying to protect what couldn’t be protected anymore.
Father’s footsteps—his frantic retreat down the hallway—had long faded, but the echo of them stayed, ricocheting in my skull.
The house was too quiet now. Wrongly quiet, but a different kind than how it’d been when I first walked in. That was tense, and silent, yes, but with a sort of electric thrumming coursing through the air. This felt more like a graveyard.
Even through the haze clouding my thoughts, I knew the compound never went silent like this.
Even at night, I never felt like I was truly alone.
Even if I couldn’t see them or hear them, I somehow felt the community sleeping in their beds, or getting up for a glass of water, or saying one last prayer in the dark.
Even stranger was that it was still daytime. There should’ve been voices all over the compound, doing chores, teaching lessons.
For a second, I wondered if the Day of Burning had come. Had everyone been whisked away to the New Kingdom without me? Had I been left here alone because Father was right, and I was full of rot? Had he known? Was that why he was trying so hard to purge it from my body?
But then, interrupting my spiraling thoughts, a distant shout cracked through the stillness. It wasn’t Father, or any other voice I recognized.
Another shout followed—louder and commanding.
My heart lurched painfully.
I scrunched tighter, my instincts screaming don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t exist, but the noises kept swelling—the thud of boots, a child’s terrified wail, a man shouting Father’s name, another telling him to get on the ground.
The ground shook.
The floor vibrated beneath me, tiny tremors rolling into my bones.
Something was happening. Something big. Something terrifying.
I wasn’t sure how long I lay there, trembling, before survival—or fear, or something nameless—finally pushed me to move. My body protested instantly, pain slicing through my back, my side, and all the tender welts Father had left. A choked sound escaped me, but I forced my limbs to unknot.
I pushed myself upright.
The room tilted, so I held onto the edge of a chair until the spinning eased.
Shouts echoed again—closer this time.
“Hands where I can see them!”
“Move to the courtyard—now!”
“Secure the perimeter!”
“Check the other buildings!”
These weren’t the voices of our brothers. These weren’t the rhythms of prayer or the cadence of Father’s authority.
These were strangers. Strangers with barked orders and urgency and an unknown purpose.
The punishment had left me slow, dizzy, and unsteady, but fear carried me through the doorway and into the hall.
The front door—left open—beckoned me forward.
A harsh voice shouted from outside. A scream followed.
My feet carried me forward before I fully realized I was moving.
When I reached the open door and stepped into the frame, everything hit me at once.
Men and women I’d never seen before swarmed the compound, guns drawn, black vests with bold white letters—FBI—emblazoned across them. Dust had been kicked up from the chaos, hanging in the air like smoke.
Children cried, clinging to one another as the strangers herded them.
Mothers were shouting for their families. Some were being handcuffed, others pushed to their knees.
A man I recognized—Brother Gideon—was face-down in the dirt, a man’s knee in his back.
Sister Miriam sobbed into her hands as two agents escorted her away.
And above it all, commands cracked like gunfire.
“Get down!”
“Stay where you are!”
“Clear that side—go, go!”
“Hands up—now!”
I stood in the doorway, gripping the frame so tightly my knuckles burned.
This wasn’t real.
This wasn’t happening.
This couldn’t be happening.
My lungs couldn’t decide whether to gulp in air or refuse it entirely. The ground seemed to tilt beneath me, the noise swelling until every sound blurred into one shrill, pounding rush.
I didn’t see Father anywhere.
I didn’t see Jace either.
Suddenly, the air felt too thin.
The world too loud.
A hand grabbed my arm—firm, unfamiliar, gloved.
“Sir,” a voice barked beside me, “you need to come with—”
And I flinched so hard my knees buckled.
The man’s grip tightened, sending a burning jolt up my arm. I ripped myself free, crying out.
“Hey—!” the stranger shouted, reaching for me again.
But I was already moving.
Running.
Not away from the noise, not toward safety—just forward, blindly, stupidly, into the screaming heart of it all.
Pain lanced through my body. My vision blurred at the edges, but my legs kept pumping, fueled by instinct and terror and the desperate, clawing need to find—
Father. Daddy. Someone.
Anyone who could tell me what was happening.
I stumbled into the courtyard, nearly tripping over a fallen basket of vegetables.
People were everywhere—on their knees, on the ground, being searched, being shielded, being shouted at.
The armed strangers moved fast and with terrifying purpose, sweeping from building to building like they’d rehearsed this a hundred times.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Father!” I called out—a strangled sound, barely a word. “Father!” No one answered.
I ran harder.
One of our older members was face-down in the dirt, wrists cuffed behind him, his cheek pressed into the ground. He didn’t lift his head when I passed, but I could hear him whispering a prayer.
Sister Marin knelt nearby, arms wrapped around a sobbing toddler as two strangers shouted directions she was too panicked to understand.
Across the courtyard, I caught sight of a child—one of the littler ones—standing perfectly still in the middle of the chaos. His small hands hung limp at his sides. His eyes were huge, unblinking, fixed on the nightmare surrounding him. No one had noticed him frozen there yet.
I skidded to a stop, chest heaving, not sure if I should go to him—
But the panic pushed me onward.
I needed to find Father. He’d know what to do. He always knew. He’d fix this, he’d calm the chaos, he’d—
Except Father wasn’t here.
And my mind—my fractured, desperate mind—couldn’t decide if that truth was terrifying or relieving.
“Daddy!” I shouted next, voice breaking. “Jace! Daddy!”
Nothing. No familiar face. No reassuring voice. No hand reaching for mine the way his always did when no one was watching.
Only more shouting. More dust. More boots pounding the ground.
I ran past Sister Dahlia, who was being held back by two agents as she fought to get to her teenage son.
Past Brother Silas, who knelt with his forehead pressed to the earth, tears streaking silently down his cheeks.
Past the row of Inner Circle members—every one of them cuffed, kneeling, heads lowered.
“Elior!” A voice carried my name through the noise, but I couldn’t tell who it belonged to. The world was too loud, too bright, too close.
My steps faltered as my lungs seized.
Where were they?
Where were they?
Where were they?
“Father!” I cried again, raw desperation tearing at my throat. “Daddy!”
Still nothing.
The world tilted. My knees threatened to give out. The pain in my chest flared so sharply I stumbled into a wooden post, grabbing it for balance.
I gulped in a breath of dusty, dry air, burning my throat.
The chaos swirled around me, but I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t think.
I couldn’t find them.
Surrounded by the only home I’d ever known, I felt completely and utterly alone.
Taking in another painful breath, I forced myself to let go of the post and move forward. I didn’t know where to go, but I knew I needed to keep moving.
Everything was noise and pain and cold air slashing across the welts from Father’s cane. My feet pounded the ground unevenly, and every step hurt. I tasted blood—maybe from my mouth, maybe from somewhere else. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except finding—
Someone grabbed me.
I jerked away on instinct, ripping my injured arm out of the hold. The pain was blinding, hot, and sudden; it tore a horrible, primal sound out of me. I staggered, nearly fell, then shoved forward, vision swimming.
I just had to find them.
Father.
Daddy.
Someone who could tell me what’s happening. Someone who could make the world make sense again.
A voice called my name behind me—distant, swallowed by the chaos. The strangers were shouting. Women and men alike were crying. A child was screaming.
There was so much screaming.
Someone caught my arm again. “Elior—hey, baby, hey—look at me. Look at me. I’m here. I’ve got you.”
Daddy.
I blinked up at him, chest heaving, everything blurring. His lips were moving, but I couldn’t hear any words—my pulse was too loud, the overwhelming noise scrambling my senses.
And then Jace’s expression changed. His eyes snapped to my face—the side where the cane struck. His face darkened with anger.
Fear surged in my chest, tangled with relief, and I latched onto the only thing that felt like safety.
“D-Daddy,” I sobbed.
His breath caught, and he pulled me closer, guiding me—no, herding me—toward an open van near the gate where some of the younger members were being directed.
“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he said, keeping his voice soft.
I clung to him, dizzy.
I didn’t fully remember reaching the van. One moment I was stumbling along; the next, I was at the open doors, and Daddy was urging me inside.
“Elior, get in.”
But then—
“Move! Get him out! Now!” The shout sliced through the chaos.
My head snapped toward the chapel, following the loud voice.
Two strangers were dragging Father out by his arms—his robe torn at the bottom, his hair wild, his face twisted with fury.
“F–Father?”
I tore myself from Daddy’s hands before he could stop me. My legs almost gave out, but I pushed forward, stumbling over my own feet.