Her name was Sanya.
Before the summoning, she'd been nobody. Third-year literature student, part-time barista, failed dancer. She had no record of exceptional grades, no medical tags, no military training.
Then she disappeared.
Gone for eleven months.
Came back through an unregistered summoning incident that cracked open an alley wall behind a closed cinema.
When they found her, she was naked.
Covered in golden-red markings that looked like brands but shifted every few minutes.
She didn't speak. Didn't eat.
Just stared at the ceiling of the trauma wing where the city had quietly stashed her.
That's where Lazara found her.
"She's different," Lazara said, after reviewing the scan logs.
Ratri examined the moving marks on Sanya's body. "These are alive."
"She's hosting something."
"No. She was something. It's gone now. She's hollow."
"So we fill her."
The plan wasn't to fix her. It was to rebuild her.
Not as a servant. Not as a mindless drone.
But as the first priestess born from another world—a symbol of what was possible when sexual worship, awakened power, and structured faith merged into one body.
They started with containment.
Ratri designed a cleanroom with soundproof barriers and non-reflective walls. Sanya couldn't be triggered by memory echoes or visual loops. The space was static—controlled. Lazara personally administered initial skin-contact rituals, low-pressure emotional unlocking, using oils and voice layering.
It took ten days before Sanya responded to touch.
Not by moaning or resisting—but by finally crying.
That night, Lazara didn't speak to her. She simply sat beside the cot, brushing Sanya's hair back slowly while Sanya curled into her lap like a starved child.
She wasn't ready to be trained yet.
She was still bleeding inside.
Ratri didn't push her. "She's going to take longer," she told Lazara. "But she'll be stronger than the others."
On Day 15, Sanya spoke her first words.
"Do I still belong to them?"
Lazara answered without hesitation. "No. You belong to us now. If you choose to."
Sanya nodded. That was enough.
The transformation began.
Phase 1: Reinforcement rituals – deep conditioning through slow pleasure, guided orgasms laced with psychic reinforcement phrases.
Phase 2: Integration grafting – controlled exposure to other priestesses' rituals, allowing her to absorb memory threads, movement patterns, worship-channeling structures.
Phase 3: Self-anchoring – Sanya was taught to reverse the direction of her trauma. Instead of absorbing pain, she learned to radiate surrender.
By the third week, her skin stopped shifting. The marks stabilized. A glowing spiral sat at the center of her chest, just under her collarbone—a visible worship sigil, not one created by the system, but by her own body imprinting onto it.
No other priestess had that.
Lazara tested her in a closed ritual with a hardened subject—one of the original awakened men who had resisted pleasure-based worship for over six weeks.
Sanya entered the chamber quietly, wearing nothing but a wrap of black silk across her hips. She didn't speak. She knelt in front of the man and looked into his eyes.
He collapsed in under five minutes.
No touch. No words. Just presence.
Ratri observed through one-way glass, writing two lines:
> Subject: Sanya
Role: Anchor-Level Zero. Unfiltered emotional transmitter.
"She's not one of them anymore," Lazara said after. "She's not like us either."
"She's something new," Ratri confirmed. "And she's going to change how we build the next tier."
By now, the priestess network had reached over 140 embedded agents.
But Sanya wasn't a unit. She was a beacon.
She didn't seduce. She didn't ask. She simply walked into a room, and people began to feel what it meant to submit to something bigger than themselves. Without knowing who. Without understanding why.
Ratri was cautious.
"If we push her too fast, she'll burn out. Or worse—she'll become independent."
"We won't lose her," Lazara said quietly. "She's the first one who chose this. Not out of hunger or training. Out of survival."
Sanya's first mission wasn't infiltration.
It was activation.
She was sent into a faith-dead zone—one of the cities where priestess efforts had failed, where resistance to emotional rituals was high, and targets couldn't be cracked by sex or manipulation.
She arrived alone.
Three days later, Ratri received a coded voice log from a redirector stationed nearby:
> "Something's shifted. Men and women both are reporting sleep disturbances, sudden feelings of guilt or arousal they can't place. Several individuals are visiting wellness centers, describing dreams of surrender. They don't know why. It's like she turned the air into a prayer."
Sanya didn't need to touch anyone.
She radiated Rudra's system like an antenna.
When she returned, Lazara knelt in front of her in ritual greeting.
"You're no longer just ours," she whispered. "You're his."
Sanya placed her palm on Lazara's forehead.
"No," she replied. "I was always his. I just forgot."
---
Back in the inner sanctum, the Zix Core pulsed.
> New Role Activated:
Awakened Priestess Class
Traits: Self-Radiating, Trauma-Tethered, Faith-Conductive
Status: Reproducible via advanced grafting and anchored sexual imprinting
Direct Link to Rudra: Established
Rudra still hadn't spoken.
But the system was adapting to Sanya's existence.
And the next stage would not be about infiltration.
It would be about conversion on sight.
---