Page 54 of Discordant Cultivation

“Built a temple out of skin and bone; But the architect was never shown.”

Vale’s chest tightened with something between arousal and artistic reverence. Kieran was evolving, processing their dynamic through religious metaphors that suggested a depthof understanding Vale hadn’t expected so soon. The boy was learning to see himself as sacred architecture, something worthy of worship and destruction.

But it was the bridge that made Vale’s breathing shallow:

“What kind of God makes temples that betray themselves? What kind of love survives when the structure fails?”

You brilliant, broken boy. You’re asking all the right questions. You’re trying to understand why your body responds to me even when your mind knows it shouldn’t.

Kieran’s back arched slightly off the mattress, multiple shock-like jerks rippling through his torso and limbs in rapid succession. A soft cry escaped his lips as his nervous system misfired in patterns that spoke of a brain under incredible strain. His eyes snapped open, unseeing and glassy, before fluttering closed again.

The episode passed on its own, leaving Kieran gasping softly in his sleep, one hand unconsciously reaching toward Vale.

The trust implicit in that gesture made something uncomfortable shift in Vale’s chest. Kieran didn’t even know he was here, but he sought Vale’s presence even while sleeping.

Vale’s phone lit up with another call—Jessica from Sony this time, probably with the same questions Nox asked. He declined without answering. Word was spreading faster than he anticipated. Soon there would be pressure to produce more content, to capitalize on viral momentum before attention moved to the next internet sensation.

Let them wait. Let them hunger for what we’re creating.

Vale studied the lyrics again, already planning how he’d extract this particular performance from Kieran’s fragile psyche. “Temple of Flesh“ required different methods than “Poison Saviors”—less about breaking down defenses, more about building up the endurance needed to let someone see the beautiful wreckage Vale would make of him. More about makingKieran understand that what happened in the basement wasn’t just pain—it was worship.

Tomorrow we’ll work on your relationship with divinity. I’m going to teach you to see yourself as holy, beautiful boy.

His phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:

Unknown

Saw the video. Recognize the basement. We need to talk.

-A

Vale stared at the message, his pulse quickening as possibilities narrowed to a single, unwelcome conclusion. Alex. The project Vale had released when his methods yielded diminishing returns and unwanted attachments. The one who should have stayed forgotten.

You should have taken what I gave you and disappeared.

Vale deleted the message without responding, then moved to adjust Kieran’s position on the bed, carefully arranging him to prevent aspiration if another cluster of seizures hit. His hand lingered on Kieran longer than necessary, his thumb tracing his collarbone.

He should leave and let Kieran have some illusion that he had space Vale didn’t occupy. But the need to watch him sleep, to see every twitch and breath and unconscious gesture, was as compulsive as the need to break him.

Sweet dreams, my heretical angel.

Vale settled into the chair beside the bed, notebook in his lap, already planning exactly how he’d teach Kieran to perform his own communion.

16

I want to taste the morning air without you in my lungs…

Kieran

Kieran woke up from his nap on the couch to the sound of Vale’s fingers tapping against his laptop keyboard. The afternoon light streaming through curtains felt different somehow—charged with possibility that made his stomach flutter with something he refused to name as excitement. Anxiety. Or anticipation. Nothing good.

The only good thing about being trapped with Vale was knowing that if he seized in his sleep, Vale would be there to make sure he didn’t choke on his own tongue.

Because he was always there.

“Did you have a good nap?”

Kieran didn’t answer. He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as his mind ran through the endless body checks to see if he had seized in his sleep. His tongue felt fine, no weird fogginess, his muscles didn’t ache, and he hadn’t pissed himself.Probably fine. Just a regular nap.