Page 56 of Discordant Cultivation

No. Not yet. I’m not ready for—

But Vale was already standing, notepad tucked under his arm like lesson plans. “Come with me.”

The basement stairs felt different this time. Not unknown territory, but familiar ground that Kieran’s body recognized with Pavlovian certainty. His hands started shaking before they reached the bottom.

At least I know what to expect. Hood, chair, guitar. I can do this. I survived it before.

The relief was immediate and shameful—the structure returning, expectations clarified, the weight of choice lifted from shoulders that carried uncertainty for too many days. Even walking down the stairs felt like coming home to something twisted but comprehensible.

I hate that I feel better already. I hate that knowing what’s coming is easier than guessing.

But when they reached the basement, Kieran’s relief curdled into confusion. The chair was there, positioned differently. But mounted in the stone wall, at shoulder height, was something that definitely wasn’t there before.

A metal hook, screwed into the stone.

Vale moved behind him, close enough that Kieran could feel body heat through his shirt. “Hold out your hands.”

“What?”

“Your hands, Kier. In front of you.”

The metal handcuffs were professional grade, the kind police used, lined with padding for extended wear. They clicked around Kieran’s wrists with finality that made his vision gray around the edges.

This isn’t the same lesson. This isn’t what I prepared for.

“What are you d-doing?” Kieran’s voice cracked as Vale guided him toward the wall, toward the hook that suddenly looked less like hardware and more like something designed for exactly this purpose.

“We’re going to explore what it means to build temples on fault lines,” Vale said as though he were explaining breathing techniques. “What happens when hymns are sung in blood and trust.”

Vale positioned him facing the stone wall, the chain connecting the handcuffs pulled over the hook. Kieran’s arms were pulled up and forward, forcing him to lean slightly against the cold stone, his back exposed to the room behind him. The position was awkward, not quite comfortable, not quite painful.

I can’t move. I can’t see him. I can’t protect myself.

“The song talks about worshipping at a shrine of fear,” Vale continued, his voice coming from somewhere behind Kieran, footsteps moving around the basement slowly. “About temples built on fault lines. We’re going to test what happens when your foundation shifts unexpectedly.”

Kieran pressed his forehead against the cold stone, the chain keeping his arms stretched just high enough to make his shoulders ache. “I can’t perform like this. I c-can’t—”

“You’re going to sing,” Vale said, his warm breath against the back of Kieran’s neck. “And you’re going to keep singing no matter what happens. This is about endurance and perseverance, Kieran. About continuing to create even when your body betrays you. Even when you can’t rely on anything familiar.”

What is he planning?

“You’ve written something beautiful,” Vale murmured, hands settling on Kieran’s shoulders through his shirt. The touch was warm, almost gentle, but the intent behind it made his skin crawl. “Let’s make sure you can perform it beautifully, too.”

Kieran heard the soft whisper of leather being drawn from fabric—Vale’s belt sliding free from its loops. The sound made every muscle in his body tense against the restraints, metal digging into the bones of his wrists.

“Start singing,” Vale said from somewhere behind him. “From the beginning.”

“I c-can’t remember all the words—”

The first strike came without warning, leather cracking across his shoulders through the thin cotton of his shirt. Not brutal, but sharp enough to steal his breath—a line of heat that bloomed instantly across his shoulder blades. He bit down on his inner lip, tasting copper where his teeth broke the skin.

“P-please don’t do this—”

“Try again.” Vale’s fingers stroked across his shoulders, as if to soothe the place he’d struck. “Sing through it. This is what great artists do—they don’t let discomfort stop them from creating.”

Kieran’s voice cracked as he began:

“Built a temple out of skin and bone...“