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Chapter 32 - chapter 31: The Church Beneath

Chapter 31: The Church Beneath

‎The night in Whisperwood felt heavier now.

‎Even the trees seemed to hold their breath.

‎Kael walked beside Lyra in silence, the shattered pendant clenched in his hand like a blade. Every step took them farther from the well, deeper into the part of town that didn't appear on any map.

‎They were searching for the beginning.

‎Not of the curse.

‎Of the lie.

‎They found the church near dawn.

‎Or what was left of it.

‎Half-buried beneath roots and soil, the broken spire jutted out from the earth like a bone piercing through skin. Stained glass lay shattered across the overgrown path. The symbols carved into the door were worn, yet familiar.

‎Kael paused.

‎"I've seen this place."

‎Lyra turned. "Where?"

‎"In my dreams. Always buried. Always burning."

‎They pushed the door open.

‎Inside, the church reeked of mildew and rot. The pews were cracked and warped with age. The altar stood crooked and made of stone, not wood.

‎And behind it, a trapdoor.

‎Lyra lit a match. "Old churches always hide what they can't bury."

‎Kael pulled the door open.

‎Stairs again.

‎But these weren't carved.

‎They were grown.

‎The roots had shaped themselves into a spiraling descent, slick with moss and old blood.

‎As they stepped down, the walls pulsed with red light.

‎Not magic.

‎Memory.

‎At the bottom, they entered a cavern lit by flickering candles.

‎They weren't alone.

‎Statues lined the walls twelve of them. Hooded. Faceless. Each held something different: a blade, a scroll, a coin, a child.

‎Kael moved slowly, reading the plaques beneath each.

‎Elias of Ash. Gave the first name.

‎Marien of Grief. Offered the blood.

‎Gale of Hollow. Carried the Saint.

‎Lyra's voice was a whisper: "The founders…"

‎"They didn't summon the Saint," Kael said. "They made it."

‎In the center of the cavern stood a slab of black stone.

‎And upon it, a book.

‎Bound in red leather. Locked shut.

‎Kael reached for it.

‎"Wait," Lyra warned.

‎But the moment his fingers touched the cover

‎A scream filled the cavern.

‎The statues turned.

‎Their heads jerked toward him with sharp cracks, like breaking branches.

‎One began to weep.

‎Another laughed.

‎The book pulsed beneath his palm alive.

‎Kael yanked his hand back.

‎Lyra stepped beside him, blade drawn. "They're not statues."

‎Kael looked at the stone faces again.

‎And realized they weren't carved.

‎They were petrified.

‎Real people.

‎The founders.

‎Still alive.

‎The book cracked open on its own.

‎Pages turned rapidly.

‎Then stopped.

‎On a single page.

‎Kael read the words aloud:

‎"To survive, we gave up names. To protect, we gave up truth.

‎But to live forever… we gave up our children."

‎A pause.

‎Then Kael whispered: "They fed the town their own bloodline."

‎Lyra's stomach twisted. "That's why it keeps calling to the descendants. Why it remembers you."

‎Kael turned the page.

‎It listed names.

‎And one of them was his.

‎Kaelin Thorn. Blood of Elias. Keeper of the First Gate.

‎The cavern shook.

‎The founders screamed.

‎Not words just sorrow.

‎Kael stumbled back, clutching his head again.

‎"They gave me to it."

‎Lyra grabbed him. "We need to go."

‎"No," he rasped. "We need to finish it."

‎He pointed to the altar above. "That's where the ritual began."

‎They raced up the root-staircase, the cries of the statues echoing behind them.

‎Back in the church, Kael tore the cloth from the altar and revealed what lay beneath

‎An ancient sigil carved in bone and salt.

‎He reached for Lyra's dagger.

‎"What are you doing?" she asked.

‎"Ending it."

‎He slashed his palm and let the blood fall on the mark.

‎It hissed. Burned red.

‎The wind howled through the church like a beast unleashed.

‎The sigil pulsed once

‎Then whispered.

‎"One founder must return. Or the town endures."

‎Kael stared at Lyra.

‎And whispered:

‎"It wants me to take their place."

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