Chapter 32: The Founder's Price
The mark on the altar hissed louder as Kael's blood soaked into it.
Lines of bone glowed faintly beneath the stone old veins of ancient magic that pulsed in time with the town's silent heartbeat.
Lyra crouched beside him, clutching his wounded hand.
"Don't listen to it," she said. "It lies."
Kael didn't answer.
He was staring at the flame dancing along the edge of the sigil. A voice had whispered to him not from outside, but from within.
"One founder must return…"
His name was in the book. The same blood as Elias of Ash. The same line that made the pact.
He wasn't just chosen.
He was owed.
Lyra pulled him away from the altar. "You don't owe this place anything."
He looked at her.
And said, "But it owes me everything."
The wind blew through the church's broken walls. Candles flickered. And the altar's light dimmed just slightly.
As if it were waiting.
Lyra tightened her grip on his hand. "There has to be another way."
Kael's voice was quiet. "There always is. But it's never clean."
They sat in silence for a moment.
And Kael asked, "Why didn't you ever tell me what you knew?"
Lyra's breath caught.
He turned to her.
"I saw the memory. You whispering at the well. You said you'd fix it."
Lyra looked away. "You weren't meant to wake up."
"So you tried to keep me hollow."
"I tried to keep you safe," she said. "I didn't know the Saint would twist you."
He stood, shaking.
"You should have told me. All of it."
"I was going to," she said. "But then I realized…"
"Realized what?"
Her voice broke. "I think you were already changing. Even before I met you again."
Kael stared at her.
And didn't deny it.
The sigil flared suddenly.
A voice rippled through the church, no longer whispering.
It called.
"Return. Bind. Replace."
Kael's hand twitched.
The bleeding hadn't stopped.
Lyra moved to block him from the altar.
But something cracked behind her.
She turned
And froze.
Taren stood in the doorway, watching them.
But this Taren…
He wasn't like before.
He shimmered slightly at the edges, like smoke trapped in skin.
"Taren's dead," Lyra whispered.
Kael's voice was ice. "That's not Taren."
"No," the figure said, stepping forward. "But I wear his shape. Because you remember him."
It smiled without warmth.
"I am the memory Whisperwood refuses to forget."
---
Kael stepped in front of Lyra. "What do you want?"
The false-Taren cocked his head. "You, of course. Or rather… your role."
Lyra's voice was tight. "He won't take the founder's seat."
"You think this is about sacrifice?" it said. "No. It's about replacement."
---
The altar pulsed again.
The voice returned.
"Choose. Anchor. Return."
Kael's head throbbed.
He saw flashes again Seren. The well. The boy he used to be.
He saw Taren too. But not a brother.
Not even human.
Just memory. Stuck on a loop.
A puppet of the curse.
Lyra stepped forward, knife in hand. "If he takes the founder's place, what happens?"
Taren's shadow twisted. "The curse resets. Stronger. Smarter. The town survives again."
"And if he refuses?"
The figure paused.
Then said, almost kindly:
"Then everything dies. Including him."
Kael stared at the altar.
Then at the door behind Taren.
And back to Lyra.
"What if we don't feed it?" he asked quietly.
Lyra frowned. "What?"
"What if we starve the curse? Break the cycle completely."
Taren's voice sharpened. "You'll kill hundreds. Everyone still tied to this town."
Kael's gaze didn't waver. "Maybe they're already dead."
He turned to Lyra.
And for the first time, she saw fire behind his eyes not magic.
Resolve.
"I won't let Whisperwood write the end of me."
He raised the pendant in one hand. Pressed it to the glowing mark.
And then drew her blade across his other palm.
Letting the Saint taste both
---
The altar cracked.
The church shook.
The stained glass exploded inward.
And something below them began to scream
not with voice, but with roots.
The curse was waking.
And it was angry.
As the church collapses around them, Lyra grabs Kael's face.
"Tell me you're still in there."
Kael smiles barely.
"I am."
But behind them, the voice speaks again.
Only this time, it's not asking.
"You were mine first."