Chapter 33: The Saint Rises
The altar split in two.
The ground buckled beneath them as roots as thick as arms tore through the church floor, curling around the cracked bones and shattered pews.
From the gap came a light not holy, not pure.
It was red. And breathing.
Kael grabbed Lyra's wrist. "Run."
But she didn't move.
Something had changed in her eyes.
She was listening not to the scream in the stone, not to the Saint.
To the silence underneath it.
A hum. Ancient. Hollow.
The thing below wasn't just magic.
It was alive.
And waking.
The voice rose again, now layered with countless tongues:
"Kaelin. Thorn. Return."
Kael bared his teeth. "Not anymore."
He grabbed the pendant the broken one, the one from before everything and hurled it into the chasm.
It burned mid-air. A brilliant white flare.
For a second, the roots recoiled.
The voice choked.
The world tilted.
Then
A roar.
The Saint's scream wasn't loud.
It was deep.
It rattled teeth. Cracked mirrors. Made the air shudder like it wanted to run from itself.
And from the chasm, something began to rise.
At first, it had no form.
Just shadow and smoke.
Then bone.
Then eyes dozens of them opening one by one across its chest, its throat, its hands.
It didn't walk.
It bled upward.
Crawling up the broken beams like a memory coming undone.
Kael raised his blade.
But Lyra shoved him aside.
"Too late to fight it now."
She dropped a charm stone. It burst into smoke.
A shield. A breath. An escape.
They bolted through the back door just as the roof collapsed behind them.
They didn't stop running.
Not until they reached the clearing behind the old woods the place Lyra swore she'd never return to.
Kael collapsed to his knees, panting.
"Tell me that wasn't the Saint."
Lyra looked back toward the rising smoke behind the church.
And said, "No. That was only its beginning."
A sound behind them a whistle, soft and sharp.
Lyra froze.
Kael looked up.
A figure stepped from the trees.
A woman, clothed in black, with a long braid and two knives at her belt.
Her voice was cold. Familiar.
"Didn't think you'd come back, Lyra."
Kael stood. "Who"
But Lyra's voice was a whisper: "Maerin."
Maerin crossed her arms.
"You know, when you left me in the garden of ghosts, I promised myself the next time I saw your face, I'd break it."
Kael moved between them. "Who are you?"
Maerin raised an eyebrow. "Who am I? I'm the one she left behind to rot while she chased dead gods."
Lyra said nothing.
Maerin's voice dropped. "You abandoned us."
Kael looked between them. "What is this?"
Maerin smirked. "You think you know her? The strong, silent hero girl?"
She stepped closer to Lyra.
"Tell him what you did in the Sanctum. Tell him how you bargained with the Saint once before."
Kael froze.
"What?"
Lyra's jaw clenched. "I didn't make a pact. I made a delay."
"Semantics," Maerin snapped. "You offered it your blood to save a village. And you forgot to mention that, what? The curse followed you ever since?"
---
Kael stepped back, eyes hard. "Is it true?"
Lyra nodded slowly.
"I didn't know it would attach to me."
"You brought it to Whisperwood," Kael said.
"I tried to bury it," she said. "I tried to bury everything."
The ground trembled again.
A distant cry tore through the forest ,unnatural and searching.
The Saint was growing.
Maerin unsheathed one of her blades.
"Whatever it is, it's not finished. And it's looking for a name to wear."
She looked to Kael. "It'll want yours."
Kael muttered, "It already does.
Maerin turned to Lyra, sharp-eyed.
"You started this. You lead us into the ruins."
Lyra frowned. "What ruins?"
Maerin's smile was cold.
"The Saint didn't rise alone. It was built
beneath the town, beneath the church, under everything."
She stepped forward, eyes glittering.
"There's a place deeper than the memory well. Where founders burned their names to keep the town alive."
Kael narrowed his eyes.
"So let's go there…"
"And burn it back."