The corridor opened into a small chamber faintly lit by candles. I leaned against the wall, peering through a crack in the stone archway.
The girl was there—kneeling before a crude altar, one that didn't belong in any registered temple. Its surface was blackened, etched with markings that seemed to twist under the flickering light. Around her stood several figures cloaked in black.
She placed something on the altar—a small vial, faintly glowing violet.
Thalia whispered, "I don't recognize that kind of energy."
"Neither do I," I replied. "Doesn't feel divine."
The figures began to chant in low, uneven tones. The sound grated against the air itself, vibrating through the stone.
The girl trembled, clutching her head. Her breathing quickened. Then, a thin wisp of purple mist rose from the vial, coiling around her like smoke.
I stepped forward instinctively, but Thalia's hand stopped me.
"Not yet," she said flatly.
I forced myself to remain still.
The chanting grew harsher. The mist seeped into the girl's skin, leaving dark streaks along her neck. Her scream broke through the chamber—sharp, human, terrified.
Then—silence.
The mist vanished. The vial cracked.
One of the cloaked figures approached, resting a hand on her shoulder.
"She will hold. The next stage begins when the moon rises."
The others nodded. Their leader turned toward the rear of the room, muttering something under his breath.
Thalia's eyes followed their movement. "They're preparing another stage."
"Tonight," I said quietly.
We waited until they began to leave, carrying the girl with them. Then we followed, keeping far enough away to avoid being seen.
The passage wound deeper beneath the church, the air turning stale and metallic. The flicker of their candles guided us just enough to see the carvings on the walls—ancient lines, worn nearly smooth, but still pulsing faintly as the cloaked figures passed.
At last, they reached an iron gate. One pressed a marked hand against the metal, and a sigil glowed briefly before the gate opened silently.
We stopped, hesitant to follow.
Thalia traced the faint remnant of the mark with a gloved finger.
"This isn't recent magic," she murmured. "Older than any current system. Even the runes are pre-Imperial."
"Then whatever they're working with," I said, "it's not something the Church ever sanctioned."
"No," she said, her tone absolute. "And it's not something they can control."
We watched until the figures disappeared into the dark beyond the gate.
Then silence again—heavy, suffocating.
Thalia exhaled slowly, her gaze lingering on the sigil still faintly glowing on the iron gate. "If this spreads beyond the church, it won't stay hidden for long."
I nodded. "We can't rush it. Not yet."
Her amber eyes flicked toward me, steady and cold. "We keep it between us."
"Agreed."
We turned back, retracing our steps through the narrow passage until the faint warmth of daylight returned. The bells above the chapel rang softly, echoing through the stone as though nothing had happened.
But something had.
The image of that girl—her scream, the unnatural glow sinking into her skin—wouldn't leave my mind. Whatever the church was hiding, whatever these people were doing, it wasn't faith.
And though neither of us said it aloud, both Thalia and I knew—this wasn't something we could walk away from yet.
---
After a long time, during the night, we investigated further and came to another chamber.
They were already there.
I shifted slightly, keeping to the shadows at the back of the small chamber. The room smelled faintly of incense and wax, but the air was thick with tension. Candles flickered along the walls, their light dancing across the cloaked figures moving with practiced precision. None of them noticed us, and I made certain to remain silent, every muscle taut.
Thalia adjusted her gloves, eyes never leaving the group. "We'll know when the next stage begins," she murmured. Her voice was calm.
The girl they had prepared in the center of the room remained still, head bowed slightly, hands hidden in her sleeves. One of the cloaked figures approached her, resting a hand on her shoulder and murmuring instructions. She nodded, seemingly unfazed—or perhaps forced into compliance.
The others moved with quiet efficiency, carrying objects I couldn't fully identify: small chests, a few vials, and what appeared to be runic markers. Their leader paced along the far wall, muttering under his breath and occasionally gesturing toward points on the floor. It was clear they were preparing, but for what exactly, I couldn't yet tell.
I whispered to Thalia, "They're methodical… precise. Every movement is rehearsed."
She nodded, eyes sharp. "Every detail matters to them. Watch the girl—she's central to whatever they're doing."
I swallowed, forcing myself to remain calm. The murmurs, the soft thud of objects being set in place, the faint hum of energy—it all felt wrong, unnatural. A dark ritual, yes, but one far more sophisticated than the small disturbances we had anticipated.
We observed silently, noting the arrangement of objects and the positions of each figure. There were seven in total, including the leader and the girl. Each had a specific role, a precise function in the preparation.
Minutes passed—or perhaps longer; time had become fluid in the tension-filled air. One of the figures knelt, tracing a pattern on the floor with chalk or something similar. I could feel the subtle hum of magic emanating from the marks, a faint vibration under my boots.
"They're not starting yet," Thalia whispered. "The moon hasn't risen far enough. They'll wait for the signal."
I nodded. The patience required for this kind of observation tested my nerves. Every small movement could reveal us.
The girl in the center adjusted slightly, her hand brushing a small object hidden beneath her sleeve. I caught the glint in the candlelight—something metallic, small, and significant. It confirmed our suspicion: this was more than a rehearsal or ceremony. They were preparing a ritual that required careful handling, and the girl was crucial.
I leaned closer to Thalia, whispering, "We'll see the first part once the moon reaches its mark. Until then, we watch, we learn."
She inclined her head in silent approval. Her composure never faltered, though I could sense her readiness to act if something went wrong.
The room remained in this quiet, tense rhythm. No one left, no one spoke above a whisper. The only sound was the soft shuffle of feet, the faint hum of magic from the runes, and our own controlled breathing.
We didn't know what the next stage would entail. Only that when the moon reached the height they awaited, something significant would happen. And when it did, we would need to decide—wait for the ritual to fully unfold, or intervene before it escalated.
---
The light outside shifted, dimming as the moon crept higher into the night sky. I could feel it through the cracks of the chamber's shutters—the faint silver glow spilling across the floor. Thalia's eyes narrowed, fixed on the figures in the center of the room. "It begins," she murmured, barely audible.
The girl at the center shifted slightly, her hand brushing the small metallic object beneath her sleeve. One of the cloaked figures nodded to the leader, who raised a hand. The room fell deathly silent, the faint hum of magic growing stronger, thrumming through the stone floor beneath us.
I leaned forward slightly, watching every gesture. The leader muttered a word, low and guttural, and the runes traced on the floor began to glow faintly, shimmering with energy. A faint wind seemed to coil around the chamber, carrying a chill that raised the hairs on my neck.
Thalia's hand rested lightly on the hilt of her sword, her posture rigid but controlled. "Whatever they've prepared… we'll need to move quickly if it escalates beyond this point," she whispered.
The girl in the center suddenly lifted the small object, revealing a metallic sphere etched with faint symbols. It floated slightly above her palm, suspended by some unseen force. The glow from the runes intensified, and I felt the air thrum with raw magical energy.
One of the cloaked figures stepped back, raising a hand, and the symbols on the sphere shifted. Lines of light connected to the runes on the floor, pulsing in rhythm. I could sense the power—it was more than a simple charm or ward. This was a conduit, a focus for something far larger.
I whispered to Thalia, "This… it's not what anyone thought it would be. The energy—it's far beyond what this small group should be handling."
She nodded, jaw tight. "When it's time, we act."
The leader moved closer to the sphere, tracing patterns in the air. Shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally across the walls, as though the room itself was bending to the ritual's power. I noticed the other figures shifting uneasily, glancing toward the sphere, hands trembling ever so slightly.
A faint crackle of energy echoed through the chamber. The sphere pulsed once, then twice, and suddenly a ripple of force swept outward. I ducked instinctively, Thalia following suit, as the pressure brushed past us, rattling our teeth and making the candle flames dance violently.
"The seal is forming," I muttered, watching the sphere. "Whatever they intend—it's contained here, for now. But if it expands…"
Thalia's eyes tracked every movement. "We can't let them finish it. But we wait until the right moment. If we act too soon…" Her voice trailed, but the meaning was clear. A premature strike could backfire.
The girl's grip on the sphere tightened, and a faint cry escaped her lips, almost inaudible. One of the cloaked figures glanced toward her nervously, but the leader's hand came down sharply, silencing any protest.
I felt a twinge of apprehension. The ritual was delicate, precise, and clearly dependent on the girl's focus. Any disruption could have unpredictable consequences. But if we waited too long, the energy might grow beyond control.
Thalia shifted slightly, her hand tightening around her sword. "Stay calm. Watch for openings. We intervene only if it becomes uncontrollable."
I nodded, muscles tensed, ready to react. The room hummed with energy, shadows writhing along the walls, and the faint glow of the sphere cast strange patterns on the faces of the cloaked figures.
The first faint pulse of light shot upward, brushing the ceiling and causing the floor beneath us to vibrate. I glanced at Thalia—her expression was unreadable, but her posture spoke of readiness.
Then the shadows in the corners of the room shifted, darker now, as though responding to the sphere's energy. The ritual had begun in earnest.
We crouched, hidden yet watching, preparing for the moment we would have to act.
The first stage of the plan was in motion—and we knew instinctively: the next moments could decide everything.