Father Rowland stood before the Council in their chamber. “What are your orders regarding our agents in River Hallow?”
Before him, five Council members sat in a half-circle, elevated above him. Each was a seasoned member of the Church, elected to their position, their word absolute.
“The Council remains firm,” one of them declared. “Neither the Harbinger nor the Usher has been found. There will be no new course of action.”
Rowland bowed his head slightly, then pressed on. “Then may we send reinforcements? A hundred soldiers may not be enough if they encounter the Harbinger. And if the Usher is truly among them—there were more than ten times that number in Dren, and they still failed.”
An aged man leaned forward, his voice heavy with authority. “Those were people, not soldiers, Rowland. When we have more information, we will act. Or do you question the wisdom of this ruling? Do you question the Church and its Council?”
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2uhHobYqRh
Rowland bowed his head. “No, I have complete faith in the Council’s wisdom. Forgive me. It was merely a concern weighing on my mind.”
He wanted to voice the unspoken truth—that not every town under the Church’s influence had soldiers to protect them. But he couldn’t press further. To question the Council was to risk charges of heresy. With a respectful nod, he excused himself.
Tension gripped the city of Trendell. Every citizen awaited news of the Usher, whispering prayers that he would never set foot there. Father Rowland was among them, though his concerns ran deeper. He questioned the Council’s motives, their unwavering stance. And, in his darkest fears, he wondered—had they already fallen under the influence of the Darkness?
Lost in thought, he found himself standing before the Fall of Man chamber, where the three sacred tapestries hung. His gaze lingered on the woven images, and a memory surfaced—the advice he had given Rhaine before she left:
"You’d be mistaken to overlook the beggar. That beggar could be any of us—you and me alike. The Darkness has a way of making us believe that what we’re doing is for the greater good, for the people. But if you look closer at that tapestry, you’ll see the passersby. Some don’t have shadows behind them. That’s because they are the Shadow."
A chill ran through him.
Had he spoken those words for Rhaine… or for himself?
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Rowland stepped closer to the tapestry depicting the Darkness standing amid the ruins of the Church. His gaze locked onto the woven eyes, and an unseen weight pressed against his mind. Dark thoughts crept in—wicked, blasphemous thoughts.
In his mind’s eye, the streets ran red with blood. Buildings lay in smoldering ruin, their skeletal remains reaching toward a sky choked with ash. The acrid scent of unchecked fires burned his nostrils. Screams—raw, desperate, unending—echoed through the chaos.
Rowland gasped and staggered backward. The vision shattered.
His breath came in ragged gulps as he stumbled out of the chamber, his heart pounding in his chest. He hurried home, locking the door behind him as if he could shut out the horror. His hands trembled as he reached for the sacred texts, flipping feverishly through the Church’s doctrine and scriptures.
He prayed. Over and over, the words spilling from his lips, desperate incantations against the darkness gnawing at his soul. He anointed himself, then the walls, the door, every threshold of his home with holy oil.
But no amount of prayer could erase what he had seen.
Amid the ruin and fire, in the heart of the devastation… stood a figure.
He could not see its face, but he swore it wore the robes of the Church.
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Melissa Shadelyn stepped out of the house and made her way toward the church. She needed to speak with someone—anyone who could help.
"Father Lucas!" she called, spotting him in the distance.
The priest, preparing to close the sanctuary for the evening, turned at the sound of her voice. "What can I do for you, child?"
"I need your help, Father Lucas. I know I’m not of your faith, but I need something from you," she said, her voice unsteady.
Lucas studied her face, noting the exhaustion in her eyes. Katherine had mentioned Melissa’s night terrors and her refusal to eat.
"Come inside," he said gently. "Tell me what troubles you."
Melissa sat on one of the pews, her hands shaking as she tried to steady her breathing. When she spoke, her voice wavered.
"I can't sleep at night, Father. When I do, all I see is him," she whispered, hugging herself as if warding off a chill.
Lucas took a seat beside her. "Who do you see, Melissa?"
She hesitated, her eyes welling with tears. "Marcus Obsidian. I see him every night. I see him killing people—so much blood." Her voice broke. "I don't understand what's happening to me."
Trembling, she lowered her head and parted her hair. "Am I marked in a place I cannot see?"
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7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡj56oD9klkK
Father Lucas shook his head. "No, I'm sorry." He scanned where Melissa had indicated, but he found nothing. "I don’t see any markings at all." His voice softened as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know what happened in Dren was terrible, but you need to calm down. We have soldiers from the Church. These people are stronger than they seem."
What Father Lucas said was true—Marcus had devastated the town of Dren—but for Melissa, it went deeper than that.
"I never told anyone," Melissa whispered, her eyes distant as though lost in a painful memory. "I encountered Marcus Obsidian… before he destroyed Dren." A tear rolled down her cheek. "I met him when I was out with the members of my Coven."
Father Lucas’s brow furrowed. "What happened, Melissa?" he asked gently.
Melissa swallowed hard, the memory tightening in her chest. "Before we knew it, Marcus had slaughtered us. We couldn’t stop him." Her voice cracked as more tears followed, and her gaze seemed to drift back to that moment. "Every time he passed by me, every time he murdered one of my sisters… I could feel the breeze. It was cold." She paused, her breath shaking. "As cold as his hand when he wrapped it around my throat."
She mimicked the action with her hands.
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ58CSYHgVNP
Lucas tried to comfort her. "But you were spared that night, right? There must have been something about you that the Usher didn't kill."
Melissa shook her head, her voice low. "I think I was spared because he wanted to kill me... slowly." That was the only explanation she could come up with. "I need you to perform an Exorcism on me. I need you to cast him out... out of me!"
She lowered her head into Lucas' chest, her tears soaking his robes.
Overwhelming pity washed over Lucas, but he gently pulled away to look into her eyes. "I’m sorry, Melissa, but I don’t think an Exorcism will work on this." He paused, trying to find the right words. "Your affliction isn’t demonic in nature. It’s not something an Exorcism can fix. What you’re dealing with is trauma."
Father Lucas shook his head, his voice soft but firm. "There’s no Exorcising trauma."
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGg7boND8Xp
"Then he has won," Melissa said, rising to her feet. "Thank you, Father, for everything." Her voice was weary. Father Lucas tried to persuade her to stay longer, but she refused.
"I need to go to Katherine's. Maybe tonight, I'll sleep more than a few hours."
Father Lucas sighed and nodded. As Melissa walked off in the distance, Brother Orion arrived at the church, planning to help Lucas close the sanctuary.
"Father Lucas, I’ve come to help this evening. What can I do?" Orion asked, unaware of the earlier conversation.
Father Lucas nodded. "Everything is fine here, but I fear Lady Shadelyn may harm herself tonight. Could you please check on her?"
Orion’s eyes widened, and without asking any questions, he hurried off toward Katherine’s home.
Father Rowland stood before the Council in their chamber. “What are your orders regarding our agents in River Hallow?”
Before him, five Council members sat in a half-circle, elevated above him. Each was a seasoned member of the Church, elected to their position, their word absolute.
“The Council remains firm,” one of them declared. “Neither the Harbinger nor the Usher has been found. There will be no new course of action.”
Rowland bowed his head slightly, then pressed on. “Then may we send reinforcements? A hundred soldiers may not be enough if they encounter the Harbinger. And if the Usher is truly among them—there were more than ten times that number in Dren, and they still failed.”
An aged man leaned forward, his voice heavy with authority. “Those were people, not soldiers, Rowland. When we have more information, we will act. Or do you question the wisdom of this ruling? Do you question the Church and its Council?”
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpaqjQQLffo
Rowland bowed his head. “No, I have complete faith in the Council’s wisdom. Forgive me. It was merely a concern weighing on my mind.”
He wanted to voice the unspoken truth—that not every town under the Church’s influence had soldiers to protect them. But he couldn’t press further. To question the Council was to risk charges of heresy. With a respectful nod, he excused himself.
Tension gripped the city of Trendell. Every citizen awaited news of the Usher, whispering prayers that he would never set foot there. Father Rowland was among them, though his concerns ran deeper. He questioned the Council’s motives, their unwavering stance. And, in his darkest fears, he wondered—had they already fallen under the influence of the Darkness?
Lost in thought, he found himself standing before the Fall of Man chamber, where the three sacred tapestries hung. His gaze lingered on the woven images, and a memory surfaced—the advice he had given Rhaine before she left:
"You’d be mistaken to overlook the beggar. That beggar could be any of us—you and me alike. The Darkness has a way of making us believe that what we’re doing is for the greater good, for the people. But if you look closer at that tapestry, you’ll see the passersby. Some don’t have shadows behind them. That’s because they are the Shadow."
A chill ran through him.
Had he spoken those words for Rhaine… or for himself?
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgQOwnRXIZ5
Rowland stepped closer to the tapestry depicting the Darkness standing amid the ruins of the Church. His gaze locked onto the woven eyes, and an unseen weight pressed against his mind. Dark thoughts crept in—wicked, blasphemous thoughts.
In his mind’s eye, the streets ran red with blood. Buildings lay in smoldering ruin, their skeletal remains reaching toward a sky choked with ash. The acrid scent of unchecked fires burned his nostrils. Screams—raw, desperate, unending—echoed through the chaos.
Rowland gasped and staggered backward. The vision shattered.
His breath came in ragged gulps as he stumbled out of the chamber, his heart pounding in his chest. He hurried home, locking the door behind him as if he could shut out the horror. His hands trembled as he reached for the sacred texts, flipping feverishly through the Church’s doctrine and scriptures.
He prayed. Over and over, the words spilling from his lips, desperate incantations against the darkness gnawing at his soul. He anointed himself, then the walls, the door, every threshold of his home with holy oil.
But no amount of prayer could erase what he had seen.
Amid the ruin and fire, in the heart of the devastation… stood a figure.
He could not see its face, but he swore it wore the robes of the Church.
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7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡj5KAXWmtS7
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Melissa Shadelyn stepped out of the house and made her way toward the church. She needed to speak with someone—anyone who could help.
"Father Lucas!" she called, spotting him in the distance.
The priest, preparing to close the sanctuary for the evening, turned at the sound of her voice. "What can I do for you, child?"
"I need your help, Father Lucas. I know I’m not of your faith, but I need something from you," she said, her voice unsteady.
Lucas studied her face, noting the exhaustion in her eyes. Katherine had mentioned Melissa’s night terrors and her refusal to eat.
"Come inside," he said gently. "Tell me what troubles you."
Melissa sat on one of the pews, her hands shaking as she tried to steady her breathing. When she spoke, her voice wavered.
"I can't sleep at night, Father. When I do, all I see is him," she whispered, hugging herself as if warding off a chill.
Lucas took a seat beside her. "Who do you see, Melissa?"
She hesitated, her eyes welling with tears. "Marcus Obsidian. I see him every night. I see him killing people—so much blood." Her voice broke. "I don't understand what's happening to me."
Trembling, she lowered her head and parted her hair. "Am I marked in a place I cannot see?"
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpLrtCp8BgK
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6mQgIEdMFM
Father Lucas shook his head. "No, I'm sorry." He scanned where Melissa had indicated, but he found nothing. "I don’t see any markings at all." His voice softened as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know what happened in Dren was terrible, but you need to calm down. We have soldiers from the Church. These people are stronger than they seem."
What Father Lucas said was true—Marcus had devastated the town of Dren—but for Melissa, it went deeper than that.
"I never told anyone," Melissa whispered, her eyes distant as though lost in a painful memory. "I encountered Marcus Obsidian… before he destroyed Dren." A tear rolled down her cheek. "I met him when I was out with the members of my Coven."
Father Lucas’s brow furrowed. "What happened, Melissa?" he asked gently.
Melissa swallowed hard, the memory tightening in her chest. "Before we knew it, Marcus had slaughtered us. We couldn’t stop him." Her voice cracked as more tears followed, and her gaze seemed to drift back to that moment. "Every time he passed by me, every time he murdered one of my sisters… I could feel the breeze. It was cold." She paused, her breath shaking. "As cold as his hand when he wrapped it around my throat."
She mimicked the action with her hands.
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡlgVhQ15toG
Lucas tried to comfort her. "But you were spared that night, right? There must have been something about you that the Usher didn't kill."
Melissa shook her head, her voice low. "I think I was spared because he wanted to kill me... slowly." That was the only explanation she could come up with. "I need you to perform an Exorcism on me. I need you to cast him out... out of me!"
She lowered her head into Lucas' chest, her tears soaking his robes.
Overwhelming pity washed over Lucas, but he gently pulled away to look into her eyes. "I’m sorry, Melissa, but I don’t think an Exorcism will work on this." He paused, trying to find the right words. "Your affliction isn’t demonic in nature. It’s not something an Exorcism can fix. What you’re dealing with is trauma."
Father Lucas shook his head, his voice soft but firm. "There’s no Exorcising trauma."
7Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXTWEr531ch
"Then he has won," Melissa said, rising to her feet. "Thank you, Father, for everything." Her voice was weary. Father Lucas tried to persuade her to stay longer, but she refused.
"I need to go to Katherine's. Maybe tonight, I'll sleep more than a few hours."
Father Lucas sighed and nodded. As Melissa walked off in the distance, Brother Orion arrived at the church, planning to help Lucas close the sanctuary.
"Father Lucas, I’ve come to help this evening. What can I do?" Orion asked, unaware of the earlier conversation.
Father Lucas nodded. "Everything is fine here, but I fear Lady Shadelyn may harm herself tonight. Could you please check on her?"
Orion’s eyes widened, and without asking any questions, he hurried off toward Katherine’s home.
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