The young man's scream still echoed in the air when we crossed the threshold of the church. The transition was abrupt. Violent. Outside, daylight had broken through like a promise of relief. Inside, silence returned as a warning. The place was clean. No trace of blood. No trembling benches. No echo of the children's cries that had torn through the air moments before. The altar stood untouched, white, immaculate, as if it had never been defiled. That normality brought no comfort. Only suspicion. The young man who had shouted stepped back when he saw us enter. His hands trembled. His gaze shifted between us and the floor, as if he didn't know which of us to fear more. He had invited us inside after the fight. His name was Halven.
—What… what have you done? —he repeated, voice breaking.
Aldric stepped forward, impatient.
—We killed a witch —he said bluntly—. If that concerns you, you should see what we did in Valdren.
The boy swallowed hard. He shook his head.
—No… you don't understand…
—Then explain —Maelor cut in, colder, controlled.
The young man took a deep breath, gathering courage.
—She wasn't the only one… —he said—. She has two sisters. They live in the mill, north of the village. They've always been there.
Serah stepped forward, frowning.
—And no one did anything?
The boy let out a bitter laugh.
—Do what? Die? —he asked. No one answered —For years… there was an agreement. They… took what they wanted. Sold their pies. And in return… they didn't attack the village directly.
—Took what? —Aldric asked.
He already knew. The boy didn't answer. His face filled with shame. Serah clenched her fists.
—Then we go to the mill —she said—. And we end this.
Aldric nodded immediately.
—We're not letting this continue.
The boy looked at them as if they were already dead.
—Others tried.
—We're not "others" —Aldric replied.
I didn't intervene. My eyes were still on him. Something didn't fit.
—Where were you? —I asked at last—. When we came before… the church was empty.
—Empty? —the boy blinked.
—There was no one —I insisted.
He hesitated.
—I… I've always been here —he said—. At the altar. Praying. I've been the village priest for years.
—That's not true —I shook my head slowly.
—The witch distorts what you see —he said, almost defensive—. What you remember. What you think you saw.
—Not everything can be blamed on the witch —I replied.
He didn't answer. Maelor stepped in, shifting the conversation.
—What is your faith?
The boy looked at him, surprised.
—I serve the Sun God. Who else would I serve?
Serah frowned.
—I've never heard of that cult in the valley.
—Because the valley lives with its back turned to the light —the boy replied—. The Sun God is not just warmth or day… it is revelation. Where its light falls, lies cannot hide. Corruption is exposed for what it is. And what belongs to darkness… burns.
His words didn't sound rehearsed.
—It does not protect men —he added—. It shows them the truth. And not all can endure it.
The silence that followed was uncomfortable.
—Then illuminate this place —I said—. Because too much doesn't add up.
He didn't meet my gaze. Eldran spoke then, quietly.
—The graves outside —he said—. In the cemetery. They had our names.
The boy frowned.
—There are no graves here.
—We saw them —Aldric said.
—All of us —Serah added.
—There is no cemetery in this church —the boy insisted, shaking his head.
No one argued. We stepped outside to see for ourselves. The air was still clear. But something had changed. We walked around the back in silence. There was nothing. No gravestones. No disturbed earth. Not even a mark. Just clean ground. Untouched.
—This makes no sense —Maelor muttered.
—Nothing here does —I answered.
I seemed to be the only one relieved. My suspicion was confirmed: things here changed. Without warning. Without logic. We left the young priest behind, promising to return so he could tend to Eldran's wounds. He accepted. More out of duty than willingness.We returned to the tavern in silence. The group was tense. Fractured. We needed rest. Aldric walked beside Serah, speaking in low voices. Eldran kept to himself. Maelor and I followed behind. Watching. Measuring. Trying to remember everything before it changed again. People moved aside as we passed. Doors shut. Windows closed. Children ran to hide behind their mothers. Everything had changed again. This time, it was their clothes. More rustic. More primitive. As if we had stepped into an earlier version of the same place. We reached the tavern. Warmth embraced us. Garron Bale stood behind the bar, exactly as before. Cleaning a mug. Unchanged.
—Still breathing —he said without looking up.
—For now —Aldric replied before heading upstairs.
One by one, they disappeared. I stayed. Garron looked up.
—You don't sleep, Captain?
—Do you? —I asked, leaning on the bar.
—Of course I do —he smiled.
—Doesn't look like it.
—Someone has to keep the fire burning —he shrugged
I watched him in silence.
—We killed the witch.
—That's good —he nodded slowly.
—The boy at the church says there are two more. At a mill. The coward stayed there praying while we...
Garron placed the mug down with a sharp knock.
—What boy?
—The priest —I said, frowning.
Garron hesitated. Just a second.
—What priest? Halven?
I nodded. Silence stretched. Too long.
—Yes… —he said at last.
I waited. Garron took a breath.
—Father Halven… —he said slowly— died over fifty years ago.