Chapter 6: Black Faith
The town of Graybarrow lay hidden in the basin of a valley, veiled by mists and silence. No banners flew. No soldiers patrolled. Yet Jean could feel it in her bones—the tension, the coiled breath of a land waiting to bleed.
Whitney remained behind in the woods. His presence, divine and unmistakable, would draw too much attention.
Jean entered the town on foot, hood drawn low, face shadowed. Her saber was strapped beneath her cloak, wrapped in bandages to disguise the celestial steel. On her hip, a dull hunting knife played the part of her only weapon.
She was no longer Jean Luther here.
Only a traveler. A stranger.
And strangers in Graybarrow were watched.
---
The streets were quiet, cobbled and cracked. People moved like ghosts—eyes downcast, lips silent. A mother clutched her child when Jean passed. An old man spat and made a sign over his heart that looked like a broken circle.
Jean made note of it.
In the center of town, where a statue of Celeste should have stood, there was only a stone pillar wrapped in rusted chain, surrounded by offerings: wilted flowers, bones, feathers, candles made of black wax.
The Chained God's cult had taken root.
But not as a conqueror.
As a savior.
---
She made her way to the tavern—The Hollow Vein, a name scraped into wood like an afterthought. Inside, it smelled of ash, sweat, and something sour. Locals sat in silence, sipping thin ale, eyes flicking to Jean and then away.
The barkeep was a woman with scars across her arms and a voice like broken glass.
"You're not from here."
Jean didn't flinch. "I'm headed east. Heard there was work."
"Nothing but pain here."
Jean shrugged. "That pays well enough."
A long pause.
Then the barkeep slid a mug toward her.
"Drink. And if you're smart, leave before dusk."
Jean sat, untouched mug before her, listening to the room.
Two tables behind her, men spoke in hushed tones.
"She healed him, I saw it—touched his face, and the boils vanished."
"Blessed by the Bound One."
"Then why's he dead now?"
"Too much blessing kills the body. Can't hold that kind of power."
Jean's stomach turned. They were giving miracles… for a price.
She rose from her seat.
---
That night, under cloak of darkness, Jean followed one of the whispered priests to a chapel carved into the bones of an old cathedral. There, hidden beneath the foundation stones, she witnessed the truth.
A gathering of townsfolk knelt in prayer before a woman in crimson, her arms wrapped in glimmering chains that moved like snakes. Her voice was gentle, almost motherly.
"We suffer now," she whispered, "so that we may be free. The Light abandoned us. But the Bound One listens. The Bound One gives. And soon—He will rise."
Jean watched from the shadows.
The woman raised her hands.
A sick child was brought forth. She whispered a prayer, pressed her chained fingers to his brow—and the illness drained from his body in black smoke. The people gasped in reverence.
The chains shimmered with hunger.
Jean realized then: the miracles were real. But they fed something ancient. Something growing stronger.
She stepped back—
—and the floor creaked beneath her boot.
The priestess's head turned.
"Who's there?" she called, voice still calm.
Jean didn't run.
She stepped from the dark, blade drawn.
"You're feeding a god that should never wake."
Gasps erupted.
The priestess smiled, slow and knowing.
"So the Emissary comes."
Chains snapped toward Jean like vipers.
And the fight began.
---
Steel met chain.
Jean dodged left, slashed high. The enchanted chains clanged against her saber, sending shockwaves up her arm. The priestess moved like flowing water—elegant, dangerous.
"You can't kill faith!" the woman cried.
"I'm not here to kill faith," Jean shouted. "I'm here to purify it!"
She called on the sigil.
Light flared from her hand—not blinding, but piercing.
It lanced through the false miracles, burning away corruption. The townsfolk shielded their eyes, screams filling the chamber. Chains writhed like snakes in fire. The priestess howled.
Jean drove her blade through the altar's heart. Stone cracked.
The chains went still.
The light faded.
The silence after was thick.
---
Jean left the chapel with blood on her cloak and guilt in her throat. She hadn't meant to hurt innocents. But the people of Graybarrow had seen divine mercy twisted into bondage—and some had accepted it.
Whitney met her at the edge of the forest.
"They won't forget you."
"I don't want them to," Jean said. "I want them to remember what real light feels like."
Whitney looked to the stars.
"Then we keep moving. This was only the first city. And the Chained God is watching now."
Jean nodded, already feeling the pull of fate.
---
Far across the land, in the ruined heart of the Obsidian Vault, a shadow moved.
Chains stirred.
And something vast opened its eyes.
"Let her come."