The chapel was colder than usual that evening, even though the day's heat still clung to the stone walls outside. Inside, the air was thick with old incense and something heavier doubt and worry.
A single oil lamp burned on the center table. Four figures sat around it, cloaked not in ceremony but in quiet unease. Their robes were loosened, their eyes worn. The wind outside tugged at the warped shutters, making them creak like they, too, had something to say.
They hadn't meant to gather. But they'd all shown up.
Brother Elric broke the silence first. His voice was low, soft.
"They're not praying anymore."
No one asked who he meant. They all knew.
Sister Anya, ever the gentle one, looked up from her cup, cradling it between her fingers like warmth might offer answers.
"They still come by," she said. "They still nod. But their eyes… their eyes stay elsewhere."
Brother Aldric scoffed not cruelly, just tired.
"They nod to be polite. They bow to him."
The word hung in the air. Him. The Baron.
Deacon Tomas, seated near the chapel's small window, turned from it. He'd been staring out toward the square where the embers of the feast fire still glowed, faint and defiant in the dark.
"It was different before," he said, almost to himself. "When he first arrived, he seemed… lost. Polite. Unsure."
"He came to our sermons," Elric added. "Sat quietly. Listened. Gave coin to the sickhouse. Asked questions. Honest ones."
"Now?" Aldric leaned forward, fingers steepled. "He walks the streets bloodied and the people cheer."
"He fed them," Anya murmured.
Aldric's voice was sharper than usual.
"So did we. Bread. Broth. Prayer. All from half-empty stores. But they don't cheer for that, do they?"
Silence answered him.
Tomas tapped the table once, then again.
"He dragged in two beasts. Alone. From the Whispering Forest. A boar and a stag. Dead. Heavy with meat and not even a scratch on him."
"He bled," Anya corrected. "His hands were cut. The villagers said so."
Elric looked at her. "And what else did they say, Sister?"
She hesitated, then looked down.
Aldric spoke instead.
"They said the forest gave the beasts to him. That he doesn't hunt. That the animals find him."
Tomas crossed himself.
"Blasphemy."
Elric shook his head. "Not in their eyes."
The flame danced, guttered briefly. The chapel groaned again in the wind.
"Did any of you see the boy today?" Anya asked softly. "The one with blood under his eyes?"
"Garren," Aldric said. "Mimicking the Baron. The children do it now. They call it 'the red sign.' They think it makes them brave."
"We used to teach them courage through scripture," Tomas muttered. "Through stories of saints and paladins who fought against darkness."
"Now they chant songs they barely understand. Songs about the 'man of bone and blood' walking out of mist," Elric added. "They're not even afraid. They're inspired."
Aldric stood slowly, walked to the worn altar, and leaned on it not disrespectfully, but like a man leaning on an old friend.
"Do you remember what the Bishop said, when he sent us here?"
"'Light the fire in the dark places,'" Tomas recited.
"Well, the people think they've found their own fire now," Aldric said. "One they can touch. One that bleeds and feeds and doesn't ask them to kneel."
"But he hasn't spoken against us," Anya offered again, quietly. "Not once."
"He doesn't have to," Elric said. "He just is."
"A new altar," Tomas whispered, bitter. "Made of flesh and story."
The wind picked up outside, slamming the shutters once.
They all flinched.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Aldric said, "We should write to the Bishop."
"And say what?" Tomas asked. "That our people are eating better? That they smile more? That they sing again?"
"That they worship a man instead of the Light," Elric snapped. "Is that not enough?"
"We have no proof of blasphemy. No heresy spoken. No sigils carved in our chapel. No altar toppled. Just… whispers," Anya said.
"And belief," Aldric countered. "That's the seed of all rebellion. Quiet belief that something else is more real than faith."
Tomas rubbed his eyes.
"Then we do what the faithful must do."
"Watch," Elric said. "And wait."
"Pray," Anya finished.
They bowed their heads, all at once, not because of a bell or ritual but because they were afraid.
Of what was coming.
Of what had already come.
And of how little power they truly had to stop it.