Alright, alright. Maybe I should’ve said something earlier.

  But in my defense, it is more fun watching you flail around before the pieces click together. Builds character. Probably.

  Vael was walking beside you, the crunch of his boots steady on the dirt trail.

  Look, I get it. You're wondering what the hell just happened. The mark. The god. The barfight. Me. So let me pull back the curtain a little, yeah?

  Here’s the part they never say out loud:

  Godslayers don’t just kill gods. We serve them first.

  Yeah, yeah. I know. Real dramatic twist. But think about it — how else do you think we get these powers? Divine favor. Sacred marks. Whispered commands in the dead of night… all very ancient and mysterious.

  And then, of course, there's the voice. My voice. Guiding you. Shaping you. Adding just the right amount of pull to keep your thoughts from drifting, and—

  Hey, wait a second.

  You didn’t actually think I was just a snarky hallucination, did you?

  The road turned from stone to dried earth now, leading into the outskirts of Bell’s Hollow. In the distance: narrow lanes, slumping roofs. It looked older in daylight.

  You reached the inn a short while later. Its doors stood open, one of them hanging crooked. The windows were unlatched too.

  Two soldiers leaned near the entrance, uniforms half-buttoned, speaking in low voices over cheerful mugs. Another stood just inside, one hand on the hilt of his blade, the other flipping through a worn ledger.

  No one looked at you twice.

  You turned to Vael, but he was already watching you, a faint smirk at the edge of his mouth.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I took care of it.”

  That’s when the voice crept back in.

  Hehehe. Took care of them, alright. Clean and quiet. Just how he likes it.

  “You mean—”

  Vael nodded. “They don’t remember. Not the yelling, not the fight, not us. As far as they’re concerned, we were never here.”

  Then, he added: “Far as they know, the innkeeper and his wife were killed by some runaway bandits. Happens all the time.”

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  You looked back toward the guards, chatting quietly like nothing had ever happened inside these walls. The place didn’t even smell of blood anymore.

  Vael himself didn’t say anything else. He just kept walking.

  And you realized, with a strange chill, that you couldn’t quite remember how it ended either…

  Up ahead, the temple sat heavy in the heart of the town — timber and stone, with ivy growing around its arches. Above it, there was an iron bell hanging in its tower.

  You slowed as you reached the outer steps.

  The temple seemed small and rather simple than you expected. No high spires or special geometry.

  A single altar rested at the far end under a sunburst sigil, blackened around the edges. It was surrounded by unlit candles, a shallow incense bowl, and a girl who looked too young to be watching over a god.

  Only a handful of locals sat in the pews, and even they looked like they were waiting for something else to happen.

  “Not exactly a festival crowd,” Vael muttered. “My old man’s altar used to draw pilgrims by the mile. This? This looks like a guilt tax.”

  At the altar, the girl straightened as you approached — slender body, curly brown hair, and eyes that locked on you before you even stepped on the dais.

  Next to her stood a man in priest’s clothing, though the robe appeared to hang too loose on his shoulders, like it had belonged to someone else. He had a sunken look to him. Empty. Something that used to believe, and now just recited the pieces.

  “You’re late,” he said. “Whatever blessing you came for, you missed it.”

  Story of our life, the voice muttered in your head.

  “Where’s the priest?” you asked, skipping the formalities.

  The man looked to the side, toward the cracked sigil. “Gone. Four days now. Door to his chamber was open, candles still lit. No note. Just… absence.”

  “And you are?”

  “Call me Elias. I assisted him. Not ordained. But someone has to keep the doors open.”

  You nodded slowly. “Then maybe you can help us. We’re looking into disturbances. Strange behavior. Magic where it doesn’t belong.”

  A strange twitch came into Elias’s eye.

  “You can drop the act,” he said. “I know who sent you.”

  Before you could answer, the girl spoke. “You’re here for the Hollowing, aren’t you?”

  Both you and Vael stiffened.

  Hollowing? the voice whispered inside you. That’s a word we haven’t heard in a while…

  Elias gave the girl a look. She lowered her gaze, but stayed close to him.

  You stepped in. “What’s been happening in Bell’s Hollow?”

  Elias crossed his arms. “Depends who you ask. But since you’re looking for names…”

  Suspect One: Joric the Farmer

  “His crops were dead two weeks ago — black rot, stem to root. Should’ve ruined him. But now they’re taller than any others in the Hollow. Grew back overnight, in full bloom. Said it was a blessing. But we didn’t pray for that kind of thing.”

  Suspect Two: Ansha the Midwife

  “Delivered a stillborn three nights ago. Everyone in town heard the mother wailing. The next morning, the babe was alive. Breathing, crying, perfect. But its eyes — wrong color. And the mother doesn’t sleep anymore. Says she hears it whispering.”

  Suspect Three: Trivian the Mason

  “Fell from a scaffold. Broke his spine. Healed by morning. Walked back into town like nothing happened. But now he won’t enter the temple. Stands outside the door like something’s watching him through it. Says he hears stone humming at night.”

  Elias straightened. “If you’re looking for apostasy… start with them. Something unnatural is rotting the roots of this town. If our priest found the cause, maybe that’s why he vanished.”

  You glanced toward the altar girl again.

  Her voice was quiet this time, but firm.

  “He looked scared before he left. Not of what he saw. Of what saw him back.”

  Alright. Three freaks, one missing holy man, and a girl with sharp ears. Gods, I love small towns.