The chapel stood like a tooth in the
The storm had passed, but its shadow clung to the earth like soot. Clouds hung low, the sky bruised and silent. Aeon and Guts followed the trail of scorched symbols etched into the rocks — spirals of flame, the old rune of judgment carved by trembling hands.
Their destination lay ahead: a ruined monastery, half-swallowed by the hillside. Once a sanctuary, now little more than ash and jagged stone. The gate creaked open with a hiss of wind. Blood marked the threshold. And deeper within, the faint echo of chanting.
They stepped into a sanctuary gone sour.
The chapel's walls were painted in symbols — not chaotic, but calculated. Circles of flame linked by chains, overlapping eyes drawn in soot. Villagers knelt along the walls, swaying slowly. Their faces blank. Their eyes dim. Their bodies trembling.
At the center stood the priest.
His robes were blackened and cracked. Glowing fissures ran across his skin, faint as embers in dying coal. Around his neck, a noose of prayer beads carved from bone. He held no book — only a jagged ceremonial blade, dripping something thick and dark.
He turned when Aeon and Guts entered. His smile was fractured, lips dry and trembling.
"You've returned," he whispered, not to Guts — to Aeon. "Flame Walker. Judged One. Fire that wept."
Guts didn't wait.
Steel screamed through the stillness.
Dragonslayer crashed down, caught only barely by the priest's blade. The impact sent them both sliding back, pews splintering around them. Guts was already moving again, eyes locked in a predator's glare.
"You're one of the bastards who blessed the raids," he growled.
The priest's movements were uncanny — his body seemed to flicker between steps, faster than it should be. Their blades clashed again, sparks flying, stone cracking.
Aeon watched, but his attention was split.
The chapel itself moved.
Not physically — spiritually. The walls trembled, bleeding memories.
Faces formed in the flicker of candlelight — mothers holding charred children, fathers sobbing into the earth. Aeon's past. The faces he had burned, the cities he had judged.
They were watching him now.
"You gave us fire," the priest rasped between strikes. "You gave us judgment."
"I gave you nothing," Aeon said.
"You gave us meaning."
Guts pushed the priest back with a roar, blade cleaving into the altar. It cracked, and the kneeling villagers let out a long, unified gasp. Their trance wavered.
The priest lunged forward, his blade catching Guts' side. Blood splashed.
Guts didn't flinch. He struck the priest in the chest with the hilt and followed with a savage kick, sending him sprawling into the ash-dusted aisle.
"You're not a priest," Guts said. "You're a corpse with a sermon."
The priest laughed, blood dribbling from his mouth.
"I am the last voice of the flame."
Aeon stepped forward, hand raised. "You're corrupted."
The priest's body cracked louder now. Lines of fire crept along his skin.
"The Shadow speaks through you," Aeon said. "It isn't devotion. It's decay."
But the priest only smiled wider. "It's both."
He turned to Aeon, eyes glowing like coals. "I saw your daughter. In the flames. She wept for you."
Aeon flinched.
"She screamed… and the world screamed with her."
Guts raised his blade, fury building behind his silence.
Aeon stepped forward and placed his hand on the priest's forehead.
There was a flash.
A sound like a breath.
The fire inside the priest vanished.
He collapsed — breathing, alive, but empty. The flames in his veins extinguished.
Around them, the villagers blinked as if waking from sleep. Some cried. Some fled. Most simply sat in the dust, hollow-eyed.
Later, outside the broken chapel, Guts sat sharpening his sword beneath the broken arch. Aeon stood nearby, gazing toward the mountains.
"They'll keep coming," Guts said. "The ones who worship what you were."
"I know."
"You gonna keep purifying them like that?"
"No," Aeon said. "But I won't burn them again either."
Guts glanced over, his single eye narrowed. "You're not a god."
"I'm not trying to be."
The wind blew ash through the trees.
"But maybe," Aeon said softly, "I can still be something better."