The chains glowed faintly in the candlelight, veins of silver threading through the iron like veins of light trapped in stone.
Ezekiel crouched before them, his breath shallow, his pulse pounding in his ears.
The markings on the chains pulsed — words written in a dead language, the same he had seen carved into the walls of the cellar.
Each letter shimmered faintly, alive and watching.
Seraphina stirred, her wrists bleeding where the silver had burned through her skin. The scent of scorched flesh hung in the air.
"Don't," she rasped. "You don't know what they sealed here."
Ezekiel shook his head. "I don't care. You don't belong here."
A hollow laugh escaped her lips — weary, beautiful, and broken.
"And what if I do? What if this is where faith put me?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he tore off his coat and wrapped it around his hands. The first touch of the chain sent pain shooting up his arms. He gritted his teeth, smoke rising from his palms. His skin blistered, the heat searing him, but he refused to let go.
"Stop it!" Seraphina shouted, panic filling her voice now. "You'll burn!"
"Then let me burn!" he growled. "You've burned long enough."
The chain cracked, one link at a time, the sound echoing through the chamber like a gunshot. The candlelight flickered wildly, shadows crawling across the walls as though alive.
And then—
A blinding flash.
The last link snapped.
A gust of wind erupted from the broken binding, slamming Ezekiel against the stone wall. The candle went out.
For a heartbeat, there was silence.
Then the air shimmered. The bones along the walls rattled. The carved names glowed red. And Seraphina—no longer bound—slowly lifted her head.
Her eyes burned gold.
Ezekiel stumbled to his feet, staring in awe and fear. "What… what are you?"
Seraphina stood, her movements graceful and terrifying. "Not what they feared," she said softly, "but what they tried to silence."
Her voice layered — two tones, one human, one something else.
The ground trembled beneath them. The sigils on the floor blazed to life, forming a circle of light around her. And in that light, Ezekiel saw visions — flashes of the past.
A church. A fire.
A priest chanting.
And Seraphina — kneeling in chains, crying as the congregation prayed for her to "repent."
He fell to his knees, gripping his head as the visions seared through his mind.
When they faded, she stood over him, her expression unreadable.
"You've broken their seal," she whispered. "And with it… you've broken their safety."
The candle flame rekindled on its own, trembling like a frightened thing.
Above them, the church bell — long rusted and silent — rang once, clear and deep, though no hand had touched it.
The sound rolled through Maplewood like thunder.
Seraphina looked toward the trapdoor above them. "They'll come," she said. "They always do when the truth starts to breathe."
Ezekiel clenched his burned hands. "Let them. I'm done hiding."
For the first time, she smiled — not with joy, but with recognition.
"Then, Daniel Cole… may God forgive what's about to follow."