The sound of the temple bells shattered the fragile peace of dawn. Their toll was not the measured chime of holy days or the mournful knell of funerals, but a harsh, uneven clamor that sent a jolt of dread through every heart in the village. Kaelen awoke with a start, the cold air prickling his skin as he sat up. For a moment, he lay still, listening to the distant shouts and the heavy thud of boots on the lane outside.
His mother's voice, urgent and trembling, broke the spell. "Kaelen, wake up! Lira, quickly—dress, both of you!" Her hands shook as she helped Lira into her cloak, her eyes darting to the door as if she expected it to burst open at any moment.
Kaelen pulled on his clothes with numb fingers. The sounds outside were growing louder—guards barking orders, doors slamming, the frightened cries of neighbors. The air was thick with fear, and as they stepped outside, Kaelen felt it settle on his shoulders like a leaden cloak.
The street was chaos. Temple guards in silver masks marched in formation, banging on doors and dragging villagers from their homes. No one was spared; the old and the young alike were herded toward the square at spear-point. Kaelen clung tightly to Lira's hand, feeling her tremble beside him. Their mother walked ahead, her back rigid, her head bowed.
In the square, the villagers were packed together, their faces pale and drawn in the gray morning light. Kaelen scanned the crowd, searching for familiar faces. Mira and her family were gone. So was old Joran, and Tomas's mother. The absences were as loud as the bells.
On the temple steps stood the High Priest, flanked by his entourage: priests in immaculate robes, guards with drawn swords, and a scribe who recorded every word. The High Priest's voice cut through the murmurs like a blade, cold and sharp. "There has been a betrayal in our midst. The heretic Mira has vanished, aided by cowards who would defy the will of the gods. This will not stand. Anyone found harboring or assisting heretics will suffer the full wrath of Zerathis."
A ripple of terror ran through the crowd. Kaelen felt eyes on him—some suspicious, some fearful, some pleading for help he could not give. The guards moved among the villagers, pulling people aside for questioning. When they reached Kaelen's family, a guard's gaze lingered on him, searching for any sign of guilt.
"Your name?" the guard demanded.
"Kaelen Thorne," he replied, forcing his voice to remain steady.
"Where were you last night?"
"At home, with my family."
The guard stared at him for a long moment, then moved on. Lira clung to Kaelen, her small hand clammy in his. Their mother tried to shield them both, but Kaelen could feel the weight of suspicion pressing down on all of them.
Whispers rippled through the crowd. Some villagers cast furtive glances at Kaelen and his family; others looked away, afraid to be associated with anyone under suspicion. The tension was suffocating. Kaelen knew that one wrong word, one nervous glance, could doom them all.
The High Priest's sermon ended with a threat: "The gods see all. The gods remember all. And the gods will punish all who stray."
As the crowd was dismissed, Kaelen felt the eyes of the temple on his back, and the burden of his secret grew heavier than ever.
The temple's response was swift and merciless. Before midday, new decrees were nailed to every door: a curfew at sunset, a ban on gatherings, even family meals to be reported. Guards patrolled in larger, more aggressive groups, their boots thudding on the cobblestones at all hours. They banged on doors, demanding entry, searching for "heretical objects." No home was spared, not even those of the elderly or infirm.
The village square was transformed into a stage for public discipline. A wooden platform was erected, and several villagers were brought forward in chains—some accused of aiding Mira, others of "suspicious silence." The High Priest's voice echoed off the stone walls as he delivered a fiery sermon about "corruption festering in our midst."
"They would poison your hearts with doubt," he thundered. "They would lead you into darkness and death. But the gods are merciful to the faithful—and merciless to traitors."
The accused were subjected to public punishments: lashings that left blood on the wood, branding irons pressed to skin, and sentences of forced labor in the temple fields. The crowd was forced to watch, guards ready to strike anyone who looked away or showed sympathy. Kaelen saw a woman faint, her husband catching her before a guard could react.
After the punishments, the guards posted new decrees: all visitors must be reported immediately; any possession of forbidden books, symbols, or relics was punishable by death; a reward was offered for information leading to Mira or her accomplices.
Priests visited every home, demanding that each family recite prayers of loyalty and denounce the "heretics." Children were questioned separately from their parents, their innocence twisted into a weapon of fear.
Kaelen witnessed neighbors turning on each other. Some did so out of terror, others for the promise of food or coin. The atmosphere became suffocating—no one dared speak above a whisper, and even the bravest seemed broken by the relentless pressure. The village he had known all his life was vanishing, replaced by a place of suspicion and dread.
That afternoon, Kaelen's family was subjected to a second, more invasive search. Guards tore apart their cottage, dumping out baskets, prying at loose stones in the hearth. A priest, methodical and cold, murmured prayers as he surveyed the scene. Kaelen's heart pounded as a guard lingered in his room, running his hands along the walls, tapping at the floorboards. He paused at the very spot where Kaelen's book and token were hidden.
Kaelen's family was ordered to wait outside their own cottage while the guards and priest searched. His mother clutched Lira tightly, her knuckles white. Kaelen tried to appear calm, but his heart hammered in his chest.
Through the open door, he watched as the guards turned over furniture, dumped out baskets, and pried at the stones in the hearth. The priest moved slowly, his eyes missing nothing. One guard, younger than the rest and more curious, lingered in Kaelen's small room. He ran his hands along the walls, tapped at the floorboards, and paused at the very spot where the secrets were hidden.
The guard knelt, pressing his ear to the wood. Kaelen's breath caught. The guard's fingers found the edge of the loose board and began to pry it up.
At that moment, Lira, sensing Kaelen's distress, suddenly burst into tears. She wailed loudly, drawing the attention of everyone—including the priest and the guard in Kaelen's room.
The priest snapped at the guard to hurry up, reminding him that there were other homes to search and that lateness would be seen as laziness by the High Priest.
The guard hesitated, glancing between the floorboard and the door, then let the board drop back into place. He stood, muttering about "wasting time on children's rooms."
The priest ushered the guards out, casting a final, suspicious glance at Kaelen. "Any further searches will be even more thorough," he warned. "The gods see all."
As the patrol left, Kaelen's knees nearly buckled with relief. He hugged Lira tightly, realizing how close they had come to ruin—and how much his family was at risk because of his secrets. His mother, shaken but composed, whispered that they must be even more careful. Kaelen promised himself that he would find a way to protect them, no matter what.
In the days that followed, a palpable rift split the village. Old friendships frayed as fear and suspicion took hold. Kaelen noticed neighbors whispering behind closed doors, glancing nervously at passing guards and at each other. The once-close community now felt hostile and fragmented.
The temple encouraged informants by promising food, coin, or leniency to anyone who reported "heretical" behavior. Some villagers, desperate or opportunistic, began to accuse others—sometimes for old grudges, sometimes out of genuine terror.
Kaelen witnessed a heated argument in the square: a father accused his own son of hiding forbidden relics. The son was dragged away, protesting his innocence, while the father stood weeping, torn between guilt and fear.
A childhood friend of Kaelen's, Tomas, was denounced by a neighbor. Kaelen watched helplessly as Tomas was seized by guards. Their eyes met, and Kaelen saw a silent plea for help—but he could not act without risking everything.
The temple posted lists of "suspected heretics" in the square. Some names were crossed out in red, signaling those already taken. Kaelen shuddered to see familiar names—shopkeepers, farmers, even children.
The village marketplace, once lively, was now subdued. People avoided eye contact, conversations were brief, and laughter had vanished. Children were kept indoors, and doors were bolted even in daylight.
Kaelen overheard a group of villagers debating whether to turn in their own relatives, fearing that if they didn't, the entire family would be punished.
The resistance contact—the mysterious woman—appeared briefly at the edge of the square, slipping Kaelen a folded scrap of parchment: "You are not alone—hold fast." Her presence was a rare comfort, but also a reminder of the mounting danger.
At home, Kaelen's mother lamented the loss of trust in the village. She confided in Kaelen that she no longer knew who to trust, and feared that even their friends might betray them under pressure.
Kaelen felt the crushing weight of isolation and guilt, knowing that his actions had contributed to the village's suffering, but also that he could not turn back.
That evening, after the latest round of searches and public accusations, the Thorne cottage was thick with tension. The family ate in near silence, the only sounds the scraping of spoons and the faint crackle of the hearth.
Kaelen's mother kept glancing at him, her eyes shadowed with worry and something like suspicion. Lira was unusually quiet, her appetite gone, her gaze flicking between her brother and mother.
After supper, as Lira helped clear the table, Kaelen's mother pulled him aside. Her voice was low, trembling with fear and anger.
"Kaelen, what are you involved in?" she demanded. "Don't lie to me. I see the way you look over your shoulder, the way you flinch when the guards pass. I know you're hiding something."
Kaelen hesitated, torn between protecting his secret and easing his mother's fear. He tried to reassure her, but she pressed on, her voice rising.
"If you bring danger to this house, you endanger us all. Do you understand? They will not just punish you—they will punish Lira, and me, and anyone who stands with us."
Lira, overhearing, burst into tears and clung to Kaelen.
"Please, Kael, don't let them take you. Don't let them take Mama. I'm scared. I don't want to lose you."
Kaelen knelt to comfort Lira, his own voice cracking as he promised to keep her safe. But inside, he was wracked with guilt—he knew his choices had already placed them in peril.
Their mother, voice breaking, confessed her own fear and helplessness.
"I lost your father to the temple. I cannot lose you, too. If you know something, if you're part of something, you must stop. Promise me, Kaelen. Promise you'll protect your sister, whatever it takes."
Kaelen promised, but the words felt hollow. He knew that the only way to truly protect his family might be to keep risking everything.
That night, Lira refused to sleep alone. She curled up beside Kaelen, whispering her fears in the darkness.
"Will the gods ever forgive us, Kael? Will things ever go back to how they were?"
Kaelen held her close, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, haunted by the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same. The fracture in his family was deepening, and he was the fault line.
The night was thick with tension as Kaelen slipped silently from his cottage, careful not to wake Lira. He wound through the narrow, moonlit lanes, heart pounding, until he reached the old stone marker at the edge of the fields—the secret sign carved with the broken circle of stars.
He crouched low, waiting, every distant footfall making him tense. Then, one by one, the others arrived.
Marta, the stooped old woman, carried a battered lantern. Her eyes were red from weeping, but her voice was steady as she joined the group.
Joren, a broad-shouldered farmer with rough hands and a determined jaw, nodded to Kaelen in recognition. He carried a sack slung over his shoulder, filled with bread and dried meat.
Tallis, a nervous young man with a shock of blond hair, glanced over his shoulder constantly. He clutched a small leather pouch to his chest.
The mysterious woman, still unnamed, arrived last, her hood drawn low, her presence commanding silence.
The group huddled together in the darkness, the woman speaking first: "You have all risked much to be here. Tonight, you must decide if you will risk more. We are the last hope for this village—and perhaps for others beyond."
She gestured for each to speak, and one by one, they shared their stories.
Marta's voice trembled as she told of her son, Davin, who was taken by the temple after being accused of hiding forbidden relics. "I have nothing left to lose," she said. "I have hidden fugitives in my cellar, and I will do so again."
Joren stood tall as he recounted how he sabotaged the temple's grain stores, causing a shipment to spoil. "They starve us, so I starve them back," he said, grimly. "I have food hidden for those who must flee."
Tallis fidgeted with his pouch before speaking, his voice barely above a whisper. "I forged temple documents for Mira's escape. My father was a scribe before he was taken. I… I can copy any seal. If you need papers, I can make them."
The woman nodded approvingly, then turned to Kaelen. "And you, Kaelen Thorne. Tell us your truth."
Kaelen hesitated, feeling the weight of their eyes and their trust. He admitted to helping Mira escape, hiding her in the root cellar, and confessed his fear for his family. "I want to do more. But I don't know how much more I can risk."
The woman placed a hand on his shoulder. "You have risked enough to stand here. That is more than most."
She then introduced herself as Selene. "I was once a temple acolyte. I saw what they do to those who question. I stole the book of forbidden names and brought it to the resistance. Now, I lead what's left of us in this village."
Selene produced a small, obsidian token etched with the resistance's symbol and gave one to each member, including Kaelen. "If you carry this, you are one of us. If you walk away now, you will not be blamed. But if you stay, you must swear to secrecy and to action."
Each member, one by one, clutched their token and swore the oath: "By the broken circle and the stars above, I will stand against the darkness, for truth and for freedom."
Selene warned them: "The temple suspects us. They will strike harder now. We must be clever, united, and silent. Trust only those in this circle."
The group discussed their next steps: Marta would shelter any fugitives, Joren would distribute food and sabotage temple supplies, Tallis would forge documents and gather information, Kaelen would serve as a runner and lookout, and Selene would coordinate and relay messages from the wider resistance.
The meeting ended with a final, whispered promise to meet again only when summoned by the sign of the broken circle.
As Kaelen returned home, the sense of isolation was replaced by a fragile thread of hope and responsibility—he was not alone, and together, their deeds might yet spark something greater.
As Kaelen slipped away from the secret gathering, the night felt colder, the darkness heavier. Every sound—a snapping twig, a distant dog's bark—made him flinch. He kept to the shadows, replaying the words and oaths exchanged with the resistance in his mind.
Nearing his home, he noticed something odd: the lane was too quiet. The usual night insects had fallen silent, and the air was thick with anticipation.
As he rounded the last corner, he froze. A faint, flickering light spilled from his cottage window—his mother never left the lamp burning so late. He crouched behind a rain barrel, heart pounding, and watched.
Two temple guards stood at his door, their silver masks gleaming in the lamplight. One of them knocked, the sound echoing harshly in the night. Kaelen's mother answered, her voice wavering as she tried to sound calm. Lira was visible behind her, clutching her mother's skirt.
The guards entered, and Kaelen's breath caught as he saw a third figure step from the shadows: a priest, his robes immaculate, his eyes cold and calculating. The priest carried a scroll and a small satchel—tools for interrogation.
Kaelen edged closer, pressing himself against the wall of the neighboring house. Through the thin glass, he heard snippets of conversation:
"We have reason to believe your son is involved in seditious activity."
"Where is he, woman? It is late for a boy to be out."
"If you are hiding anything, the gods will know."
Lira started to cry, and Kaelen's mother's voice trembled as she insisted she knew nothing. The priest ordered the guards to search the house again, more thoroughly this time. Kaelen's heart thundered as he realized they were dangerously close to discovering his hiding place for the book and token.
Suddenly, the priest stepped outside, scanning the darkness. His gaze lingered on the shadows where Kaelen crouched. For a moment, Kaelen was certain he had been seen. The priest's lips curled into a thin, knowing smile before he turned back inside.
Kaelen knew he could not go home—not tonight. He slipped away into the darkness, cold and alone, the weight of his promise to his family heavier than ever.
As he fled, he found a crude symbol scratched into the dirt near his door—the broken circle of stars, but this time, it had been slashed through with a jagged line. A warning, or a threat?
He vanished into the night, hunted, knowing the next move he made could decide not only his fate, but that of his family and the entire village.
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End of chapter 5
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I am writing this book from mobile, so I cannot upload the images.
Soon I will create an auxiliary chapter giving the characters and their descriptions along with their image links.