The air inside the church was colder than outside—unnaturally cold, like stepping into something buried.
Their footsteps echoed on the warped floorboards as they stepped through the nave, the ceiling above arched like the ribcage of a dying beast. Moonlight filtered through the broken stained glass, casting jagged colors across the pews. Dust danced in the shafts of light like disturbed spirits.
"Place smells like mildew and regret," Mavis muttered, brushing cobwebs off her leather jacket.
Noa didn't speak. Her eyes drifted toward the altar at the far end, where ivy had crept in through a broken window and wrapped itself around the pulpit like it was strangling something holy.
"Do you feel that?" Celeste whispered, hugging herself.
"What?" Riven asked, her voice low.
"Like something's watching."
Silence followed. They didn't answer because they all felt it. The weight. The pressure. The sense that something unseen was holding its breath.
Astra wandered toward the stained-glass windows that still clung to the side wall. One, in particular, caught her eye—an angel, wings outstretched, hands raised in silent benediction. But the face had been scratched out. Not shattered, not worn—scratched, as though someone had clawed it away with desperate fingers.
She blinked. For just a second, she thought she saw the angel move. A flicker of motion in the glass.
Then it was gone.
"Guys…" Riven's voice came from above.
They turned to see her halfway up the creaking steps to the choir loft.
"There's something up here."
Noa led the way, the others close behind. Each step groaned under their weight. At the top, they found it—an old wooden chest shoved beneath the broken window. Its edges were black with rot, and a thick iron clasp sealed it shut.
"Well, that's not ominous at all," Mavis said, crouching beside it.
"Should we open it?" Astra asked, already knowing the answer.
"Of course we shouldn't," Riven replied flatly.
But Mavis was already digging into the clasp with her multitool. With a snap, the rusted lock broke. The lid groaned as she pushed it open.
Inside, resting in a bed of decayed velvet, was a smooth black stone.
No markings. No shine. It looked like a piece of the night sky pulled down and given weight.
Noa stepped forward—and the air shifted.
The temperature dropped again. The distant creak of the church's bones quieted. It was as though the building itself had paused, listening.
"Don't touch it," Riven warned.
But Noa was already reaching down. Her fingers hovered just above the surface of the stone when she flinched.
A whisper. Soft. Close. Her name.
Noa…
She looked over her shoulder. The others hadn't heard it. Their faces told her as much.
"I think we should go," Celeste said, voice tight.
"Wait." Astra pointed to the inside of the chest's lid. Faded symbols were scratched into the wood. Circles and runes she couldn't recognize. One of them looked like the outline of an eye. Another like a root.
"What are those?" she murmured.
"Old," Noa said quietly. "Very old."
The stone pulsed, cold against the air. Not glowing—just wrong.
Riven stood first. "We're taking it."
"What?" Celeste gasped. "Why?"
"Because if we leave it here, someone else might find it."
Mavis grinned. "So… we're cursed now, right?"
No one laughed.
Noa picked up the stone carefully, wrapping it in her scarf. Her skin tingled, even through the fabric.
The five of them descended the stairs, the church groaning as they left. Outside, the fog had thickened into a wall, muffling every sound but their own footsteps.
Behind them, the doors of St. Lillian's closed on their own