THE ALTAR WE BURNED のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 101 - チャプター 110

The Hollow was no longer merely cracked—it trembled under the weight of awakening. Ash clouds swirled with an unnatural rhythm as ancient runes across the altar ruins pulsed with golden fire. From every direction, the cries of the resistance rose—hope, grief, fury—a symphony of a people on the cusp of liberation or extinction.Father Michael stood at the highest ledge of the broken sanctuary, arms lifted, robes smoldering with embers of divine light. The moment the truth of the Elders’ corruption had echoed through the Hollow, a spiritual shift had begun. The runes they once used to bind had turned against them. Their silence, their shadows, their illusions—all crumbled beneath the weight of revelation.Isabella stood below, beside Arthur, who leaned heavily on her shoulder. Though his voice had not returned fully, his presence blazed with quiet strength. A translucent veil of silver flame shimmered around them both—remnants of their intertwined essence.M

The stillness that hung over the sanctuary was more than silence; it was expectation crystallized into air. The candle flames flickered subtly, as though aware of the monumental shift already set in motion. Father Michael stood at the threshold of the Bishop's inner chamber, cloaked in the gravity of his mission. Behind him, the corridors of the holy institution seemed to shrink and twist as if recoiling from the truth about to be unleashed.Isabella’s cell was quiet. Her eyes, red from the salt of persistent tears, stared blankly at the crucifix above her. Each prayer she muttered had ceased being for deliverance. Now they were cries for strength—to withstand the revelations Arthur had whispered to her in their brief, stolen exchange. There was a plan. A reckoning. And at the heart of it all was Father Michael.Arthur, kept in isolation not far from her, was similarly caught between despair and hope. The bruises on his face from the Elders' interrogation were fadi

The cathedral was silent after the storm. Where once shadows had ruled, now shafts of golden morning light pierced through the stained glass windows, scattering kaleidoscopic patterns across the stone floors. It felt like the building itself had exhaled centuries of withheld breath.Isabella walked slowly through the nave, her fingertips grazing the cold, ancient pillars as if reintroducing herself to a place she had once feared. The silence wasn't haunting now. It was peaceful. Sacred. A space finally free.Arthur followed behind her, his steps measured but lighter than ever before. The weight of his unjust exile had been lifted. The truth, at last, had set them free, but it hadn’t come without a price. The faces of the fallen, both guilty and innocent, lingered in their memories like echoes in the great hall.Father Michael, now the recognized Guardian of the Sacred Covenant, stood at the altar with Catherine and the remaining righteous Elders. The Bisho

The city was not the same.After the purge within the cathedral, the echoes of revolution spread like sacred fire through every corridor, alley, and heart in the realm. For centuries, the faithful had walked beneath banners of gilded lies, but now those banners had been torn down, revealing the trembling bones of a wounded but not defeated Church.Arthur stood at the balcony of the high eastern wing of the cathedral, now reclaimed and re-sanctified. From this height, he could see the people—no longer sheep, but seekers. Lanterns flickered below like stars made humble. Isabella joined him, wrapping her arm through his."They’re not celebrating," she whispered. "They’re... rebuilding.""It’s what Father Michael wanted. A quiet revolution. One that leaves behind more hope than ruin," Arthur replied, pressing a kiss to her temple.Below, Catherine addressed the public in the great square. She had assumed the mantle of the High Reformer—not a

The wind blew softly across the ruins of the southern outpost, where once a fortress of the Elders’ regime stood tall. Now, only scattered stones and broken columns remained, half-buried in the wild grass that had already begun to reclaim the space. It was here that Isabella had chosen to walk alone, her fingers trailing the overgrown edges of what had once been a prison wall.Michael watched her from a distance, letting her breathe in the silence. He knew she needed this—not as a queen, not as a martyr, but as a woman shedding the weight of yesterday’s pain.Catherine approached quietly, her footsteps crunching gently against the gravel. She carried a small satchel, the Book of Renewal tucked inside, already brimming with pages."She’s been out here for hours," Catherine murmured."She’s planting something," Michael replied. “It’s her way.”Isabella knelt near the heart of the ruins, brushing away a pile of moss to reveal the soil beneat