All Chapters of THE ALTAR WE BURNED : Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The first light of morning spilled through the stained-glass windows of the church, casting soft hues of violet and gold upon the marble floor. Arthur stood silently in the church library, inhaling the scent of parchment, wood polish, and the faint perfume of incense that had soaked into the walls over the years. This sanctuary had become his solace. But even in sacred silence, change loomed in the shadows.The library had grown in reputation under Arthur’s quiet management. Locals now frequented it not only for theological study but for counsel, discussion, and reflection. Children sat at his feet for stories from the Bible laced with gentle moral teachings; young men came seeking guidance, and women, curious and skeptical alike, found themselves challenged and comforted by Arthur's composed wisdom.But Catherine was watching.From a distance cloaked in elegance and vengeance, she had begun weaving her web. She had seen Arthur at the town festival, laughi

The bell tower tolled, each chime heavy with something deeper than time—almost like a cry etched into the wind. Isabella stirred in bed, tangled in bedsheets and sweat. Her dreams had been feverish. A great hall of fire and bone. An altar drenched in crimson roses. Her own face, glowing with light, shadowed by the hooded figures who once called themselves shepherds of the Word. She bolted upright in bed, breath ragged and skin clammy. The room was silent- too silent- save for the frantic thudding of her heart. For a moment, she couldn’t tell if she had truly woken or stepped into another nightmare.Arthur sat across the room, still dressed in yesterday’s shirt and slacks, staring into a flickering candle. The flame danced against his hollow eyes. He had been up all night reading the oldest texts he could find in the locked chambers of the church library. Texts long forbidden. Texts Michael had once warned him never to touch."You saw it again, didn’t you?" Arthur f

That night, as Isabella lay in Arthur’s arms, exhausted but glowing, he pressed a kiss to her temple like a prayer, lingering with reverence. Isabella felt her breath catch- not from surprise, but from the weight of everything that Kiss carried. His fingers moved to her jaw, tilted her fsce to meet his eyes and in them she saw it: the ache, the restraint, the silent storm he'd buried.When he kissed her lips, it was slow—almost hesitant, like he feared she might vanish. But she didn’t. She leaned into him, threading her fingers through his hair, grounding them both in the present moment. The world beyond the room blurred and fell away. Clothes slipped from skin, not in a rush, but like petals opening to evening light—soft, deliberate, full of trust.He laid her down like she was something precious. His touch was a language she understood, every movement asking a question her body was more than willing to answer. Whispers passed between them, not in words, but in gasps,

The morning sun was hidden behind a thick curtain of clouds, casting a gray pall over the city. Isabella stood in front of the small chapel behind the church’s main auditorium, her fingers trembling slightly as she traced the engraving on the wooden door. It had become her place of solace, but today, even here, she felt watched. A weight pressed against her spirit like a thousand unseen eyes.Inside, Arthur sat at the back of the room, scribbling furiously in a journal the bishop had given him to document his library studies. But his mind wasn’t on cataloging ancient scrolls or transcribing the memoirs of long-forgotten missionaries. His focus remained on the cryptic messages Father Abraham had started hinting at in hushed tones—whispers of a forgotten lineage, a spiritual calling, and a power that some revered and others feared."She’s changing," Arthur murmured to himself. He glanced toward Isabella, now kneeling in prayer near the altar. Her aura had grown brigh

The cold hush of early dawn clung to the chapel walls like a silent warning. There was a stillness in the air that felt unnatural, as though the building itself had paused to hold its breath. Somewhere beneath the sacred silence, something was shifting. Not outside—but within.Arthur stood in the sacristy, staring into the old wooden mirror that had long since faded and tarnished. His eyes were weary but lit with a quiet intensity. He adjusted his collar and folded his sleeves with the same reverence he offered the Scriptures. His duties had multiplied since taking on more responsibilities within the church. His presence had grown not just in the chapel but in the hearts of the congregation. They had begun to see him as a shepherd.But this morning, Arthur felt something different stirring within his chest. Not fear—he had long learned to walk through fire with a steady gait. It wasn’t doubt either. It was... displacement. The sense that someone had subtly moved so