All Chapters of THE ALTAR WE BURNED : Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The night cracked open with a scream.It wasn’t human, at least not anymore. Isabella jerked awake in her room at the monastery, drenched in sweat and clutching the relic pendant that hadn’t left her neck since the ancestral altar was unearthed. The dream had been vivid—a child screaming in a chamber of fire, an altar bleeding black smoke, and a voice whispering her name backwards: allebasI.Outside her room, wind howled as if the land itself was restless.She sat up slowly, scanning her surroundings. The air was unusually heavy, thick with something more than humidity. Dread. Like the house was breathing around her. She wasn’t alone. Not spiritually. Not physically.Down the hall, Father Emmanuel had just concluded a midnight vigil, but he hadn’t left the prayer chamber. He sat silently before the great cross, the same one that had bled during one of Isabella’s visions. His fingers trembled as he flipped the pages of an old cathedral ledger—one t

The new day arrived with a dawn not with sun but with a heavy, ash-colored mist that hung low across the village, swallowing rooftops and cloaking the chapel’s stained glass in a ghostly film. Even the bells, usually bright and ringing at first light, remained silent—as if the air itself had begged for silence.Isabella stirred from restless sleep. She had spent the night in Father Emmanuel's study, tucked between old books and prayer scrolls. Her dreams had been wild again—visions of flame and water, but this time, the water turned black, thick like ink, and spoke in voices that did not belong to men. She opened her eyes, and for the first time in weeks, she felt not fear but clarity. Something was coming.She stepped out into the hallway, her bare feet quiet against the stone. A chill passed over her, and she stopped. There was a hum in the walls—faint but rhythmic, as though the church itself had begun to breathe. The air tingled with an unseen current, and Isab

The storm that had loomed over Ember Hollow for weeks finally broke loose as the first day of the sacred consecration arrived. Rain lashed against the stained glass of St. Jude’s Cathedral, thunder rolling in defiance of the ancient prayers being murmured behind locked doors. But inside the cathedral’s deep crypts, it wasn’t the storm outside that carried power—it was the fire being reborn within.Isabella stood cloaked in white, a robe made of linen embroidered with phoenix feathers and the ancient crest of the hidden altar. Her eyes were rimmed with fatigue, but her soul brimmed with clarity. She was no longer just the anointed. She had become the anointing. Her very presence carried a weight that made even seasoned clergymen avert their gaze.Arthur was at her side, now her shield as much as her flame. No longer merely the runaway priest, he had become something far more dangerous: a believer with nothing left to lose. He bore the scars of sacred flames—both phy

The sky over Ember Hollow was painted in hues of grey and bruised purple, a twilight that seemed to linger long after the sun had officially set. Clouds hung low and swollen, threatening a downpour that refused to come. In the distance, the hills trembled—not with weather, but with something ancient moving beneath them. Something that had been waiting for the veil to thin.Inside the Hollow’s cathedral, Arthur stood at the grand archway leading to the eastern wing, facing the cracked stained-glass window that once depicted Saint Lucian. The face of the saint had been shattered years ago, leaving only the golden halo intact—a prophetic omen, he now realized. The sanctuary behind him buzzed with tension. Clerics prepared relics, warriors fasted in silence, and candles were lit in remembrance of the fallen.Arthur’s mind was no longer his own. It had become a chamber of voices—ancestors, angels, enemies—all whispering truths laced with half-lies. He clutched the relic

The bells of St. Jude’s tolled softly in the twilight, casting echoes through corridors once meant for peace. But peace had become an illusion.Isabella stood at the edge of the hidden altar beneath the church, her eyes closed, her spirit alert. The stone slab glowed faintly beneath her touch—like it remembered her blood, her prayers, her terror. She felt the pulse of something ancient calling her again.This time, she did not run.“Fire and water,” she whispered, repeating the dream she’d had three nights in a row. “One consumes. One cleanses. Which am I?”Behind her, Arthur stood like a sentry, arms crossed, eyes scanning the shadows. He had taken to watching her during these moments—not just for her safety, but because he knew something inside her was changing. And if she ever crossed over into a realm he couldn’t follow, he wanted to be the last face she saw before she flew.“I think,” he finally said, stepping closer, “you’re both.”