The Sacred Ruins Novels & Stories

Protection here meant confinement as much as safety: a held breath of a country, cold, absolute, and designed to keep the erased from reappearing without permission. I stood before the chapel of Saint Brigid’s Mere. It was a quarter the size of St. Augustine, built of dark local stone with a single bell that rarely rang. No wide nave. No high windows thick with stained glass. Only a low door, a short aisle, and an altar plain enough to look almost abandoned. In Ashara even faith kept a smaller footprint. I knelt on the damp step and took the rosary from my pocket.

**Chapter 11** **Two Shadows** I woke up sore in places that had nothing to do with sleep. Josh’s cum had dried sticky on my inner thighs. The faint bruises from his fingers still ached on my wrists. But underneath all of that was the sharper, unfinished ache Richard had left behind—the phantom press of his fingers, the low promise that he could ruin me deeper than his son ever would.

I asked in confusion when she pointed me toward the entrance of what seemed like a cave. She chuckled, mischief laced in her tone of voice, "you'll see. Just go." She almost squealed like a teenager, gaining a scoff from me. I was scared but there was a hint of excitement in my guts. Exhaling a breath, I walked into the cave and gasped in awe at its beauty. Rose petals were scattered all over the cave, with crystal clear water flowing smoothly along a narrow path, and beneath the water, were white stones. The cave looked like a sacred place.

It was something I would just have to deal with when the time came. “Please, Cindy. I need to protect her.” Cindy nodded while sighing mournfully. “I wish there was another way my sweet, please try and relax as I begin” I closed my eyes, letting the soft smells of her house wash over me. Always a comfort. I hugged little Sera through my stomach keeping her to the forefront of my mind. I call on thy ancestors, Bury the bloodline, Disallow the power to fester, No more will it shine. Hide the power from all,

The kind of hush that wrapped around your bones and reminded you that whatever was coming next was holy. At the bottom, the torchlight fell across carvings that had been older than anything I’d ever seen, even in the ruinous shrines of Bloodpine. Sigils of the four Houses. Cut into the stone. Perfectly preserved. And ahead of us, four stone sarcophagi. One for each House. Caelum went closer first, his brow furrowing. “That’s… that’s Cillian Hawthorne.” A caught breath from Nora. “And Selene Nerezza…”

--- The Sacred Ruins They arrived at dusk. The Hollow was nestled between cliffs carved by centuries of wind. Silver mist blanketed the valley floor, curling around broken statues and moss-covered altars. A ruined temple stood at its center, open to the sky. Stone wolves crouched at its corners, eyes glowing faintly. As they dismounted, a deep stillness fell. No birds. No insects. Even the wind held its breath. Lyra walked ahead, past the ruins of columns etched in lunar runes, her mark beginning to throb faintly beneath her skin. The earth here remembered her. Or what she carried.

Thunderous applause filled the hall. Grace walked to the center of the hall and looked at me, her eyes shimmering like starlight. After years of being underestimated, the Sutton family had finally risen to the center of Jorvale's elite circle in this life. I inadvertently met her radiant gaze. In my previous life, after I "accidentally" died in a car crash, my soul lingered in the air, tethered by a powerful obsession. That was when I saw the first person who rushed to the scene—Grace.

I didn’t stop at the pews, I didn’t kneel or pray either; I continued walking, toward the back, toward the corridor leading away from the visible, the proper, the safe. A catch in my breath signaled my arrival at the doorway. This part of the church felt different, more private, more…dangerous. And yet, I stepped through. The hallway was quiet and dim, the faint scent of incense lingering in the air. Doors lined the walls, all closed except one: the sacristy. I paused, my hand hovering near the door for only a second. A painful awareness dawned on me. I shouldn’t be here, not like this, not unannounced, not after everything.

The ruins were close now, closer than they had ever been. The land began to shift as they walked. The rolling hills flattened into a vast expanse of stone, broken by jagged pillars that jutted toward the sky like the bones of a long-dead beast. The Celestial Ruins loomed in the distance, half-hidden in the fog, an ancient structure bathed in an eerie, silver glow. Rael adjusted his grip on his sword. "So this is it? The place the First King’s writings led us to?" Myrra nodded, her violet eyes scanning the fractured landscape. "It has to be. This place feels… different."

And right now, the word hits me like a fist to the chest. I push through the crowd, my heart hammering so hard I can hear it in my ears. The police are directing people back, telling everyone to move along. Broken glass scattered across the asphalt. A single shoe lying on its side near the curb. And there, just beyond the yellow tape, illuminated by the flashing lights; a brown purse. My mother’s brown purse! The one with the broken zipper she refused to replace because “it still works fine.” “No.” The word comes out strangled, barely a whisper.