---
The chapel ruins loomed like a scar on Greenhollow's forgotten map.
Emma and Logan stood at the edge of the collapsed site just after midnight. The building had once served as the spiritual center of the town—weddings, funerals, Sunday hymns—but after the fire twenty years ago, no one dared to rebuild it. Locals claimed the ground was cursed. Even children wouldn't play near the ashes.
Now, as fog clung low to the ground and the moon hung veiled behind clouds, Emma could feel the weight of that superstition pressing into her skin.
"You're sure this is it?" Logan asked, shining a flashlight across the rubble.
"Yes," Emma said. "Miriam said it was beneath the pulpit. There's a crypt, or something like it."
Logan adjusted the strap of his backpack, the crowbar clinking lightly inside. "Then we better get digging."
They moved carefully through the remnants—burned beams, shattered stone, moss-covered pews broken like bones. Near the front, half-buried under vines, was what remained of the pulpit: a stone slab cracked down the center.
Emma knelt, brushing dirt away with her gloved hands. "Help me lift this."
Together, they heaved the slab aside with a groan of protest from the earth. Beneath it was a set of old stone steps spiraling into darkness.
Emma and Logan exchanged a glance.
Then they descended.
---
#### The Forgotten Vault
The air was thick with mildew and something older—like dried blood and forgotten prayers. Their flashlights revealed walls lined with carved symbols, worn almost to nothing. A heavy door stood at the base, sealed with rusted chains and a strange iron sigil shaped like an eye.
Emma touched it—and the chains fell loose, as if recognizing her presence.
Logan raised his flashlight. "That's not creepy at all."
They pushed the door open.
Inside, the room was circular, no more than fifteen feet across. At its center was a stone pedestal, and upon it… a box. Old. Wooden. Covered in symbols that mirrored those from the Rite book.
Emma stepped forward.
"This has to be it."
She lifted the lid.
Inside was a rolled parchment sealed with red wax, and beneath it… a black feather. Smooth. Impossibly pristine.
Emma broke the seal.
The parchment revealed a map—crude and hand-drawn, showing landmarks of Greenhollow: the lighthouse, the woods, the river. But there were other markings too—ones she didn't recognize. Tunnels. Hidden paths. And at the center, a symbol: the same eye, encircled by flame.
"A network," Emma whispered. "She was tracking something. Maybe the others."
Logan pointed to a mark near the orphanage ruins. "That's tomorrow's destination, isn't it?"
Emma nodded.
Then suddenly, her flashlight flickered.
The temperature dropped.
And from behind them, something whispered: *"She remembers."*
They spun around. Nothing. Just the vault.
Emma's breath caught. "We're not alone."
Logan stepped between her and the door. "We need to go. Now."
As they turned to flee, the black feather in the box trembled—then lifted into the air, floating gently downward until it landed on the stone floor.
And vanished.
---
#### Ghosts of the Past
Back at Emma's house, they laid the map across the dining table, examining every curve and symbol.
"Look," Logan said, tapping near the river bend. "That mark—it's the same as the one we saw in Elena's sketchbook."
Emma's eyes narrowed. "She must've found these places. Maybe she even went inside."
"But why didn't she tell anyone?"
"Maybe she tried," Emma murmured. "Maybe that's why she disappeared."
Suddenly, her phone buzzed.
**Unknown Number**
> "You're getting close, Emma.
> Be careful who you trust."
She showed Logan.
He frowned. "Still no trace of where these are coming from?"
"No. And the police said the number's untraceable."
Logan leaned back. "Then someone's watching us."
Emma didn't answer. Her eyes were fixed on the map.
Her sister had left her breadcrumbs—one piece at a time. The Rite wasn't just a ritual. It was a protection. A ward. And now that Emma was pulling back the veil, the darkness it once contained was stirring.
"I need to go to the river bend tomorrow," she said. "Alone."
"Not happening," Logan said.
"It's too dangerous. I need someone outside in case—"
"You're not doing this without me, Emma."
She looked at him, saw the fear in his eyes, the fierce loyalty.
And relented.
---
#### The Shadow Beneath
That night, Emma dreamt of the vault.
But it was no longer abandoned. The walls pulsed with light. The feather floated above the pedestal like a guardian. And Elena stood at the edge, her face pale and calm.
"Don't let them rewrite me," Elena said.
Emma stepped closer. "Rewrite you?"
"They're changing everything. My memories. My name. They want to make me disappear again."
Emma's voice cracked. "I won't let them."
Elena raised a hand and pointed. "The next place… it remembers the beginning."
Then the dream shattered.
Emma awoke gasping, drenched in sweat.
Outside, the wind had picked up. The same whisper again—scratching faintly at her window like claws on glass.
The town was remembering too.
---