Chapter 30: The Hollow Saints

The Village of Glass Eyes

The road to Duskhollow was paved with broken promises. Crumbling cottages leaned like drunkards, their thatched roofs sagging under the weight of vines that oozed a translucent, gelatinous sap. Lyra paused at the village's edge, her scar prickling. The villagers moved in eerie unison, faces blank as they carried baskets of rotting fruit to a shrine at the center of town. The statue there was not of a saint, but of the First Gardener—her stone eyes replaced with polished green glass that glowed faintly in the dusk.

Nyra hissed through her teeth. "They're thralled. Not by thorns, but by light."

Evangeline's dagger twitched. "Look at their shadows."

Lyra obeyed. Each villager cast two shadows: one ordinary, the other elongated and clawed, its fingers brushing the ankles of the person ahead. The Voidspawn's corruption had seeped into the daylight here, masquerading as piety.

A child approached, offering a basket of blackberries. Her smile stretched too wide, her pupils swallowed by green haze. "Blessed day, travelers. Will you join the Offering?"

Jack stepped forward, blocking Lyra. "What's the Offering for?"

The girl's shadow writhed. "To feed the Saints. They hunger so."

The Feast of Flesh

They were ushered into the shrine, where the air reeked of burnt sugar and decay. Villagers knelt before the statue, chanting as they piled fruit, flowers, and glistening cuts of raw meat at its base. The glass eyes flickered, sap dripping from the First Gardener's stone lips.

Lyra's scar flared. "It's a conduit. They're feeding her."

Evangeline gripped her arm. "Don't engage. We're outnumbered."

But the cellar rose's voice slithered into Lyra's mind, sweet and venomous: "Liar. You want to crack those pretty glass eyes. Let me taste their light."

The statue's head turned, grinding stone against stone. The villagers froze.

"Lyra Vossaire," the First Gardener crooned through the statue's mouth. "You've brought me a gift."

The child who'd greeted them screamed. Vines exploded from her mouth, her body contorting into a thorned archway. Beyond it stretched a field of roses, each bloom a staring eye.

The Garden of Watching Things

The field was alive.

Roses shivered as they passed, pupils dilating, thorns clicking like teeth. Nyra froze beside a bloom that mirrored her own face, its petals edged in frost. "This is where she traps them. The ones who resist."

Lyra touched the flower. A vision struck:

Nyra, years younger, kneeling in a similar field. The First Gardener offering a rose. "Pluck it, and your sister lives."

Nyra's hand trembling. The thorns biting.

Lyra recoiled. "You never told us."

Nyra's voice hardened. "You never asked."

Evangeline cut a path ahead, her dagger shearing through sentient blooms. "Save the confessions for when we're not inside her."

The Saint's Bargain

At the field's heart stood a figure robed in sunlight, his back to them. When he turned, his face was a mosaic of broken glass, green light pulsing in the cracks.

"Lyra," he intoned, arms spread. "The First Gardener's favorite daughter. Will you take communion?"

Jack lunged, but his sword passed through the figure like smoke.

"I am Saint Marthas," the figure said, shards rearranging into a beatific smile. "Or what remains of him. She hollowed me out… but the light still burns."

Lyra's scar throbbed. "What do you want?"

The saint's hand dissolved into vines, offering a chalice of liquid light. "Drink. Let her see through your eyes. Let her love you."

Evangeline knocked the chalice aside. The liquid hissed, burning a hole through the earth.

"Fool," the saint whispered. "You cannot starve a god."

The Corruption Beneath

The field convulsed. Roses shrieked, roots erupting to drag Nyra underground. Lyra grabbed her wrist, but the thorns sliced deep, her blood splattering the blooms.

"Let go!" Nyra shouted.

"No!" Lyra's scar blazed, searing the roots. They retreated, hissing.

The saint laughed, his form unraveling. "You think this is corruption? You've seen nothing. The Voidspawn are her children. The Saints are her toys."

The vision shattered. They stood once more in Duskhollow, the shrine in ruins, villagers weeping over the child's lifeless body.

The Weight of Light

That night, Lyra found Evangeline sharpening her dagger by the fire, her gold-flecked eye reflecting the flames.

"You hesitated today," Lyra signed.

Evangeline's jaw tightened. "I've seen what happens when you rush. When you care."

Lyra sat beside her. "You saved Nyra."

"I saved you." Evangeline's voice cracked. "The rose… it whispers to me too. Shows me things. You, rotting on a throne of thorns. Jack, strung up like a scarecrow. And I—"

Lyra touched her arm. "You're not her. You won't become her."

Evangeline pulled away. "You don't know that."

The First Gardener's Lullaby

Lyra dreamt of the field again.

The First Gardener cradled her, humming a lullaby as green light filled Lyra's veins. "You fear corruption, little storm? But I am the soil. You are the seed. Together, we could grow something… divine."

Lyra woke screaming, her scar split open, roots curling around her fingers.

On the windowsill, a single rose bloomed—its petals green, its thorns singing.

Chapter 30 End.