CHAPTER TEN:The Crack Beneath The Skin

Elianah

She didn't go home after school.

Her feet carried her to the chapel — the abandoned one near the back of the school grounds that everyone said was locked.

It wasn't.

The wooden door creaked open like it was sighing after a long time, and Elianah stepped inside, greeted by silence and the scent of old stone and forgotten hymns.

She didn't know why she came. Only that she had to.

She sat in the front pew and stared at the altar — cracked, faded, still holding some kind of sacredness.

Her fingers grazed the wood, and all at once, a flood of heat and cold swept through her body.

She saw hands tied in front of her.

She saw fire again.

She saw him — Isaiah — not as he was now, but dressed in robes, eyes full of grief.

> "You tried to save me…" she whispered, tears already forming.

The vision vanished. But her chest ached like something had been yanked loose.

---

Isaiah

He didn't feel like himself anymore.

He skipped his last class and walked until the sky turned gold. His steps took him to the edge of the woods, where a rusted sculpture garden lay buried beneath weeds and years.

He didn't know what he was looking for — until he saw it.

A stone figure — a woman kneeling, hands reaching upward like she was begging for something.

And beneath the statue, carved in small lettering:

"For the one who broke the vow."

Isaiah touched the cold stone.

His fingers shook.

He heard her voice — not Elianah's, but someone older, crying his name like a warning.

> "You said you'd come back. You promised me."

He backed away, heart in his throat, sketchbook falling from his hands.

---

Cassia

Cassia stood in the headmaster's office like she belonged there.

Because she did.

He didn't question why she was reading the ancient ledger on his desk. He didn't even notice.

Because sometimes, when shadows walk in, the world simply forgets how to resist.

She flipped through names of past students, past teachers… until she found it.

> Ephraim Dane.

Her lips curled into a smirk.

> "So that's what you're calling yourself this time, teacher," she whispered.

Then she turned to the next page and found a familiar scrawl.

> Isaiah Faelan.

Elianah Viera.

Her expression shifted — for the first time, unreadable.

> "You two always make it messy."

---

Narrator

Some truths don't knock politely.

They slip beneath your skin, whisper in your sleep, and curl into your bones.

Elianah and Isaiah had touched pieces of their past —

but the whole of it was coming.

Faster than they were ready for.

And once the veil tore — there would be no pretending this life was just a life.

Because love that spans lifetimes comes with a cost.

And the past never forgets a debt unpaid.