The next day, Father Benedict led them to the academy chapel.
Candles were arranged meticulously, but their flames bent in impossible directions.
He spoke softly:
"This chapel holds the prayers of every student who has ever doubted, lied, or sinned… willingly or unwillingly. Some prayers linger, feeding the walls."
Clara's eyes scanned the room. Faint whispers threaded between the arches.
Ethan muttered:
"I swear, those candles are alive."
Clara touched one flame lightly. It flinched, quivering, almost pulling away from her fingers.
Then the chapel doors slammed.
The flames stretched toward them like fingers, soft smoke curling into shapes of people long dead.
Sister Kaela appeared silently behind Clara. Her expression was unreadable.
"You cannot fight what the building remembers," she said softly.
"Only survive… or join it."