Shadows of the Past

Bound to Fate

Staring at the clock on the wall only made things worse. Each tick was like a hammer driving a nail into Thomas's brain. Noon was closing in, and his heart screamed for him to run to the church, to save Ophelia from her fate. But his head begged him to let the past stay buried, where it couldn't hurt him anymore.

He exhaled shakily, only now realizing he'd been holding his breath. His gaze flicked over his shoulder to where Cillian was hunched over his maps, scribbling words and marking spots with red Xs, utterly absorbed in his task.

Thomas's eyes returned to the clock. 11:45. Fifteen minutes. That was all he had before Ophelia would be gone for good, another ghost swallowed by this cursed town.

Moving silently, he reached for a gun, careful not to draw Cillian's attention. Without a sound, he slipped out the back door, his resolve hardening with each step.

As Thomas made his way toward the church, every sound and shadow set his nerves on edge. The crunch of gravel beneath his boots felt deafening, and the eerie stillness of the town pressed in around him. He kept expecting the alarm to shatter the silence, its wail tearing through the oppressive calm, but the quiet held.

Turning onto a narrow street, Thomas froze for a moment, his eyes locking on the church looming at the end of the road. Its spire clawed at the sky, dark and foreboding, a monument to dread. His heart pounded against his ribs, climbing into his throat as if trying to escape.

Swallowing hard, Thomas took a deep breath, steeling himself. Then, step by step, he moved forward, each stride heavy with the weight of what lay ahead.

The church loomed larger and more menacing with every step Thomas took. Its shadow stretched long across the ground, swallowing him whole as he approached the weathered stone steps. His mind screamed at him to turn back, to run before it was too late, but his legs ignored the plea, carrying him forward inch by inch.

What was he going to do once he got inside? How could he possibly stop the ritual? Panic gnawed at the edges of his resolve as the realization hit—he had no plan. Charging in blindly felt reckless, maybe even suicidal, but it was too late to reconsider now.

Reaching the first step, Thomas hesitated, his foot hovering before finally coming to rest on the cold stone. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep, shuddering breath, forcing himself to focus. There was no turning back now.

Just as Thomas lifted his foot to climb the stairs, a firm hand clamped down on his wrist, yanking him back.

"What the hell, Sullivan? Are you trying to get yourself killed?" Cillian hissed, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the heavy silence.

Thomas spun around, yanking his arm free. His frown deepened, anger and desperation flashing in his eyes. "I can't just sit and wait while Ophelia is about to die."

Cillian shook his head, his expression twisting with frustration and something close to despair. "Thomas... she's been dead for years. You can't change the past!"

Thomas's jaw clenched as he stared at his friend, the weight of the words like a punch to the gut. But he refused to back down. "What if I can? What if it's our way out, Cillian? Have you even thought about that?"

Cillian hesitated, the conflict clear in his gaze. The past had always been a chain they couldn't break—but what if Thomas was right? What if this was their key to leave this cursed town?

"I can't do this alone..." Thomas's voice dropped, losing its edge. His shoulders sagged as he looked at Cillian, desperation seeping through his words. "I need you by my side, Cillian. I need you to trust me on this."