Ellie stood rooted to the floor, her breath coming in shallow gasps. The dust from the explosion hung in the air, a suffocating haze that blurred the scene before her. Eloise, stripped of her saintly guise, glared across the chamber, her chest heaving with exertion.

  The unearthly glow of her eyes flickered, her control slipping. Her once-pristine robes hung in scorched tatters, revealing the twisted markings beneath her skin—dark runes that pulsed and writhed like living things.

  For a moment, the chamber was still, the air heavy with the residue of spent magic.

  Then Eloise moved.

  She darted toward the far wall, her bare feet silent against the stone, the shredded remains of her cloak trailing behind her. Ellie’s stomach sank—Eloise was trying to escape.

  “Stop her!” Elladora’s voice rang out, sharp with urgency.

  Ellie’s body reacted before her mind had time to catch up, her legs pushing her forward as the chamber groaned under the strain of the earlier explosion. Loose stones tumbled from the walls and ceiling, the structure teetering on collapse. She kept her footing, her gaze locked on Eloise’s frantic movements.

  Eloise reached the far wall and ran her hands over the stones, searching feverishly. A faint click echoed through the room as she found what she was looking for—a hidden mechanism. A section of the wall shifted, revealing the faint outline of a door.

  Ellie’s heart pounded. She couldn’t let her get away.

  She surged toward the altar in the center of the chamber. The glowing sigils etched into the floor still pulsed faintly, humming with dangerous, unstable energy. Could she use the remnants of the ritual to stop Eloise?

  Ellie crouched by the altar, her hand brushing against a scattering of ritual tools—candles, chalk, fragments of shattered crystal. She didn’t dare touch the sigils themselves, but her movement was enough to disturb the delicate balance of the remnants Eloise had left behind.

  A sudden spark jumped from one of the symbols to the scattered fragments, a burst of wild energy crackling through the air. Ellie flinched, instinctively stepping back.

  The sigils pulsed brighter.

  Eloise froze mid-motion, her head snapping toward the altar. Her glowing eyes widened with fury and panic. “No—stop! Don’t touch that!”

  The energy coursing through the sigils reached a fever pitch, the ritual destabilizing from the interference. The ground beneath Eloise trembled, the glow of the symbols spreading in jagged cracks through the chamber floor. Ellie hadn’t done this deliberately, but there was no way to stop it now.

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  The stones under Eloise’s feet shifted, throwing her off balance. She stumbled, her hands scrabbling at the hidden doorframe as the floor beneath her began to crumble.

  “No!” Eloise shrieked, her voice raw and otherworldly. She tried to channel the runaway magic, her hands glowing with the same dark energy as the sigils. But the ritual was beyond even her control now.

  With a deafening crack, the floor gave way entirely. Eloise’s scream echoed as she plunged into the darkness below, her outstretched hands clawing at the air.

  Ellie staggered as a wave of force rippled through the chamber. The altar crumbled, the sigils burning out in a final, blinding flare of light.

  “Ellie!” Elladora’s voice rang out, desperate and close. Ellie turned to see her standing at the entrance, her face pale but determined. Behind her, the clatter of armored boots echoed—the royal guards were arriving.

  “We have to go!” Elladora shouted, reaching for Ellie’s arm.

  Ellie nodded, her legs shaking as she followed. Behind them, the chamber groaned one last time before the ceiling gave way entirely, collapsing in a roar of dust and debris.

  The guards met them halfway, their faces set in grim lines. "What happened down there?" one of them demanded, his voice rough with urgency.

  Ellie opened her mouth, but no words came. She could still feel the weight of the pendant in her hand, the cold, unyielding truth of what they had uncovered.

  Elladora stepped forward, her voice steady but tense. "The saintess... she’s been using dark magic. She’s the reason for the sickness that’s spread through the kingdom. She’s been feeding on their suffering, keeping them sick so she could play the savior."

  The guard’s eyes narrowed, but before he could respond, another figure stepped forward—a tall man in ornate robes, his face hard with authority. "Is this true?"

  For a moment, Ellie hesitated. She could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her, the enormity of what she was about to say. But then she remembered the people—those desperate, hopeful faces that had looked to Eloise for salvation, and the truth they deserved to know.

  She nodded. "It’s true. Eloise... she was no saint. She was using dark magic to control the illness. We found the proof in the chamber below. She’s been manipulating everyone."

  The man’s gaze flicked to the rubble behind them, then back to Ellie. His expression was unreadable, but after a long pause, he nodded. "The saintess is no more, then. Take them both to the palace. We will sort this out."

  As the guards moved to escort them, Ellie felt a strange sense of disconnection settle over her. She had expected to feel relief, maybe even triumph, but instead, there was only exhaustion. The weight of everything she had seen, everything she had done, hung heavy on her shoulders.

  She had exposed the truth. But at what cost?

  As they made their way through the darkened corridors of the palace, Ellie couldn’t shake the feeling that something far more dangerous still lurked in the shadows. Eloise was gone, but the kingdom’s wounds ran deep—and healing them would take more than just exposing a false saintess.

  It would take a miracle.

  And Ellie was no saint.