The Old Church

The journey to the old church was not long, but it felt like an eternity. The snow had begun to fall heavier, swirling around them as the sky darkened with the promise of a storm. Annabeth walked ahead, her breath coming in steady puffs of white air, her mind racing with thoughts she couldn’t quite organize. The man’s words echoed in her ears: *You will not be alone*. But the more she thought about it, the more she wondered what that truly meant.

Emmalyn was unusually quiet, her usual biting commentary absent, as she trudged behind her sister. The silence between them was thicker than the snow falling around them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that only came when two people were facing something larger than themselves—something they didn’t fully understand but couldn’t deny.

After a few minutes, they reached the outskirts of Eldridge, where the road began to narrow into a dirt path leading into the woods. The snow-covered trees loomed dark and silent, their branches heavy with the weight of the storm. At the end of the path, nestled at the base of the hills, stood the old church.

The church was an ancient structure, long abandoned by the villagers. Its once-pristine white stone was now weathered and cracked, the windows dark with grime and the door sagging on its hinges. Ivy crawled up the sides, clinging to the walls like a secret that had been kept for centuries. The bell tower was broken, the steeple leaning at a precarious angle as though it was trying to retreat from the earth itself.

Annabeth paused at the edge of the clearing, her breath catching in her throat. The place felt… different. Not just old, not just forgotten, but something deeper. There was a heaviness in the air, a presence that seemed to press down on her chest.

“Why are we here?” Emmalyn’s voice broke through Annabeth’s thoughts, sharp and suspicious. She stood beside her sister, eyeing the church with clear wariness. “I mean, this place is practically falling apart. Why would the old guy send us here? Seems like a terrible idea.”

“I don’t know,” Annabeth admitted softly. “But I feel like we have to go inside.”

Emmalyn raised an eyebrow. “Great. So, we’re supposed to trust the spooky old man and wander into a dilapidated church in the middle of nowhere. What could possibly go wrong?”

Annabeth glanced over at her sister, her heart lightening just a little at Emmalyn’s usual sarcasm. It was her way of coping—Annabeth knew that. They were both on edge, and the unfamiliar weight of their journey was starting to sink in.

Without another word, Annabeth pushed the heavy door open, the rusted hinges creaking in protest. The air inside the church was cold and stale, carrying the scent of dust and aged wood. A few broken pews were scattered haphazardly, and the altar was draped in a tattered cloth. The large windows, now covered in dirt and grime, allowed only dim light to filter through, casting long shadows on the floor. It was the kind of place that whispered of secrets long buried.

Annabeth stepped inside, her boots echoing on the cold stone floor. She took a deep breath, trying to steady the fluttering in her chest. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but she knew this was where they were supposed to be. She glanced back at Emmalyn, who was standing in the doorway, hesitant but not turning back.

“I’ll go first,” Annabeth said quietly, her voice almost lost in the vastness of the space. “Just… stay close, okay?”

Emmalyn gave her a half-smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “If I get eaten by some giant rat, I’m blaming you.”

Annabeth smiled despite herself and turned her attention back to the altar. There was something about it—something that called to her. She felt drawn toward it, like a magnet pulling at her very soul. She took a few steps forward, her heart pounding louder now, as if it, too, was urging her toward something.

As she neared the altar, a glimmer of something caught her eye. At the base of the old wooden structure was a small chest, its surface worn and chipped with age. It sat almost hidden in the shadows, as though waiting for someone to find it. Annabeth’s hand trembled as she reached for it, the wood smooth under her fingertips despite its age.

When she opened the chest, her breath caught. Inside was a single, intricately carved stone—smooth and dark, its surface engraved with symbols that Annabeth didn’t recognize. The stone pulsed faintly with an energy she could almost feel. It wasn’t a physical sensation, but something deeper, a vibration that seemed to resonate with her very bones.

She lifted it from the chest carefully, holding it in her hands as though it were fragile, precious. As soon as the stone was in her hands, the temperature in the room seemed to drop, and the air grew thick with an eerie tension. Annabeth’s eyes darted around the church, and she could have sworn the shadows were moving. The walls felt alive with some ancient force, watching, waiting.

“Annabeth?” Emmalyn’s voice was soft, tentative as she stepped closer. “What is that? What’s happening?”

Annabeth didn’t answer right away. She was too absorbed in the stone, the weight of it pressing against her palms like a secret that was about to be revealed. The symbols on its surface seemed to shift and change, rearranging themselves with a fluidity that was impossible. The stone pulsed again, stronger this time, and Annabeth’s pulse quickened in response.

And then, without warning, the ground beneath them trembled.

Emmalyn stumbled back, her eyes wide with panic. “What the heck is going on?!”

Annabeth’s voice was steady despite the growing unease. “I think… I think it’s starting.”

The stone in her hands glowed brighter, the symbols now completely rearranged into a pattern that seemed to draw energy from the very air around them. The walls of the church groaned, as if the building itself was awakening from a long, forgotten slumber.

A deep, resonant voice echoed through the church, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.

*“You have found the first key. The path has begun. The journey will not be easy, but you are not alone. The world will call, and you will answer. Be ready.”*

Annabeth’s heart raced, and she glanced at Emmalyn, who stood frozen in place, her face pale with shock.

The voice faded, and the church fell silent once more. But something had changed. Annabeth could feel it in her bones. The journey was no longer a distant dream. It was real. And it was only the beginning.

She closed her eyes, whispering the words that had been in her heart since the moment she first felt the call. “Here am I, send me.”