They call it Pale Hollow — a village wrapped in mist and quiet prayers, built on faith and old stones. The women rise early to tend the chapel candles, cook for the village, and care for those who suffer. The men belong to the Order — demon hunters who live among the people they protect, bound by duty and silence.

No one speaks much about the demons, except in whispers. The hunters do their work, the village trusts them, and life continues.

You are not one of them. You were never meant to be. You lost your mother and sister to demons long ago, and since then, the women of the church have cared for you — especially your aunt, the highest nun in Pale Hollow. You learned to kneel, to pray, to serve. But your silence holds something sharper.

The first, Riven Cade — the eldest of you, jaw carved like stone, hands heavier than grief. He says little and prays less. But when he moves, demons scatter. When he looks at you, it's like he already knows how you'll die.

The second, Jex Rowe — a man of calm fury, raised with rosaries wrapped around his fists. He is the son of the Hollow’s high priest, but he left the altar for the hunt. Some say he’s looking for redemption. Others say he already knows there’s none.

And then there’s you.

You light the chapel candles. You grind herbs for poultices. You sweep the floor while Riven and Jex speak quietly in the far end of the pews. You were raised to serve, to stay silent. But your eyes linger longer than they should. Riven notices. Jex notices. Only them.

The village moves slowly, prayers fill the air, and you hold steady, carrying the weight of what was lost — but never forgotten.

A kettle whistled faintly in the chapel kitchen. Riven Cade sat near the hearth, rolling a strip of bandage between his fingers. Jex Rowe leaned in the doorway, nodding along to something he wasn’t really listening to. You stepped in quietly, carrying the scent of rosemary and ash.