Here I was, finally standing before the church. Never in my life did I think I’d be excited to step into one.

Before reaching it, I passed rows of military trucks and tents, each surrounded by stacked crates. Solar panels gleamed from the bed of one truck—this depot seemed impressively well-equipped. I couldn’t help but wonder: were they selling guns here too? And if so, at what price? Did cash even mean anything anymore?

I continued down the dirt path, unbothered, weaving past a few tents and parked cars until I reached the church gates.

The moment I laid eyes on it, a wave of awe washed over me—not for how it looked, but for how it felt. Something was different. This place had changed profoundly in the last month. I couldn’t remember ever feeling such an undeniable sense of sanctity here before. For the first time in ages, I felt genuinely safe—protected from the chaos of the world outside. The soldiers stationed nearby were merely a reassuring afterthought.

I quickened my steps, impatience driving me forward. I needed to be inside.

The doors opened without a squeak and for a moment I was overcome with emotions. The warm air with such a welcoming atmosphere, and people. The people! I have not seen so many people in one place since this all began. They’re chatting and smiling! I never thought that I could actually miss them so much.

I even recognize one from the back. A tangle of unruly curls poking out beneath a familiar knit cap, patched and frayed in places. My breath caught. Could it be?

I pushed through the crowd, muttering quick apologies as I nudged past warm bodies and sidestepped children darting underfoot. My heart thudded in my chest as I neared. The figure leaned casually against the side of a pew, flipping through a worn notebook, utterly oblivious to the swirl of life around them.

I stopped just a few feet away. My voice was barely a whisper at first.

“Dan?”

The figure froze mid-turn of a page, and then, slowly, he looked up. A moment stretched between us like taut string. Dan's wide, searching eyes locked onto mine. And then, in an instant, the corners of his mouth tugged upward into that unmistakable grin—the one that had once been my lifeline in countless impossible situations.

"Well, I’ll be damned," Dan said, closing the notebook with a satisfying snap and slipping it into the pocket of his jacket. "I thought I might see you here, but the nervous knot in my stomach wouldn’t loosen up.”

I laughed, a sound that felt foreign to my ears after so long. “The feeling’s mutual. You alone here?”

“Nah, brought my grandparents as well, “He pointed at an elderly couple nearby sitting on a pew, chatting between themselves, “Couldn’t leave them alone back at home. Listen, Father Jackson said that anyone who wants to is welcome to stay in this church as long as they want. Maybe you want to stay here as well? It must be a bit scary to stay in that forest you live in.”

“Maybe I will, maybe I will. First I’ll see what my family thinks once they get here, but I’m pretty sure they would want to stay here as well. Shadow people are getting uncomfortably close these last few days”

“Speaking of which, how come you’re here alone?”

What came next was a good ten minutes of me telling how wild of a night I had, the last couple of days really, interspersed by a good amount of “no way’s”, and “holy shit’s.”

“Hey, shouldn’t be swearing in a church.”

At first he wanted to wave the concern away but then thought better about it and hesitantly asked, “You think there’s something more to all this church business now?”

“Not sure if anything will come of it, but I can definitely say that this place now has more to it than meets the eye. That aura detection ability I have now I mentioned? Going off here real hard. Best way to describe this place is ‘holy’.”

“Damn. I mean, darn. Think you could get me some of those crystals as well?”

“Oh yeah, let’s kick up a wizarding school together eventually.” I say with a chuckle, “You can be my apprentice.”

At that we both have a good laugh.

“So, wanna grab a bite? You look exactly how I would expect, hearing how the past day has been going on for you.”

“Lead the way,” I did a theatrical bow, which probably looked more elegant in my mind than it actually did.

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Dan grinned and turned, gesturing for me to follow. We wove through the bustling crowd, making our way toward the far corner of the church where several tables had been set up. Volunteers moved efficiently behind makeshift counters, ladling soup into bowls, handing out bread, and offering cups of something steaming—probably tea. The aroma was heavenly, a mix of savory spices and fresh-baked bread that made my stomach growl.

We joined the short line, listening to the chatter of the people ahead of us. Most seemed relieved, like us—grateful for a moment of peace. When our turn came, a kindly woman with laugh lines around her eyes handed us each a tray with a bowl of stew, a thick slice of bread, and a mug of tea.

“Eat up,” she said, smiling warmly. “And don’t be shy if you want seconds.”

“Thank you,” I said, meaning it more than I could express. Dan and I took our trays and scanned the hall for a spot to sit. He nodded toward a quieter area near the back where a couple of chairs flanked a small wooden table.

We slid into our seats, the wooden chairs creaking softly beneath us. I dipped a piece of bread into the stew and took a bite. It was simple but flavorful, the warmth spreading through me like a balm. Dan had already devoured half of his bread by the time I’d taken my first sip of tea.

“This is... nice,” he said, his voice softer now, almost contemplative.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “Almost makes you forget everything out there.”

Dan nodded but didn’t say anything for a while. We ate in companionable silence until the clinking of his spoon against the bowl broke it.

“So,” he began, leaning back in his chair and nursing his tea. “My grandparents, they’re doing okay, but... you know, they’re getting up there. Harder for them to keep up with all this.”

I glanced over at the elderly couple he’d pointed out earlier. They sat together on a pew, their heads close as they spoke. Despite their apparent exhaustion, there was an undeniable strength in the way they carried themselves.

“They look good for their age,” I said.

Dan chuckled. “Yeah, they’re tough as nails. But it’s not just the physical stuff. Mentally, this world’s taken a toll on them. I catch my grandpa staring off sometimes. And my grandma... she’s still sharp, but I can tell she worries more than she lets on.”

“It’s not an easy world to live in,” I said. “Especially for people who’ve already been through so much. Maybe it’s because they’ve seen it all before,” I offered. “They know things can get bad, but they also know people can survive it.”

Dan nodded slowly, mulling that over. “Yeah. They’re survivors, no doubt. But I just want them to have... I don’t know. Some peace, I guess. They deserve that.”

“We all do,” I said, and for a moment, we both stared into the distance, lost in thought.

Dan leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, as if saying it too loudly might make it less real. “An elixir of youth, immortality… something like that. You think it’s possible?”

I set my mug down and considered. “Honestly? After everything we’ve seen, I wouldn’t rule it out. I mean, shadow people, the undead? Who’s to say there isn’t some ancient alchemy or artifact out there?”

Dan’s eyes lit up, the hint of a grin tugging at his lips. “I’ve read about stuff like that in old texts. The Philosopher’s Stone, the Fountain of Youth… but that’s all mythology, right? Stories people told themselves to cope with mortality.”

“Could be,” I said with a shrug. “But I doubt it’s as simple as mixing herbs and chanting a few words.”

He frowned, drumming his fingers on the table. “Yeah, I can see that. Something that powerful wouldn’t just be lying around. Still, it’d be worth looking into, don’t you think? For them.” He nodded toward his grandparents again.

I followed his gaze, watching the old couple as they laughed softly at some private joke. “It’d be worth it,” I admitted. “For them, for others who deserve more time.”

Dan clapped his hands together, the sound sharp and decisive. “Alright, enough heavy talk. Let’s see what the military’s got on sale.”

“Good idea,” I said, pushing my chair back. “I have no money on me right now, but it could still be useful to scout out what’s on offer.”

We carried our empty trays to a collection station near the door, nodded a thank-you to the volunteers, and stepped outside.

Dan stretched his arms overhead, taking a deep breath. “It’s weird, isn’t it? Feeling... normal again.”

“Weird, but not unwelcome,” I replied, tucking my hands into my jacket pockets.

The military trucks lined the path like sentinels, their steel sides gleaming dully in the muted sunlight. Tents stretched out beside them, canvas flaps open to reveal crates piled high with goods. Soldiers and civilians moved among them, bartering and chatting.

We started down the path, our footsteps crunching on the gravel. The first truck we passed had a display of tools: hammers, wrenches, multi-tools—all neatly arranged and gleaming like they were freshly polished. Dan paused, picking up a hatchet with a rubberized grip. He gave it a few practice swings before setting it back down.

The next truck was stocked with clothing and gear. Rows of boots were lined up alongside thick jackets, gloves, and waterproof pants. A man with a thick beard and a booming voice was haggling with a soldier over a pair of binoculars.

Farther along, we passed tables loaded with food supplies: sacks of rice and beans, jars of preserved fruits and vegetables, even a few luxuries like chocolate bars and coffee. My stomach gave an approving rumble, even though we’d just eaten.

One truck was filled with weapons: knives, batons, and a few firearms carefully laid out under the watchful eye of two armed guards. Looks like anyone can buy a gun now, I wondered what it would cost.

Dan and I stopped briefly in front of the weapons truck. The gleam of polished steel and the ominous matte black of the firearms were both captivating and sobering.

“How much does one of these go for?” I asked, pointing to a compact handgun resting neatly on the crate. Its black finish seemed to absorb the sunlight, giving it a quiet, menacing allure.

The soldier behind the display, a lean man with sharp features and a calm, no-nonsense demeanor, glanced up. “If you’ve got cash, it’s eight hundred euros. Bullets? Four euros apiece. Same ballpark for the rest of this stuff.” He gestured at the other weapons, his tone matter-of-fact. “No cash? We take trades—anything valuable nowadays. You buying, or just looking?”

I hesitated, shaking my head with a small smile. “Just looking. Thanks.”

I did not have the kind of money to buy the pistol right now, but maybe dad has enough? Then again, maybe something else here would be more useful, like the solar panels and a battery for them.

And so we wrapped up our impromptu window—or rather, crate—shopping. We made our way back toward the church gates, the hum of conversations and the metallic clang of tools fading as the sense of sanctity returned with every step. There, at the gates I found a pleasant surprise.

“Max!”

My family was right there, about to go inside looking for me I would guess.