The bells of the Temple of Divine Retribution pierce the early morning silence. Their heavy tones drag me from sleep like cold hands. I pull the blanket over my head, trying to muffle the sound, but it's useless. The bells will ring until every soul in Aldenvik is inside those dark walls.

"Julie." Mom's voice comes soft through my door. "We need to get ready."

I curl tighter under the covers. "I don't feel well."

A pause. Then Mom slips into my room, her steps quiet as shadows. "I know, sweetheart." She sits on the edge of my bed. "I know it feels wrong. But we can't... we can't draw attention. Not now."

She's right. Ever since the Church strengthened its hold on Aldenvik, missing service means questions. Questions lead to soul ledger entries. And no one wants their name in those black books.

The floorboards creak as Dad paces downstairs. He hates this even more than I do - being forced to sit and listen to High Executor Thane preach about divine punishment, about accepting suffering as righteous fate. Dad was raised in the old ways, back when people could choose their faith.

Maya appears in my doorway, already dressed in her scratchy church clothes. "Do we have to go?" Her usual bounce is missing. "Last time the Witnesses kept staring at me when I yawned."

"We all have to go," Mom says, but her fingers twist nervously in her apron. "Just... just remember what we talked about. Sit quietly, don't draw attention."

I dress slowly, feeling the weight of Grandmother's journal where I've hidden it under my mattress. Part of me wants to take it - its presence feels like a shield against the Temple's cold stones. But that would be too dangerous. The Witnesses see everything.

The streets fill with families walking to service, their faces drawn and tired. No one talks. No one meets anyone's eyes. Only the Witnesses move freely through the crowd, their black robes swirling as they watch for any sign of reluctance or rebellion.

Claire falls into step beside me, her braids unusually neat. Her father makes her redo them three times on service days - the Witnesses notice everything, even messy hair. "Grandpa was up all night again," she whispers, barely moving her lips. "I heard him in his study, talking to someone."

I want to ask more, but a Witness glides past, his hollow eyes sweeping over us like ice. Claire and I automatically straighten, our faces going blank. We've learned this dance well over the past months.

The Temple rises before us, its black stones seeming to devour the morning light. As we file inside, I feel a strange shiver run down my spine - not fear, exactly, but something else. Like when you're about to sneeze but can't quite manage it. The sensation passes quickly, lost in the press of bodies and the heavy incense smell.

We take our usual places in the hard wooden pews. Up at the altar, High Executor Thane spreads his arms, his red-trimmed robes catching the candlelight. He's tall and thin, with skin so pale it seems to have never known sunlight. But it's his eyes that make people look away - they're not hollow like the Witnesses', but sharp and bright, like a warrior’s blade. Some say he was chosen by the Church for that gaze alone - the way it can cut through lies and find the doubts you try to hide. His voice carries the weight of authority as he intones: "Through punishment comes understanding."

"Through understanding, acceptance," the congregation mumbles back.

I mouth the words without sound, thinking of Grandmother's journal hidden under my mattress. Of the whispers in the dark that the Church claims are signs of corruption. Of the way Elder Sven's hands shake slightly as he holds his prayer book.

Something is changing in Aldenvik. I can feel it in the air, in the way the adults exchange glances when they think we're not looking. In the way the Witnesses seem more watchful lately. In the way my own skin sometimes feels too tight, like it's trying to contain something that wants to grow.

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But for now, all I can do is sit quietly and pretend to pray to a god I don't believe in, while the real truth waits hidden under my mattress, written in my grandmother's careful hand.

Maya squirms beside me, fighting another yawn. A Witness turns our way, and Mom's hand immediately finds Maya's shoulder, holding her still. We all freeze, barely breathing, until the black robes sweep past.

The candles flicker in a draft, and for just a moment - so briefly I might have imagined it - one of the flames seems to dance with a color that has no name.

Then High Executor Thane's voice fills the Temple again, and the moment passes. Just another morning in Aldenvik, where we all pretend to accept divine punishment while holding our real thoughts close and quiet, like secrets in the dark.

High Executor Thane moves to the center of the altar, where a black tome rests on a worn pedestal. The Book of Divine Justice, they call it. Its pages contain all the laws and punishments the Church deems necessary for our salvation. The leather cover seems to absorb the candlelight rather than reflect it.

"Today," his voice echoes through the stone chamber, "we speak of those who would lead us astray." His eyes sweep across the congregation, and I feel people shrinking in their seats. "Those who whisper of understanding rather than acceptance. Who speak of sharing pain rather than embracing punishment."

I know he means the Silent Ones. Last month, they caught someone leaving food at their monastery. The marking ceremony that followed... I still hear the screams in my dreams.

"The Donor's pain is our cleansing," Thane continues, his fingers trailing across the black tome's cover. "Those who claim otherwise - who speak of 'sacred understanding' and 'shared suffering' - they corrupt the divine purpose. They weaken the very foundation of our faith."

Behind him, the Witnesses arrange themselves in a perfect semicircle, their black robes making them look like a murder of crows. Some say they can see into your soul, read the doubts in your heart. I don't know if that's true, but when their hollow eyes pass over me, I feel exposed, transparent.

"Remember," Thane's voice drops lower, becoming almost gentle, which somehow makes it worse, "the Church of Divine Retribution offers the only true path to salvation. Through our suffering, we are purified. Through our punishment, we are saved."

He opens the tome, and the familiar litany begins. We recite the Seven Articles of Faith, our voices carefully modulated to show proper devotion without pride:

1. "Divine pain is the only path to salvation"

2. "The marked flesh speaks truth, while words deceive"

3. "To question the Donor's methods is to invite corruption"

4. "The child inherits the sin of the parent until the seventh generation"

5. "Only through perfect obedience can the soul be cleansed"

6. "Those who seek understanding rather than acceptance harbor darkness"

7. "The Donor's punishment is both justice and mercy - to refuse it is to choose damnation"

Then the Chant of Acceptance, where we pledge ourselves to divine punishment. Finally, the Prayer of Purification, asking The Donor to cleanse us through suffering:

High Executor: "We accept the divine punishment"

Congregation: "For through it we are cleansed"

High Executor: "We embrace the sacred pain"

Congregation: "For through it we are purified"

High Executor: "We bear the Donor's mark"

Congregation: "For through it we are saved"

High Executor: "We submit to holy justice"

Congregation: "For through it we are redeemed"

Claire's grandfather, Elder Sven, sits in the front row, his back straight despite his age. I've seen him watching the Silent Ones' processions sometimes, when he thinks no one's looking. There's something in his eyes during those moments - not devotion or fear, but something else. Something that reminds me of the way Grandmother used to look at her journals late at night.

The service continues, each ritual designed to remind us of our place, of the price we must pay for salvation. But I can't help wondering about the other way - the path of understanding that the Silent Ones teach. Grandmother used to say there were always two sides to every truth. I wonder if that's what she found, in the end. If that's why she disappeared.

I hear a sentence that makes me shudder: “The marked flesh remembers what the mind would forget”. I can’t help but think of those poor people who are marked to prove to the Church that they “want to redeem themselves”.

As the final prayers echo through the church, I notice something strange. The shadows cast by the altar candles don't quite match their flames. They stretch and twist in ways that seem impossible, forming patterns that hurt my eyes if I look too long. I blink, and they're normal again. But the flame I see is.. purple? I blink again, and now everything is back to its normal state. Am I having hallucinations after that night?

Or maybe... maybe this is what Grandmother saw too, before she disappeared. The thought makes my skin crawl. I don’t want to disappear.