Chapter 16

The old priest

Father Petar stared at the letter from the eparchy for a long time before opening it. The seal was familiar. The handwriting even more so. He already knew what it meant.

Transfer.

He had spent nearly fifteen years serving in a small but respectable parish near the regional town, where the church was well maintained, the villagers generous, and the roads reliable. The thought of leaving that place for a remote village in the northern plains filled him with quiet resentment. When he finally unfolded the letter and read the name of his new assignment, his jaw tightened.

CHAPTER 15

Final Transaction

     The pub in Knezha was nearly empty that afternoon.

      A thin line of cigarette smoke floated lazily toward the ceiling while muted voices murmured somewhere near the bar. The smell of old wood, coffee, and cheap alcohol lingered in the air. It was the kind of place where people came not only to drink, but to talk business quietly, away from curious ears.

      Natasha sat at a small corner table, her hands folded tightly around a cup of tea that had already gone cold.

Chapter 14

Stefan

 He was born on a morning that felt like the sky itself was splitting apart.

 Rain hammered against the windows in relentless waves, and lightning clawed across the heavens, illuminating the world in violent flashes of white. Thunder followed—loud, cracking, furious—as if something ancient was roaring above the clouds.

 Inside the small house, however, there was warmth.

Chapter 13

Broken Rope

Knezha, Bulgaria

 Father Georgi walked slowly through the catacombs, the small lantern casting a trembling circle of light along the damp stone walls.

 The air was colder here—not the sharp cold of winter, but the deep, patient chill that lived permanently underground. It carried the faint smell of dust, old wood, and the quiet decay of forgotten things. His footsteps echoed softly through the narrow corridor.

Chapter 12 (The Empty Space)

The church was quiet after Natasha left.

Father Georgi remained seated on the bench for several minutes, his hands resting loosely on his knees.

Her words echoed in his mind.

A bell.

Our menu.

Mushroom barley soup.

Irish soda bread,

sauerkraut, potatoes,Plus Lenten chocolate cake. Coffee non dairy creamers.

Chapter 11 (The Aftermath)

Knezha, Bulgaria

For several long seconds after the bell struck the ground, Father Georgi—then simply Georgi—could not move.

The air still trembled from the impact. The enormous metallic ringing continued to echo inside his ears, mixing with the cries of the villagers and the choking dust that filled the churchyard.

His hands were still wrapped around the rope.