Lila’s POV
The moment I stepped through the heavy wooden doors of the church, a rush of damp, earthen air washed over me—moss, old stone, and age clung to every surface. Most people would wrinkle their nose at the scent of decay, but I found something comforting in it, like walking into an ancient memory.
The stone walls inside were a mirror of the exterior, worn and weathered with time, darkened in some places by centuries of smoke and shadow. But the ceiling was something else entirely. I stopped in my tracks and craned my neck, jaw slowly falling open.
Towering above us were beams the size of thick tree trunks, each one hand-carved—every inch a tapestry of mythical scenes, folklore, and battles long forgotten. The beams stretched like ribs overhead, some extending into the walls and
