The moon hung high, its cold glow spilling over the village like a silent witness. Salvatore Vernoux stood before the altar, his hands resting lightly on the worn wood. The candlelight flickered, casting restless shadows on the walls of the church. He had always found something amusing about the act of prayer—the way men clasped their hands together, as if the gesture itself could shield them from the world's horrors.
Tonight, the village was quiet, but that quiet never lasted.
Beyond the church walls, beyond the slumbering houses and winding dirt paths, the world stirred. Travelers would come, as they always did, drawn by the village's charm or by whispers of a place untouched by time. They would bring stories, goods, and sometimes, trouble. And when trouble found its way to Hollow Hill, it was Salvatore who decided whether it left again.
He stepped away from the altar and moved toward the door, opening it just enough to see the world outside. The fog clung low to the ground, rolling between the gravestones in the churchyard. A silhouette moved in the distance—slow, cautious.
Salvatore smiled.
The old woman had done as he instructed. She was predictable, a creature of faith and fear in equal measure. She would not question him. Not yet.
By the time the figure reached the church, Salvatore was already seated, head bowed as if deep in devotion. The door creaked open, and a young man stepped inside. His clothes were travel-worn, dust clinging to his boots. A satchel hung over his shoulder, the strap digging into his tired frame.
"Father," the traveler said, hesitant. "I seek shelter for the night."
Salvatore lifted his head slowly, a gentle smile curving his lips. "Of course, my child. All who seek rest shall find it here."
The young man sighed, relief washing over him. He stepped forward, the heavy door groaning shut behind him.
Salvatore stood, moving with unhurried grace. "You must be weary. The road is cruel to those who walk it alone."
"It is," the traveler admitted. "But I was told this village welcomes those in need."
Salvatore nodded. "Indeed. The people here believe in kindness."
The young man smiled, unaware of the weight behind those words.
Unaware of what kindness could mean in a place like this.
As the night deepened, the village remained silent. But beneath its quiet surface, something stirred.
And by morning, the traveler would be gone.