Page 98 of The Light Within

“Get off her!” little Julien screeched, wildcat-like.

The rest of the gendarmerie parted like the Red Sea, content to let their leader deal with the tempestuous teenager.

“I said,get off her,” Julien repeated, his small frame tense, fists clenched at his sides. His stance was defiant, shoulders squared, as if ready to pounce. “Or you’ll be sorry!”

The gendarme clutching Isabelle’s wrist barked a laugh, a harsh, dismissive sound that echoed through the church.

“Julien!” Isabelle begged. “Do not anger these officers. Go back to Béatrice, now!”

But her son ignored her, eyes only for the man who threatened his mother, staring him down as if to will him to release Isabelle.

The broad man yanked firmly on Isabelle’s arm, and a sharp yelp left her lips.

This was it. Cinn could see it in Julien’s eyes.

From Cinn’s vantage point, the memory unfurled in surreal intensity.

Julien unleashed a primal scream, charging at the officer like a panther.

The boy’s scream was more than a cry; it was a force of raw, unfiltered power. The surrounding air shimmered with electric tension. It was undoubtable—he was channelling, accessing those elusive motes, just as Isabelle described. An invisible wave surged outward, rippling through the space with a roar that shook the very foundations of the church.

The shockwave was a violent crescendo, a pulsating blast that struck with the fury of a hurricane. The gendarmerie, taken by surprise, were hurled through the air as if thrown by the divine hand of God. Their bodies, flung against the walls, collided with a sickening clamour of splintering wood and shattering glass. The explosive force shattered theholy atmosphere, sending debris—plaster, stained glass, splinters—raining down from the vaulted ceiling.

The force of Julien’s power had cracked the very bones of the church. With an almighty groan, the ceiling buckled under the strain, heavy stones and timbers collapsing in slow-motion—the church itself bowing to Julien’s fury.

Cinn watched on, breathless and awestruck. The altar was wrenched from its moorings as Julien transformed the sacred space into a tumultuous battlefield of fallen monuments and smoke. Grey ash filled the air, and that’s when Cinn realised he’d reached the part of the journey he’d been on once before, although witnessed through Béatrice’s spirit.

Where was Isabelle now? Cinn couldn’t make her out through the carnage.

“Over there,” the Isabelle beside him said, nodding to the far wall, where her twin lay crumpled, ruined. Deceased.

And there was young Julien, cradling his mother’s head on his lap.

Studying the devastation on his face reminded Cinn all too viscerally ofhisJulien’s expression, when he’d learned Cinn had seen this fragment of memory.

“My girl,” Isabelle murmured, watching her determined daughter cross the wreckage, limping.

Béatrice attempted to throw her arms around a screaming Julien. Cinn braced for what was next—Julien pushing her away, throwing her off. He grimaced anyway, witnessing it again.

“It’s all my fault!” Julien’s voice boomed through the church, desperate, ragged.

Cinn’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces, each fragment piercing his soul with the intensity of Julien’s raw anguish. The weight of Julien’s guilt and desperation was so palpable that Cinn could almost taste the chasm of grief that stretched infinitely in the face of Julien’s self-blame.The sight of Julien’s tortured expression had Cinn drowning in a suffocating wave that left him gasping, closing his eyes.

All sound blurred, then faded, sinking into a distant abyss. All that was left was a hollow silence, punctuated only by Cinn’s own breaths. A soft, tentative touch brushed his shoulder—Isabelle’s hand, warm and reassuring.

When he finally dared to open his eyes, the church was gone, replaced with darkness. Isabelle stood before him, Béatrice in her arms still, flicking a shadowy tail. The pair both looked at Cinn with a blend of solemnity and sadness.

“Don’t worry, love,” she said. “He’ll be okay.”

Cinn was rendered speechless, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the air. Isabelle seemed so certain, but Cinn’s Julien was laughably far fromokay.

“Look after him for me,” Isabelle continued, pressing a motherly kiss to his cheek. “And for her.”

Darkness encroached on the edges of Cinn’s vision, rushing inwards at breakneck speed. “Wait!” he managed to get out, but it was too late, for the void swallowed them whole.

Cinn blinked awake, stomach lurching. He felt like he’d just been spun around on a fairground ride. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dim light of the church.

The thick dust had gone, and so had the screaming. He was back in the present day, but instead of feeling relief, he found he still carried the heavy sadness instilled in him from what he’d just witnessed.

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