The altar candles flickered, as if something invisible passed between us. And I, on my knees, felt the weight and the glory of my new burden. That was a memorable day for me. A day when I felt, for the first time, that I had surrendered my entire heart to a single Being. A day when I understood that I no longer lived for myself, but for something far greater.
I was a priest of the religion of Aurelan, the ancient and sacred Aurelanism—a faith that traversed the centuries like an underground river, invisible to the eyes of the world, but eternal in its essence. As a priest of Aurelan, my purpose was not merely to conduct rituals or repeat learned words; my purpose was to illuminate the paths of the weak, to assist those suffering in darkness, to lift those who had fallen into despair, and to remind every soul that no shadow is capable of extinguishing the flame of the Most High.
This burden was heavy, yes, but at the same time sweet—like the weight of a crown that, though made of gold, still presses against the brow. I had chosen, and I had been chosen.
Today was no different. The temple was silent, except for the soft creaking of the ancient wood and the slight tremor of the candles burning on the side altars. I found myself in the confessional, hidden behind the small wooden grate. The scent of incense still permeated the air, mixed with the distant murmur of prayers that a few faithful repeated at the back of the nave.
From the other side of the grate, a hesitant voice rose. It was someone seeking redemption, someone who had finally gathered the courage to open their heart.
— Father... I have sinned. — The voice trembled, choked with emotion. — I have sinned, and I repent from the depths of my soul. I carry this weight every day, and I no longer know if I am even worthy to enter this place.
I remained silent for a moment, listening not just to the words, but to what lay behind them: the fear, the guilt, the need to be forgiven. I had heard such confessions so many times, yet no two were ever the same. Each soul brought its own secret war. I closed my eyes. I took a deep breath. The voices that once called to me in my childhood whispered again, softer now: "Listen, guide, forgive."
Then I replied calmly:
— Son, no sin is greater than the mercy of the Most High Aurelan. Speak without fear, for confession is not a court of condemnation, but a bridge to the light.
On the other side, I heard the stifled sob of someone about to shed their own burden.
— Even if my sin is a thing of the flesh, sir... would our great Most High have mercy on me? — he asked, his voice muffled by the confessional grate.
I peered through the wooden slats, not at his face, but at the darkness before me. There was something intimate and terrible about that moment, as if the shadow were the true confidant, and not I.
— The temptation of the flesh is something to which all men, beings made of weakness, are susceptible to falling into, my son. Do not be afraid: your repentance is greater than anything. — I replied.
He hesitated, took a deep breath, and then poured out the truth like someone pulling a knife from their chest:
— For I do repent, father. I committed a huge mistake... adultery with my best friend's wife. I have a wife myself... and I have no idea what came over me that day. I don't have the slightest clue, you know? It's as if it wasn't me in that moment. I only know that I am deeply repentant, and I never want my wife to find out. What do you think I should do?
My heart grew heavy. I knew the pain of that confession: not just the sin itself, but the despair of not understanding oneself. The man sought not only forgiveness but an explanation, as if the weakness that had dominated him were a foreign spirit, something outside of him.
— Son, my mission is not to give you advice from man to man — I said, in a calm voice, even though something stirred within me. — I am here to be the guardian of your confession and the witness to your pain. The path you must follow belongs to your heart and to the Most High Aurelan. Repentance already places you before mercy. What remains is to live with truth.
On the other side of the grate, I heard a stifled sob, like the muffled cry of a child who fears being heard.
— Then... is there hope for me?
— There is always hope for those who repent. Aurelan is not a God of walls, but of bridges. Where there is repentance, there is also a path to the light.
Silence. Then, only a whisper:
— Thank you, father.
The small door on the other side of the confessional creaked, and the man's hurried footsteps echoed through the nave until they faded away. I remained alone, with the cold wood in front of me and the darkness staring at me through the grate. I breathed deeply. But for an instant, in that shadow, I had the sensation that I was not alone. As if something beyond that man's sin had entered the confessional with me.
I opened the side door and stepped out. The smell of incense seemed denser than before, almost suffocating. I knelt for a brief moment before the altar in silence before rising to move on. It was then that a voice interrupted my thoughts:
— Father Nael. — It was one of the temple workers, a young acolyte, breathless. — The High Command summons you. There is a meeting awaiting you in the Council room.
My heart tightened, as if the ancient voices of my childhood were about to speak once more. Council meetings were not common. Even less so for a priest as young as I. I took a deep breath, and the candles on the altar flickered behind me, as if reacting to the news. I followed the acolyte through the narrow corridors of the temple.
I entered the room in silence. The heavy doors closed behind me, muffling the distant murmur of the temple. The air there felt denser, as if every stone carried centuries of prayers and solemn decisions. I knelt, bowing my head.
— I ask for Your Holiness's blessing. — My voice sounded calm, though my heart pulsed steadily.
The man in front of me—one of the most respected figures in the High Command of Aurelanism—smiled slightly.
— I see you continue to be a dedicated servant to the word of the Most High. I would expect no less from the son of a priest and grandson of a former bishop.
I kept my eyes down, my head still bowed.
— I do no more than my duty.
— Lift your face, my son — he ordered in a soft but firm tone.
I obeyed. The weight of that authority's gaze met mine, and I felt again the same mixture of reverence and fear that had accompanied me since the day of my oath.
— I regret having made you come here with such urgency. — He sighed, leaning back against the arm of the carved wooden chair. — In truth, it is not a meeting, nor is it a grave matter.
— Any matter coming from Your Holiness is always important to me — I replied, my voice low but steady.
— Very well. — He interlaced his hands. — Soon, we will have a new servant in this temple. A young woman of faith, dedicated from a very early age to the life of the Most High Aurelan. I confess I have never heard anything that could tarnish her reputation; on the contrary, reports of her virtues and great deeds always reach me. It will be an honor for us to have her among these halls.
He studied me closely, as if weighing my reactions.
— She is only twenty-three years old. One year younger than you, Father Nael. Her transfer was decided by the Council; I was not given all the details, only the order that she should leave the temple where she served and come here. Whatever the reason, we have gained a valuable ally. Besides, it will be good to have young blood circulating among the columns of this sacred house. Perhaps her presence will also inspire our younger faithful to believe that they can, one day, dedicate themselves completely to the Most High.
I remained silent, waiting. He then added:
— I want you to be the one to help her adapt. Be a figure of support, offer whatever is necessary. Help her to grow strong here, as part of this family.
Bowing my head again, I replied:
— As Your Holiness wishes.
— Excellent. She will arrive later today. Set aside a little of your time to greet her, won't you? — he said with a slight wave of his hand.
— It shall be done. — I replied.
Without further instructions, he dismissed me with a gesture. I stood, bowed one last time, and left the room, feeling the weight of that authority's eyes still on my back until the door closed behind me.
As I walked through the vast corridors of the temple, admiring the beauty of the ancient columns and the landscape taking shape beyond the high windows, I heard a voice call my name.
— Father Nael.
I turned and recognized Jonathan, the young acolyte who had come earlier to warn me about the meeting.
— Jonathan — I replied in a calm tone, halting my step to listen to him.
He approached, looking a bit awkward.
— I imagine you've already heard that we'll soon have a young woman working with us.
I stared at him fixedly, without a word, letting my face reveal a certain disapproval.
— Are you still listening to conversations behind doors, Jonathan? — I asked, and I noticed he immediately looked away.
— N... no, father. — he replied, but his words sounded weak, devoid of truth.
I resumed my walk.
— You will not be able to fulfill your promise to serve the Most High if you remain tethered to these behaviors. — I said firmly. I then felt him start to walk beside me.
— Father, tell me... you grew up within this environment, right? — he asked, like someone seeking courage in the midst of their own fear.
— Yes. My father was a former priest, and my grandfather reached the rank of bishop. I never lived close to my mother, but I know she was a good woman. She was taken from me because I needed to dedicate myself to the training that would make me what I am today: a servant of the Most High Aurelan.
— Ah... — Jonathan murmured, hesitant. — I don't quite know how to say this without sounding disrespectful, but I've wondered many times how you manage to be like this... so upright. You never yield, you never show yourself to be promiscuous. Some of the young servants who pass through here are very beautiful... and, may Aurelan forgive me, it often seems like they offer themselves to you. But you have never shown any weakness.
He swallowed hard before continuing:
— Perhaps it's because I... I suffer more with this. I am an alcoholic, as you know, and I feel divided. Sometimes I falter even before the servants. One in particular... Malin... I just...
— Jonathan, you are straying from the original question. — I interrupted firmly.
— Forgive me, Father Nael. — he replied, looking down. — It's just... so many times I don't understand how you do it. I believe even in the temple where you grew up there were women, right? And you never... you never felt anything for them?
I stopped, turned to him, and said:
— When you have the desire to become someone, to give your heart entirely to that Someone... there is absolutely nothing else besides Him.
Jonathan looked at me as if my words were a burden he didn't have the strength to carry.
— Perhaps that's it... — he murmured. — Perhaps I still don't know what it means to truly surrender.
We walked in silence for a few moments. The high stained-glass windows projected colored beams over the stone floor, and the temple seemed to breathe with us. Then, almost in a whisper, Jonathan dared to ask:
— Father Nael... do you believe there are temptations that don't come from us, but from outside? As if something... pushes us toward the abyss?
The question echoed in me. I remembered the voices that had accompanied me since childhood, the strange sensation I had earlier in the confessional, as if something hidden had infiltrated there along with the penitent.
— There are temptations born of the flesh, Jonathan. — I replied slowly. — But there are others that come from places we cannot see. That is why we must keep watch in prayer, so as not to become instruments of forces we do not understand.
His eyes widened.
— So... you've felt it too?
I didn't answer. I simply started walking again, and Jonathan understood the silence as an answer.
In the dead of night, as I was concluding my beloved and sacred rosary, I was distracted by a buzz spreading through the corridors. The sound did not cease; it was like a constant hum of agitated voices that did not match the serenity of prayer at all. I sighed, closed my eyes, and tried to concentrate, but I couldn't.
I felt obliged to interrupt my prayers and stand up. I walked to the corridor, and as I stepped out, I saw several temple servants gathered, all dazed, with expressions of astonishment. I asked myself what could cause such a disturbance within the house of the Most High.
— Servant of the Lord — I called out to one of them, who seemed more perturbed than the others, almost as if he had seen a ghost.
He turned to me and, recognizing me, seemed to wake from a trance.
— Your Holiness.
— I cannot conclude my rosary with such commotion. Tell me: who is the cause of all this? I must speak with this person, for they are disrespecting the peace and calm of this consecrated house. — I spoke firmly.
The servant, however, sketched a half-smile.
— There is no culprit, Your Holiness. But... I believe you haven't yet seen the young servant who arrived today.
— Young servant? — I murmured. I recalled the meeting earlier with the High Command. — Ah, yes, I was informed she would arrive. But as far as I know, she had not been received yet.
— Well, she has arrived, father. — said the servant. — And, if I may, I believe that upon seeing her, you will understand the reason for the commotion.
I remained silent, still not understanding. But returning to my rosary was out of the question, not with that incessant buzzing. I decided, then, to head to the courtyard.
The courtyard had always been my refuge. There was a fountain there that, under the moonlight, shone like living silver. That night, to my happiness, the moon was full, pouring its light over the waters. The plants around it shimmered more than usual, as if nature itself bowed before the beauty of that night. I squeezed the rosary in my hands and thanked the Most High Aurelan for the gift of that sight.
I closed my eyes in prayer. But something—an internal breath, perhaps the voices that had guided me since childhood—urged me to open them. And when I did, I saw something I had never seen before.
She was there.
Shapely. Pure. Radiant. Words failed me to describe her. It was as if the moon itself had chosen to reflect itself no longer in the fountain, but in that human body that appeared before me.
Tall, with dark skin yet as fair as moonlight, she displayed an almost ethereal beauty. Her face had features both firm and delicate at once, and her eyes, even from a distance, seemed to hold ancient mysteries. Her hair was black as night, long and wavy, falling in wild waves over her shoulders. She was dressed in white—simple clothes but impeccable—with a veil covering part of her head and accentuating the purity of her presence even more.
She stood by the fountain, hands joined in prayer, facing the moon. There was a reverence in her countenance, a surrender so absolute that she seemed oblivious to everything around her.
And then, as if destiny had engineered that instant, our eyes met.
I stood motionless, feeling my heart accelerate, unable even to close my mouth, which parted in an astonished silence. She, serene, but with an intensity in her gaze that seemed to pierce right through me.
The world around us fell silent. The buzzing ceased. The temple, the fountain, the moon—it all disappeared. There was only her and I.
The young servant.
And in that instant, I felt that nothing would ever be the same again.