Thank you for the support. Enjoy!

————

The bells rang long before the sun rose.

Their steady toll echoed across the monastery grounds, cutting through the darkness like a familiar prayer.

Sister Seraphina woke at the first chime.

She always did.

For a moment, she remained beneath her blankets, listening to the wind brushing against the stained-glass windows. The monastery was quiet. Peaceful.

Home.

With a soft sigh, she sat up and began preparing for the day.

The routine never changed.

Wash.

Dress.

Pray.

Work.

Sleep.

Many would have found such a life unbearable.

Seraphina found comfort in it.

There was peace in knowing exactly what tomorrow would bring.

Outside her small room, the stone corridors were already beginning to fill with movement. Sisters passed one another in silence, offering polite nods before continuing toward the chapel.

The scent of candle wax lingered in the air.

Seraphina smiled faintly.

Some things never changed.

And she liked it that way.

⸻

Morning prayer passed as it always did.

Voices rose together beneath the vaulted ceiling.

Sunlight slowly spilled through the colored glass windows, painting the stone floors with shades of gold, blue, and crimson.

Afterward came breakfast.

Then chores.

Then lessons for the village children.

The day moved forward exactly as she expected.

Until Mother Superior interrupted the afternoon meal.

The room immediately fell silent.

Every sister looked up.

Mother Superior rarely interrupted meals.

"I have an announcement."

Her calm voice carried easily through the hall.

"A new priest will be joining our monastery."

Quiet murmurs spread throughout the room.

The monastery had been without a permanent priest for months.

Most services had been conducted by visiting clergy from neighboring towns.

Mother Superior raised a hand.

The whispers ceased.

"Father Adrian Laurent will be arriving this evening. I expect everyone to extend him the same kindness and respect you would offer any guest."

A few sisters exchanged curious glances.

Seraphina simply lowered her eyes and returned to her meal.

The arrival of a priest hardly seemed important.

People came and went from the monastery all the time.

Soon enough, he would simply become another part of daily life.

Nothing more.

⸻

By evening, rain had begun to fall.

Heavy drops tapped against the windows while dark clouds swallowed the last traces of daylight.

Seraphina sat in the monastery library, carefully returning books to their shelves.

The library was her favorite place.

Quiet.

Warm.

Safe.

A place where she could lose herself for hours among stories and scripture.

Thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance.

She glanced toward the window.

The storm was growing stronger.

A knock sounded from downstairs.

Then voices.

The new priest had arrived.

Curiosity briefly tugged at her thoughts before she returned to her work.

It wasn't her place to greet visitors.

Someone else would handle that.

A few moments later, footsteps echoed somewhere beyond the library door.

Slow.

Measured.

Unfamiliar.

The sound passed.

Then disappeared.

Seraphina didn't think much of it.

Outside, the storm continued.

Inside, the monastery remained warm and peaceful.

The library door creaked open.

Seraphina looked up.

One of the younger sisters stepped inside.

"There you are."

"Am I needed somewhere?" Seraphina asked.

The younger sister nodded.

"Mother Superior asked me to find you. She needs help preparing the guest room."

Seraphina carefully closed the book in her hands.

"For Father Adrian?"

"Yes."

The younger sister smiled.

"Apparently the storm delayed him for hours."

Together, they made their way through the corridors.

Rain battered the monastery windows.

The wind howled outside.

By the time they reached the guest quarters, Mother Superior was already there arranging fresh linens.

"Ah, Sister Seraphina."

Mother Superior offered a grateful smile.

"Would you fetch another blanket from storage? The nights have grown colder."

"Of course."

Seraphina disappeared down the hall and returned several minutes later carrying a folded wool blanket.

As she rounded the corner, voices drifted from the entrance hall.

One belonged to Mother Superior.

The other was unfamiliar.

Male.

Deep.

Calm.

She couldn't make out the words.

Only the sound.

Without meaning to, she glanced toward the entrance.

Several sisters had gathered nearby to greet the new priest.

Curiosity tugged at her.

Only for a moment.

Then she continued walking.

The blanket nearly slipped from her arms as someone stepped around the corner.

Startled, she halted.

The other person stopped as well.

For a brief second, neither moved.

A man stood before her dressed in black clerical clothing dampened by rain.

Water still clung to the ends of his dark hair.

He looked equally surprised by the near collision.

"My apologies, Sister."

His voice was polite.

Measured.

Seraphina lowered her gaze immediately.

"No, Father. It was my fault."

A small silence followed.

Then he stepped aside.

"You were carrying enough without needing to avoid me as well."

Heat crept into her cheeks.

How embarrassing.

She offered a quick nod.

"Thank you, Father."

Without another word, she continued down the hallway.

The encounter lasted no more than a few seconds.

By tomorrow, she would likely forget it happened.

And judging by the priest's expression, he already had.

Outside, thunder rolled across the hills.

Morning arrived beneath a veil of gray clouds.

Rain still clung to the monastery windows, leaving silver trails across the glass.

Sister Seraphina sat in the chapel's front pew, hands folded neatly in her lap as the final prayer echoed through the sanctuary.

The previous evening's storm had passed.

Life had returned to normal.

Or so she thought.

The sisters filed from the chapel in orderly silence.

As they disappeared into the corridor, Mother Superior's voice called out.

"Sister Seraphina."

She stopped immediately.

"Yes, Mother?"

"I have a task for you."

Mother Superior approached with a small stack of worn books balanced in her arms.

"Father Adrian has been cataloging the library. Unfortunately, our records are years out of date."

She handed Seraphina the books.

"I would like you to assist him."

Seraphina blinked.

"Me?"

"You spend more time in that library than anyone else."

A small smile touched Mother Superior's lips.

"Who better?"

There was no refusing.

"Of course, Mother."

⸻

The monastery library occupied the oldest wing of the building.

Towering shelves stretched toward the ceiling.

Dust danced through shafts of sunlight.

The scent of parchment and old leather lingered in the air.

Seraphina had always loved it here.

It felt untouched by time.

She stepped inside.

At first, she thought she was alone.

Then she noticed him.

Father Adrian stood atop a ladder near the back of the room.

A thick book rested beneath one arm while several more occupied the shelf beside him.

He seemed entirely absorbed in his work.

For a moment, Seraphina considered quietly leaving.

Unfortunately, the ladder chose that exact moment to creak.

Adrian glanced down.

Their eyes met.

Only briefly.

"Good morning, Sister."

His voice carried easily through the silence.

Seraphina lowered her gaze.

"Good morning, Father."

Adrian descended from the ladder.

"I assume Mother Superior sent you."

"Yes."

A pause.

"She said you needed assistance."

A faint sigh escaped him.

"Then I suppose I owe her thanks."

That caught Seraphina off guard.

She looked up.

Father Adrian was studying a stack of dusty records with mild annoyance.

"The previous catalog makes no sense."

He held up a page.

"Theology is mixed with history. History is mixed with poetry. Someone filed three books on gardening under sacred texts."

For the first time, she saw something unexpected.

Humor.

Dry.

Subtle.

But unmistakably there.

A reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

"That would be Sister Amelia."

Adrian raised an eyebrow.

"Gardening?"

"She claimed flowers bring people closer to God."

The corner of his mouth twitched.

Not quite a smile.

But close.

"An interesting argument."

The silence that followed felt surprisingly comfortable.

Together, they began sorting books.

Hours passed.

Occasionally exchanging a word.

Sometimes a question.

Nothing more.

Nothing important.

Yet Seraphina found herself noticing things.

Father Adrian worked with remarkable patience.

He handled even the oldest books with care.

He rarely sat down.

And despite his reserved nature, he listened attentively whenever someone spoke.

It was strange.

The sisters had spent all morning speculating about him.

Yet the man before her seemed entirely ordinary.

Not intimidating.

Not mysterious.

Just...

Human.

The realization unsettled her more than she expected.

⸻

By afternoon, a growing pile of organized books occupied the center table.

Father Adrian set down another volume.

"We may actually finish before winter."

Seraphina laughed softly.

The sound surprised them both.

Adrian looked up.

For a brief moment, genuine amusement crossed his face.

Then the library doors burst open.

Sister Amelia rushed inside.

Out of breath.

"Father! Sister Seraphina!"

Both turned toward her.

Amelia struggled to catch her breath.

"The village—"

Her face had gone pale.

"Someone's been injured."

The library instantly fell silent.

The library fell into stunned silence.

Sister Amelia stood in the doorway, chest rising and falling with frantic breaths. Her habit was damp with rain, strands of silver hair clinging to her flushed face.

“Someone’s been injured,” she repeated, her voice trembling. “A cart overturned near the western bridge. One of the villagers… he’s losing so much blood.”

The words had barely left her mouth before Father Adrian was already moving.

He didn’t ask questions.

Didn’t hesitate.

He stepped past Seraphina, gathering a leather satchel from atop one of the shelves as though he had prepared for this moment long ago.

“Bandages,” he said calmly.

Sister Amelia blinked.

“W-what?”

“The linen bandages. Alcohol. Needles.” His voice remained even, steady. “Bring them to the infirmary.”

The urgency in his tone snapped everyone into motion.

Seraphina hurried after Amelia, collecting whatever supplies she could find.

Within minutes, the monastery’s small infirmary was crowded.

The injured villager lay across one of the narrow beds, his wife clutching his hand while tears streamed down her face.

“There wasn’t enough time…” she sobbed. “The wheel… it collapsed…”

Seraphina’s stomach twisted.

Blood soaked the man’s shirt, dripping steadily onto the wooden floor.

One of the younger sisters covered her mouth.

“I-I’ll fetch the physician.”

“There isn’t time,” Adrian interrupted.

He stepped forward, rolling the sleeves of his cassock to his forearms.

The room fell still.

“Boil water.”

The command was quiet.

Absolute.

No one questioned him.

A kettle was already being placed over the fire.

Adrian knelt beside the man.

His hands moved with astonishing precision.

He examined the wound only once before reaching for a clean cloth.

“Pressure.”

Seraphina immediately understood.

She pressed the folded linen firmly against the wound while Adrian prepared a curved needle and silk thread.

The villager groaned in agony.

“It hurts…”

“I know.”

Adrian’s voice softened.

“But I need you to stay awake.”

The man nodded weakly.

Without another word, Adrian began stitching.

His movements were practiced.

Confident.

Not rushed.

Every stitch landed exactly where it needed to.

The room watched in complete silence.

Even Mother Superior, who had quietly entered moments earlier, simply observed.

Seraphina couldn’t take her eyes off him.

This wasn’t luck.

This wasn’t knowledge learned from books.

This was experience.

Years of it.

He anticipated every movement before it happened.

When the bleeding worsened, he had another cloth ready.

When the man’s breathing became uneven, he adjusted him before anyone else noticed.

It was almost…

Instinct.

Minutes passed.

Finally…

The bleeding slowed.

The room collectively released a breath it hadn’t realized it had been holding.

The villager’s wife collapsed into tears.

“You saved him…”

Adrian removed his bloodstained gloves and simply shook his head.

“No.”

He adjusted the blanket over the unconscious man.

“His body chose to survive.”

His words carried no pride.

Only quiet humility.

Seraphina stared at him.

How could someone speak so gently after witnessing so much pain?

—

The infirmary slowly emptied.

The injured man slept peacefully.

His wife remained by his bedside.

Outside, rain tapped softly against the monastery windows once more.

Seraphina gathered the stained cloths into a basket.

As she reached the doorway, she noticed Adrian standing alone beside the basin.

His sleeves were still rolled back.

He washed his hands in silence.

The water slowly turned crimson.

He scrubbed harder.

Again.

And again.

Until his knuckles reddened.

As though he couldn’t wash enough.

Seraphina stepped closer.

“You saved his life.”

The words escaped before she could stop them.

Adrian didn’t look at her.

His hands remained beneath the water.

“…Today.”

Just one word.

Yet it sounded unbearably heavy.

Seraphina frowned.

“What do you mean?”

Silence.

Only the sound of water dripping from his fingertips.

Finally, he spoke.

“There are people whose faces never leave you.”

His reflection stared back from the basin.

“No matter how many years pass.”

His voice was barely above a whisper.

“No matter how many prayers you say.”

Seraphina didn’t know how to answer.

She had never heard Father Adrian speak about himself before.

Not once.

The room felt strangely smaller.

Quieter.

As if something unseen had entered between them.

Then…

His sleeve slipped lower as he reached for a towel.

A scar stretched across his forearm.

Long.

Pale.

Jagged.

It wasn’t the scar of an accident.

It was clean.

Precise.

The kind left behind by steel.

Her breath caught.

Another scar crossed his wrist.

And another disappeared beneath the sleeve of his cassock.

Not one.

Several.

Old.

He noticed where she was looking.

Without a word, Adrian lowered his sleeve.

The motion was calm.

Almost practiced.

As if he’d done it a thousand times before.

“I’m sorry,” Seraphina said quietly. “I didn’t mean to stare.”

He fastened the cuff.

“There is nothing to apologize for.”

“But…”

She hesitated.

“You’ve been hurt.”

For the first time since she’d met him, Adrian smiled.

It wasn’t warm.

Nor bitter.

Just… tired.

“Everyone has.”

He picked up the empty basin.

“I simply have the scars to prove it.”

He walked past her.

The scent of cedar and candle smoke lingered in the air long after he had gone.

Seraphina remained where she stood.

Her fingers curled tightly around the basket of bloodstained cloths.

A priest.

A healer.

A man with the scars of a soldier.

Nothing about Father Adrian made sense anymore.

And for reasons she couldn’t explain…

She wanted to know who he had been before he became a man of God.