Chapter three: The Shepherd

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.

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***