Chapter five: The Storm Within

The rain arrived before dusk.

Not as a drizzle.

Not as a passing shower.

It descended in heavy sheets, swallowing the mountains surrounding the monastery until the world beyond its walls disappeared into a haze of gray.

Thunder rolled across the valley.

The chapel bells trembled with each distant rumble.

Inside, candles flickered against the stained-glass windows, casting ribbons of gold and crimson across the stone floor.

Seraphina knelt in the front pew.

Her prayer book rested open in her lap.

She had been staring at the same page for nearly fifteen minutes.

She hadn’t read a single word.

“Guard your heart.”

The sentence echoed endlessly in her mind.

Not because it had sounded harsh.

Because it hadn’t.

Father Adrian had spoken as though he were warning her from experience…

Not judgment.

She closed the book with a quiet sigh.

Perhaps she should avoid him for a few days.

Allow whatever strange unease had settled between them to fade.

It was the sensible thing to do.

So why did the thought leave an ache in her chest?

⸻

The kitchens were unusually lively that evening.

Rain always meant more mouths to feed.

Travelers caught in the storm sought shelter within the monastery walls, and the sisters worked tirelessly to prepare enough soup and fresh bread for everyone.

Steam filled the air.

The scent of rosemary and roasted garlic drifted through the room.

Seraphina stirred a large iron pot while Sister Amelia kneaded dough beside her.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today.”

Seraphina looked up.

“I have?”

“You usually hum while you cook.”

She hadn’t even noticed.

“I suppose I’m just tired.”

Amelia smiled knowingly but said nothing.

Just then, the heavy kitchen doors opened.

A gust of cold wind swept inside.

Father Adrian entered, rain dripping from the shoulders of his cassock.

His dark hair was damp, strands falling loosely over his forehead.

Several soaked blankets rested in his arms.

“We have six travelers,” he said. “Three adults. Two children. An elderly man with a fever.”

Mother Superior nodded immediately.

“We’ll prepare the guest quarters.”

“I’ve already lit the fireplaces.”

Of course he had.

Seraphina found herself watching him again.

Always one step ahead.

Always anticipating what others would need before they asked.

He noticed her gaze only briefly.

Their eyes met.

For the smallest fraction of a second…

Something shifted.

Not awkwardness.

Recognition.

Then, almost instantly, he looked away.

Returning to work as though nothing had happened.

Her stomach tightened.

Maybe avoiding him wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d imagined.

⸻

By nightfall, the storm had become violent.

Wind battered the monastery’s ancient windows.

Branches scraped against the stone walls.

Lightning illuminated the chapel for brief, ghostly moments before darkness reclaimed it.

Most of the guests had retired.

Only Father Adrian remained awake.

Seraphina discovered him in the infirmary, seated beside the elderly traveler.

The old man’s breathing had become steadier.

Adrian quietly changed the damp cloth resting across his forehead.

“You should sleep,” Seraphina whispered from the doorway.

He glanced toward her.

“So should you.”

“I could say the same.”

A faint smile touched his lips.

“You could.”

She stepped inside.

“I brought tea.”

She held up two steaming cups.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d had any.”

For a moment, he simply looked at her.

Then he accepted one.

“…Thank you.”

Their fingers brushed.

It lasted no more than a heartbeat.

Yet warmth shot unexpectedly through Seraphina’s hand.

She quickly withdrew it.

Neither of them acknowledged what had happened.

Instead, they stood beside the sleeping traveler, sipping tea in silence.

The rain filled the pauses between them.

Finally, Adrian spoke.

“My mother used to make tea like this.”

The words surprised even him.

Seraphina looked over.

“You’ve never spoken about your family.”

“I know.”

Another silence.

“I don’t remember much anymore.”

“You don’t?”

“Time has a cruel way of stealing ordinary memories first.”

He stared into his cup.

“I remember battles more clearly than birthdays.”

The confession settled heavily between them.

“You loved her,” Seraphina said softly.

His jaw tightened.

“…Very much.”

“And your father?”

“I wanted to become him.”

She smiled gently.

“Was he a priest?”

Adrian let out the quietest laugh she’d ever heard.

It was almost impossible to catch.

“No.”

He looked toward the rain-lashed windows.

“He would’ve laughed at the thought.”

Something in his expression changed.

Not sadness.

Longing.

As though he were seeing someone who had been gone for many years.

“What was he?”

Adrian didn’t answer immediately.

When he finally did…

His voice was barely audible.

“A good man.”

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Seraphina wanted to ask another question.

She didn’t.

She sensed the invisible wall rising again.

The one he carefully rebuilt whenever he wandered too close to the past.

⸻

A deafening crack split the night.

The entire monastery shook.

One of the younger sisters screamed somewhere down the corridor.

“The bell tower!” someone shouted.

Adrian was already moving.

He set down his untouched tea and hurried into the storm.

“Father!” Seraphina called after him.

He didn’t stop.

Without thinking…

She ran after him.

The rain drenched her within seconds.

Wind whipped violently through the courtyard.

A large oak branch had crashed into the side of the old bell tower, splintering part of the wooden staircase leading upward.

Several frightened novices stood below, frozen in place.

“The bell rope!” one cried.

“It snapped!”

Lightning flashed overhead.

Another loud crack echoed through the valley.

The damaged staircase groaned.

Adrian immediately began directing everyone.

“Move back.”

The sisters obeyed.

All except one.

A young novice—barely sixteen—stood near the broken steps, crying.

“My rosary…”

It had fallen halfway up the staircase.

She took a hesitant step toward it.

“Don’t!” Adrian ordered.

Too late.

The rotten wood gave way beneath her.

She screamed.

The staircase collapsed.

Without hesitation, Adrian lunged forward.

He caught her wrist just as she slipped through the broken railing.

For one terrifying moment…

Both of them hung suspended above the jagged stone below.

“Father!”

Seraphina’s heart stopped.

Rain made everything slippery.

The remaining wood creaked ominously beneath Adrian’s weight.

The novice sobbed uncontrollably.

“I-I’m slipping!”

“No,” Adrian said through gritted teeth.

“You’re not.”

His arm trembled under the strain.

Seraphina ran forward, dropping to her knees.

She grabbed the girl’s other arm.

“Hold on!”

Together, they pulled.

The staircase groaned again.

Then…

With one final effort…

They dragged the novice onto solid ground.

All three collapsed into the mud.

For several seconds…

No one spoke.

Only the rain.

The novice burst into tears, clinging to Seraphina.

Adrian remained on one knee.

Breathing hard.

His left sleeve had torn open against the splintered wood.

Fresh blood trickled down his forearm.

Beneath it…

The old scars she’d seen before stretched across his skin.

Some pale.

Some jagged.

And one…

One looked strangely different.

Not the slash of a sword.

But a perfect circle, burned into the flesh.

A brand.

Adrian noticed where her eyes had gone.

His expression changed instantly.

The softness vanished.

He pulled the torn sleeve down so quickly it was almost violent.

For the first time…

Fear crossed his face.

Not fear of the storm.

Not fear of death.

Fear of being seen.

Before Seraphina could ask what the mark meant, Mother Superior’s voice rang across the courtyard.

“Inside! Everyone, now!”

The moment was broken.

But as Seraphina followed the others back into the monastery, one thought refused to leave her.

Scars told stories.

A brand…

Told of someone who had once belonged to something.

Or someone.

And whatever Father Adrian had escaped…

It clearly had not forgotten him.

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