A cool tremor of dawn light crept through the narrow slit of Elias's cell window. He stirred, the stiffness in his jaw a dull ache, not the searing throb of the night prior. Perhaps it was the balm Brother Gareth had pressed into his hand, a sweet-smelling unguent from the infirmary, or simply the slow march of time. A pale violet bruise bloomed beneath his left eye, but the swelling had receded. He could almost pretend he had merely stumbled against a stone lintel. It was, at least, something he could endure without drawing undue attention.
He rose, performing his morning devotions with a mechanical precision. Each prayer felt like sand sifting through his fingers, leaving no imprint on his soul. The familiar chants echoed hollowly in the quiet cell. His heart remained a bruised thing, a fluttering bird trapped in his ribs.
Scriptorium air felt heavy, stagnant with unspoken words as Elias entered later that morning. The usual murmur of parchment turning and quill scratching was muted. Low, tense whispers passed between initiates gathered for their morning lessons. A knot tightened in Elias’s stomach. He could feel eyes, sharp and judgmental, follow his every hesitant step towards his usual alcove.
Scanning the rows, Elias instinctively sought out Kael. Dread coiled tighter. Kael arrived just as the Arch-Prelate’s bell chimed, signifying the commencement of study, narrowly avoiding a reprimand. His steps faltered near the entrance.
Elias stopped breathing. The sight of Kael's face stole his breath, erasing any lingering satisfaction from his own lesser injury. Kael's lower lip was split, a dark scab forming, and one eye was swollen almost shut, a grotesque purple bloom marring his youthful features. An acid wave of guilt washed over Elias, scalding his throat. How could he have harbored such petty, vengeful thoughts? The memory of his foolish hope for Valerius’s remorse now mocked him, a bitter, metallic taste on his tongue.
Kael's gaze darted around the scriptorium, settling, for a fleeting moment, on Elias. His eyes widened, a flicker of raw fear, before he flinched. He quickly averted his head, shuffling to his assigned place at the farthest, most shadowed end of the room, far from Elias. The shame was a physical weight, pressing down on Elias’s chest.
What did Kael see? Elias’s stomach clenched. A cold shiver ran down his spine. Valerius, seated nearer the central lectern, was staring at him, his expression a mask of icy contempt. That venomous gaze held Elias captive, a silent, chilling threat.
He wished he had simply feigned illness, remained in his cell. Regret, sharp as a shard of glass, pierced through him. Every breath felt labored.
Kael, who had once sought Elias’s quiet counsel during scripture readings, now meticulously avoided him. During the intervals between devotions, he vanished from the common halls. At communal meals in the refectory, Kael was always positioned near Valerius, head bowed, never meeting Elias's eye.
Elias found himself breaking bread with Gareth. A strange compulsion pricked at him, an urge to seek out Kael and Valerius, but he knew he wouldn't. He admitted, with a heavy heart, a profound fear of what further degradation he might witness.
Surely Valerius wouldn't be tormenting Kael again, not so openly… Would he? It was not his concern, he told himself, yet Kael's shattered face haunted his thoughts, refusing to be dismissed.
Gareth, ever oblivious to Elias’s internal storm, chattered on, his voice a balm of normalcy. “The Arch-Prelate’s sermon yesterday felt particularly dense, didn’t it? I nearly choked on my morning porridge.”
“You seemed perfectly content sharing consecrated wine afterwards,” Elias murmured, picking at a crust of stale bread.
“A brother has to endure, Elias. I merely presented a façade of piety.” Gareth winked, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Consecrated wine is for the soul, after all.”
Elias gave Gareth’s leg a light kick beneath the refectory table. Gareth merely chuckled, rubbing his chin with a mock-sheepish expression. Could that really be genuine? Elias doubted it.
---
Life possessed a cruel, unexpected trajectory. Elias had never intended to forge a bond with Gareth. Indeed, Gareth’s boisterous nature and irreverent humor had once grated on him. Yet, here he was, seeking Gareth’s company as a fractured man might seek shelter from a gale.
Gareth’s easygoing nature and often flippant remarks held a curious power. They prevented Elias from drowning entirely beneath the crushing weight of his anxieties. He had once dismissed Gareth’s qualities as shallow, lacking the gravitas of true devotion. Now, he clung to that very lightness, a lifeline to keep himself from sinking. If Valerius and Elias had remained close, he would never have recognized how desperately he needed Gareth’s steady, uncomplicated presence.
Valerius, in the weeks that followed, grew increasingly isolated from the broader circle of initiates. Sometimes, he drew Kael into hushed conversations behind the lesser shrines. Other times, a few other initiates were seen with them, their expressions strained. Whispers began to circulate. Some, like Brother Silas, flat-out refused to join Valerius, their faces etched with unease.
Elias encountered Brother Silas near the cloister garden, hastily scrambling over a low wall, feigning a search for a lost prayer bead. Silas, with a nervous laugh, confessed that Valerius had been demanding other initiates to deliver small, degrading “chastisements” to Kael, one subtle humiliation at a time. Elias felt his face contort in disgust. Silas, sensing Elias’s reaction, quickly explained his recent avoidance of Valerius’s group. He mentioned he was heading to the public baths with Brother Alaric and urged Elias not to misunderstand. Then he departed, his movements hurried.
Brother Alaric, once a fervent follower of Valerius during their novitiate, had drifted apart after being assigned to a different study cell. The separation seemed to have offered him an unexpected reprieve.
Later, Gareth and Elias walked through the cloister, sharing small, blessed candied fruits from a vendor’s cart. The sweetness spread across Elias’s tongue, a brief, fleeting solace. But beneath the sugar, a bitter knot of unease tightened in his chest. Still, he kept his expression carefully neutral, unwilling to betray his inner turmoil.
“Is it good?” Gareth asked, munching loudly on his own brightly colored confection, eyeing Elias’s with transparent hunger.
“Do you wish a taste?” Elias offered, half-teasingly, bringing the fruit, sticky with his own saliva, close to Gareth’s mouth. Gareth, without a moment’s hesitation, smirked, lifted one corner of his lip, and took a large, deliberate bite.
“Brother! Did you truly?” Elias exclaimed, startled. “That is… unsanitary. And why such a large bite?”
“It was but a single mouthful,” Gareth replied, grinning, shrugging a shoulder. The moment was oddly peaceful, a small island of calm in Elias’s churning sea of anxiety. The crisp autumn air in the cloister was clear and serene, a stark contrast to his mind.
Where were Valerius and Kael now? A few desolate corners of the Sanctuary came to mind, places where private penance or less formal discipline might occur. Elias did not seek them out. Perhaps he was too afraid of what he might find.
He tried to push Valerius from his thoughts. Yet, the harder he tried, the more acutely he realized how much space Valerius occupied within him. How long would it take to purge someone like that from his soul? How much grueling effort would it demand? He did not know. It felt like being adrift in a vast, barren desert, not just suffocating and desolate, but terrifying in its endlessness.
Sometimes, Elias retreated. Like a desert pilgrim struggling to discern faint tracks in the sand, he found himself stepping back, attempting to comprehend the unfathomable. When the burden became too overwhelming, he would occasionally speak with Gareth. And, well, that was that.
Abruptly, he asked Gareth, “Brother Gareth.”
“Yes, Elias?”
“...Do you believe flowers will ever bloom in a barren desert?” The question felt so mawkish, so profoundly vulnerable, that embarrassment flooded Elias the moment the words left his lips. He scratched his head, avoiding Gareth's gaze. Yet, Gareth did not mock him.
“They will.”
Elias waited, his breath held.
“They must. Life is wretched enough as it is.” Hearing those stark words from Gareth—a person he never thought capable of such a profound statement—made Elias realize the futility of his own desperate hope. How much time would it take to relinquish these meaningless attachments?
“...Yes. Life is wretched.”
Valerius. That worthless brother. Why did he seem so intent on crushing the loyalty Elias offered, tail-wagging like a dog every time he saw him? Valerius, who appeared to have cast aside every sacred vow of their monastic order, now came and went from the daily observances as he pleased. And always, by his side, was Kael, a ghostly shadow.
As Valerius’s behavior grew more erratic, the scriptorium buzzed with a mix of unease and hushed speculation. It became clear: Valerius’s cruelties were escalating. A simmering resentment toward him slowly began to spread throughout the initiate cells. None of it felt right.
So, when Elias saw Valerius dragging Kael by the wrist down a secluded cloister path, he stopped dead in his tracks. His gaze flickered between Valerius’s grim face and Kael’s bowed head before he finally spoke, his voice surprisingly steady.
“The Arch-Prelate is concerned for your spiritual discipline, Valerius.” It was not an apology, nor flattery, but a calculated lie. Elias’s pride, battered though it was, demanded this small assertion. Since Valerius rarely sought counsel from the Arch-Prelate, he likely wouldn’t discern the falsehood. And even if he did, Elias could always argue that, at this rate, the Arch-Prelate would indeed have plenty to worry about.
He always ensured an escape route, a small loophole for his own self-preservation.
“If penance must be given, let it fall only upon yourself. What has Brother Kael done to merit this?”
“Move, Elias.” The moment Elias invoked Kael’s name, Valerius’s gaze snapped to him, blazing with an almost feral intensity. Elias’s chest felt like it would rupture under the pressure. He loathed Valerius. And yet, pitiful, pathetic Kael stood glued to Valerius’s side, his eyes brimming with tears, looking as if he might crumble at any moment.
“Unless you wish to receive another lesson in humility, as you did last eve, step aside.”
“V-Valerius, please,” Kael stammered, his voice trembling, barely a whisper. Only then did Valerius stop speaking, his eyes fixed solely on Kael. Elias could only see the rigid line of Valerius’s back as he turned slightly away.
“The P-Precepts of Our Order… your spiritual Elder will hear of—” Elias tried again, his voice cracking.
Kael, on the verge of tears, clung to Valerius’s arm, trying to prevent him from moving. Watching that heart-wrenching scene unfold was unbearable. It was so excruciating that Elias squeezed his eyes shut.
After a moment, Valerius glanced at Kael, then turned abruptly and walked back towards the main scriptorium. For the remainder of the day, he remained within its walls, just as he had weeks prior.
---
The long-awaited day of the Grand Procession had arrived. A covered litter had been prepared for the elder Brothers, and the initiates were to walk in a solemn formation to the Shrine of the First Saint, some distance beyond the Sanctuary walls. While a few younger initiates grumbled about such a long march, most seemed eager for the chance to escape the daily routine for even a single day.
There was no need to pack provisions; they would return shortly after the evening Vespers. The Prior gave only a few cursory warnings about comportment and silence during the journey. They were not fresh novices anymore. There was no giddy excitement keeping Elias awake the night before. He viewed it as just another day of obligation – depart without a burden, return without a burden. But he had no idea that today would be the day his carefully contained frustration would finally shatter. He had always anticipated its arrival, but not so suddenly, not so brutally.
He was usually assigned a position near Valerius during such solemn occasions. After all, Elias’s meticulous hand was often needed to carry the sacred texts or chant the responses. He had not even considered where Gareth would be placed, never having participated in a procession of this magnitude alongside him.
At first, a familiar wariness pricked at Elias, a faint fear that Gareth might inadvertently claim the spot closest to Valerius. Looking back now, it felt pathetic. Neither Elias nor Gareth would end up in that coveted place.
They gathered in the central courtyard. Elias found his formation assigned near the rear of the main column, the initiates already murmuring amongst themselves. Brother Silas waved at him from a group of noisy novices, then hesitated, pointing discreetly towards Valerius’s usual spot near the Arch-Prelate’s litter.
“Brother Elias! There is a place here!”
“...Oh, yes.” Of course. He had always been the one to serve closely. But today, Elias hesitated as he approached Valerius’s designated position. He felt a small wave of relief when he saw that the spot directly beside Valerius was still empty. Swallowing hard, a flicker of determined pride ignited within him.
It was his place. His pride—the last fragile thing he clung to—compelled him to take it, even after Valerius’s brutal dismissal, even with Kael’s broken face burned into his memory.
He nervously touched the gilded edge of the Arch-Prelate’s litter for a moment, glanced around the assembling procession, and then quietly asked, “Brother Valerius… This position…”
“It is not for you, Elias. Find another place.” Before Elias could finish, Valerius cut him off, his gaze fixed impassively on the courtyard entrance. Following his line of sight, Elias saw Kael timidly making his way towards them, his eyes still downcast. Elias clenched his fists, swallowing the words that burned on his tongue.
“...Very well. As you wish.” He tried to infuse his voice with indifference, though his heart felt like it had been shredded into countless, aching pieces.
He quickly withdrew from the gilded litter and scanned the gathering. He found an empty space near Gareth’s group, directly in front of where Gareth was already standing, leaning against a cloister pillar, already dozing in the early morning sun. Relieved, Elias hurried over, settled into the spot, and spoke without waiting for a response.
“Brother Gareth. Stand with me here.”
There was no answer. Elias looked closer, realizing Gareth was indeed fast asleep, his head resting against the cold stone, bouncing gently with the movements of the forming procession. Shaking his head at Gareth’s ridiculous posture, Elias quietly took his place beside him. He leaned back against the cool stone. Across the gathering, he caught a glimpse of dark brown hair. It was Valerius’s—taller than most initiates, easily distinguished. Though he could not clearly see, he knew Kael would be at his side now. The procession began to move, a slow, mournful chant rising into the crisp air. Elias remained, eyes fixed forward, a profound emptiness echoing within him.