In a modest church, dusk slowly descended, and the faint glow of candlelight reflected off the simple tableware on the table.
The plates and bowls were made of ordinary ceramics, devoid of intricate patterns or metal decorations, giving them a plain yet practical appearance.
The setting of the church was humble, but it radiated a calm, peaceful atmosphere.
On the table, the food was equally simple: a few slices of white bread served alongside a bowl of warm meat soup.
The meat floating in the broth was from common animals—tender but lacking the rare, exquisite taste of magical beast meat.
These ingredients were typical of what common folk used to satisfy hunger rather than for any indulgence.
Nearby, a few cups of cheap red wine sat, giving off a sharp, pungent smell, clearly far removed from any refined, aged vintages.
The wine was a dark red color, with a slightly sour taste and a rough texture, almost as if reminding those present that they were not living in a world of wealth and luxury.
The table itself was made of ordinary wood, with no carvings or embellishments. Its surface bore the marks of time—scratches and worn edges.
The wood's original sheen had long faded from years of use, but the table remained sturdy and solid.
The chairs were equally plain and unremarkable.
They lacked cushions, offering only hard wooden support, making them uncomfortable to sit on. Each chair wobbled slightly and creaked with occasional squeaks.
Five priests sat silently in their respective places, leaning slightly forward, but none had yet touched their utensils.
The bread and soup remained warm on the table, but no one seemed willing to start eating.
A heavy silence hung in the air, as if the entire church was holding its breath in anticipation.
There was no conversation between them, their gazes either lowered or fixed on the food before them.
Each priest's expression told a different story, yet all seemed deeply burdened.
Father Wies' hands trembled slightly, betraying his inner anxiety, while another priest sat with hands clasped, his face calm as if lost in quiet contemplation.
Each person's brow seemed to carry the weight of their inner turmoil, while others appeared serene, as if they were completely at peace with whatever was about to unfold.
Regardless of their individual expressions, there was one thing all five shared: a palpable sense of anticipation, as though they were all waiting for the arrival of one particular individual.
The simplicity of the dinner was a direct reflection of that individual's disdain for opulence. Time stretched out indefinitely under the weight of this stifling atmosphere.
The flickering candlelight danced across the priests' faces, casting shifting shadows that deepened the mystery and tension in the room.
Every expression was cloaked in these dim lights, their true emotions veiled, as if even the air itself was oppressed by this invisible tension.
Half an hour passed without a word being spoken inside the stillness of the church, until the faint sound of carriage wheels crunching over cobblestone reached their ears.
The distinct clopping of hooves mingled with the creaking of the wooden carriage, breaking the silence like a signal that the long wait was coming to an end.
All five priests turned their gazes toward the large entrance.
The tension in the room spiked dramatically.
The church door creaked open under the force of an unseen hand, allowing the cold night wind to gust into the room.
The sudden breeze disrupted the stillness, causing the flames to flicker and cast distorted shadows along the walls, as if the room itself was responding to the imminent change.
A black-robed acolyte entered, head bowed and moving with deference, guiding Father Raphael into the church.
Father Raphael's footsteps were light yet deliberate, carrying a gravity that was impossible to ignore. His face, as ever, was calm, his brown eyes exuding a deep, profound tranquility—a stark contrast to the tension that clung to the room.
It was this serenity that only served to heighten the suffocating atmosphere inside the church.
As the candlelight flickered, the oppressive feeling in the air seemed to grow even heavier.
The five priests seated at the table remained silent, their eyes now all fixed on Father Raphael.
Each gaze was distinct—some filled with anxiety, others tinged with fear, and still others barely concealing a quiet reverence.
They all felt it: the center of this long-awaited moment had finally arrived.
Father Raphael did not immediately take his seat.
Instead, he slowly surveyed the table, casting his gaze upon each of the priests in turn.
The tension in the air was so thick it was almost suffocating, and the silence seemed to press down on them with invisible weight.
Eventually, someone broke the unbearable stillness.
District Father Marco was the first to speak.
His position outranked that of Father Raphael.
Marco's voice was calm, but there was a deliberate ease, a casual tone to his words.
"When we arranged your accommodation earlier, there were indeed limited churches available, and the conditions were somewhat lacking.
We had no choice but to place you in that old church for the time being. I hope you aren't too upset about it."
His tone held a hint of probing and appeasement, clearly indicating that he was wary of Father Raphael's power.
His statement was both an explanation and a test, to gauge whether Raphael harbored any resentment over the situation.
Father Raphael remained composed, his expression showing no sign of disturbance.
He slowly nodded and replied with calm indifference.
"Father Marco, where I live is of little importance.
What truly matters is the faith and mission we hold in our hearts.
Whether one resides in a grand cathedral or a rundown chapel, the grace of our Lord is ever-present."
However, his words also brought an indescribable pressure to the other priests seated at the table.
Father Raphael's calm demeanor made the previous small talk seem insignificant and Marco's attempt at probing appear even more forced.
Marco was momentarily taken aback but quickly regained his composure, smiling as he nodded.
"You're right. Faith is indeed what we must hold onto the most."
The room once again fell into silence, with only the faint flicker of candlelight breaking the stillness.
The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension, and it seemed as if everyone's breath was being stifled by the heavy mood.
Sensing the growing awkwardness, Father Philips cleared his throat and broke the silence with a light cough.
"The soup is getting cold.
Father Raphael, why don't you take a seat and try the soup we've prepared?"
A warm smile crossed his face as he added, "I've heard that Father Raphael was born in Stormhaven."
"If the meat soup isn't to your liking, we also have some of Stormhaven's specialty seafood soup.
Perhaps that would suit your taste better," Father Philips added with a tone of friendliness and a clear intent to ease the tension in the room.
His words carried a deliberate attempt to lighten the atmosphere, clearly hoping that the gathering wouldn't be marred by the growing unease.
He knew that every word now had to be carefully measured—Father Raphael's attitude was of crucial importance to them all.
Father Raphael cast a calm glance at the meat soup and then at Father Philips, maintaining his composed expression.
He smiled slightly and, in his usual tranquil voice, responded, "Thank you for your kindness, Father Philips.
Whether it's meat soup or seafood soup, as long as it's received with gratitude, all food is a blessing."
His simple words conveyed his detachment from material concerns, as if what truly mattered to him was not the food itself, but the faith and peace within.
Though this response helped alleviate some of the tension, it also reinforced to the others just how composed and unwavering Father Raphael remained.
Father Philips offered a faint smile, choosing not to push the conversation further, and instead gave a small nod, inviting Father Raphael to sit.
Under the watchful eyes of the group, Father Raphael calmly took his seat, his movements graceful and measured, seemingly unaffected by the tension that hung in the air around them.