The morning sun filtered through the stained-glass windows of the cathedral, casting fractured colors across the stone floors. The scent of burning incense lingered in the air, mixing with the faint chill that never seemed to leave the sacred halls.
Father Andrien sat in the dining hall, staring blankly at his untouched meal. The dream—no, the nightmare—still clung to him like a shadow. Even now, he could feel the ghostly weight of unseen eyes watching him.
"Are you sure you're alright?"
Andrien blinked, pulled from his thoughts by a familiar voice. Across the table, Father Michael sat with a concerned frown, his hands wrapped around a cup of tea. Unlike Andrien, he had already finished his meal, his tray nearly empty.
"You seemed lost earlier," Michael continued. "You missed a few lines in the hymn, and your voice wavered during the sermon. That's not like you."
Andrien exhaled slowly. "I didn't sleep well."
Michael raised an eyebrow. "A nightmare?"
Andrien hesitated, fingers tightening around his fork. He hadn't planned to speak of it, but the unease weighed heavily on his chest. Perhaps sharing it would lessen its hold.
"Michael…" He lowered his voice. "Have you ever dreamt of something so vivid that it felt real?"
The other priest studied him for a moment before setting down his cup. "What did you see?"
Andrien swallowed, choosing his words carefully. "There was… a man. I never saw his face, but his presence was overwhelming. It was as if he had always known me. The statues wept, the church floor was covered in blood, and I—" He hesitated, feeling a sudden tightness in his throat. "I think I prayed to him."
Michael's expression darkened, his gaze turning serious. "You prayed to him?"
"I— No. I don't know." Andrien shook his head. "It was just a dream."
Michael leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper. "The devil never comes as a monster, Andrien. He appears as something familiar, something comforting, something you might even trust. Because he was once an angel, and angels are beautiful."
Andrien shivered despite himself.
Michael continued, "Lucifer is not merely a beast of temptation. He is persistence. The devil does not rest until he gets what he wants."
A long silence settled between them. Somewhere outside, the faint sound of the church bells echoed through the halls.
"Perhaps it was nothing," Andrien muttered. "A fleeting thought, a restless night."
Michael studied him carefully before sighing. "Even so, be careful. Darkness creeps in the smallest cracks of faith."
Andrien nodded, forcing a small, reassuring smile. "I'll pray on it."
But deep down, he knew that prayer would not be enough.
Because the dream had not faded.
And neither had the feeling hat something—someone—was still watching.
The heavy church bell rang through the stone halls, its deep chime reverberating like a warning. The sound pulled Andrien from his thoughts, grounding him in the present.
Michael stood, brushing the wrinkles from his robes. "There are many waiting for confession tonight. You should take them."
Andrien hesitated. The dream still clung to him, an unwelcome weight pressing against his chest. The last thing he wanted was to sit in the confessional, drowning in the sins of others when his own faith felt unsteady. But Michael was watching him closely, waiting.
He sighed, nodding. "I'll go."
Michael gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before leaving the dining hall. Andrien lingered for a moment before rising, pushing away the uneaten meal
The wooden confessional booth was dimly lit, the scent of aged wood and melted wax filling the enclosed space. The partition separated him from the penitent on the other side, a thin lattice of intricately carved patterns distorting their silhouette.
For the next hour, Andrien listened. A woman confessed to lies she had told her husband. A man wept over his infidelity. A young girl admitted to harboring hatred in her heart.
With each confession, Andrien gave them the same answer—penance, absolution, prayer.
But as time passed, a strange unease settled in his bones. The dream loomed over him like a specter, whispering at the edges of his mind.
Finally, the line dwindled. The last penitent had just left, and the cathedral was silent. Andrien exhaled, ready to close the booth and retire for the night.
Then—
A faint creak.
Someone had entered the opposite side.
Andrien hesitated. He hadn't seen anyone waiting. The doors had been shut.
"Confession is over for the night," he said, voice steady despite the unease curling in his stomach.
A pause.
Then—
"Father…"
The voice sent an unnatural chill down his spine. Hollow. Cold. Almost amused.
Andrien's fingers twitched against the wooden armrest. "It is late. You may return tomorrow."
A soft, distorted chuckle. "But my sins are heavy, Father. Should they not be lifted?"
Andrien swallowed, a cold bead of sweat trailing down his back. He could see the shadow through the lattice screen. The figure was motionless, yet its presence felt… wrong.
Slowly, he forced himself to ask, "What is it that weighs on your soul?"
Another silence. Then the voice lowered, smooth as silk yet dripping with something sinister.
"A debt must be paid."
Andrien's breath hitched.
He had not spoken of his dream to anyone but Michael. Yet this man—this thing—spoke as if he knew.
"The wages of sin is death, Father." The voice was closer now, pressing against the barrier as if it could slip through the wood. "And you… have sinned."
The candles flickered violently. The air turned thick, suffocating.
Andrien gripped his rosary, pulse hammering in his throat. "Who… who are you?"
The stranger on the other side exhaled softly, as if pleased.
Then, in a voice that dripped with something almost gentle, he whispered—
"You already know."
A violent gust of wind tore
through the church, snuffing out the candles.
The candle flickered. No, not flickered—it died.
Darkness swallowed the booth. The weight of unseen eyes pressed against his skin, and for the first time in his life, Andrien felt true fear.
The wood of the confessional door creaked. The pale man moved.
Lucian. He didn't need to say his name to know it.
Lucian stepped out of the booth with an unsettling grace, his movements unhurried, patient—like a predator who had all the time in the world.
Andrien barely registered that he, too, had stepped out, his breath quick and uneven as he stared at the man now standing in the vast candlelit church.
Lucian was taller than he had seemed in the confessional, his form draped in dark, regal clothing that shimmered oddly under the dim church lights. His very presence felt wrong, as if the air recoiled around him. As he stepped forward, the air grew heavier, colder, suffocating with something Andrien could only describe as unholy.
The church groaned.
And then—the statues began to weep.
A sharp gasp caught in Andrien's throat. The stone figures lining the cathedral's walls—the Virgin, the saints, even Christ himself—tilted their heads ever so slightly, their cold eyes brimming with dark, thick tears. The sound of slow, anguished weeping echoed through the halls, a sorrowful hymn that did not belong to the living.
Andrien's breathing hitched. His knees threatened to buckle.
Lucian smiled.
A slow, cruel curve of his lips. He lifted his hand, trailing his fingers over one of the wooden pews. The moment he touched it, the wood blackened, rotting as if aged by centuries in an instant.
Then, the final horror—
The massive iron cross that hung above the altar turned upside down.
Andrien saw it happen, witnessed it with his own eyes, and yet his mind refused to process it.
His lips trembled, but he pressed his hands together, forcing his fear beneath his faith. "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy—"
"Ah, ah, Father." Lucian interrupted, voice rich with amusement. "That won't work on me. Not anymore."
Andrien did not falter. He kept praying.
Lucian stepped closer.
The air turned thick as tar, pressing against Andrien's skin, chilling his bones. But still, he did not stop.
Lucian chuckled, low and dark, before leaning in slightly.
"It's not time yet," he murmured. "But soon. Very soon."
And then, with terrifying ease, Lucian reached forward and touched him.
Andrien stiffened.
Fingertips brushed against his cheek, light as a whisper, and yet they stole every ounce of warmth from his skin. Colder than ice. Colder than the grave. The chill seeped into him, deep into his bones, a wrongness that made his breath hitch.
Lucian's thumb dragged gently over his jaw, his touch mockingly tender. "You shiver, Father." His voice was silk wrapped around a blade. "Why? Are you afraid? Or… something else?"
Andrien jerked away, heart hammering against his ribs. "Don't touch me."
Lucian only chuckled, stepping back.
"Prepare yourself, Father."
He turned, his steps eerily silent against the marble. The moment his fingers brushed against the heavy church doors, they groaned open on their own.
He paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder. The flickering candlelight cast his pale features in sharp contrast, his eyes glinting with something ancient.
"Stop resisting." His voice was softer this time, almost gentle. "You called. I answered. There is no turning back now."
The doors slammed shut behind him.
Silence.
Andrien collapsed to his knees, his body trembling as he clutched at the floor. His breath came in ragged gasps, his mind reeling, his prayers faltering.
And then—
The candles relit.
The heavy atmosphere lifted.
The weeping stopped.
Andrien lifted his gaze.
The statues stood as they always had, their faces serene, untouched by grief. The pew Lucian had blackened was whole again, polished wood reflecting the warm glow of candlelight. The massive iron cross above the altar hung properly, as if it had never moved at all.
Nothing was out of place.
Nothing had changed.
Except for the lingering cold on his skin—proof that something had touched him.
His fingers shook as he traced the spot on his cheek where Lucian had made contact.
Had it all been real?
Or had he simply gone mad?
But deep in his bones, he already knew the answer.
Andrien closed his eyes
.
He had prayed for a miracle.
But something else had answered.
And it had already claimed him.