The air inside the church was thick with the scent of aged parchment and melting wax. Sunlight streamed through the high stained-glass windows, painting the stone floor in fractured hues of gold, red, and violet. The steady flicker of candlelight gave the sanctuary a sense of stillness, a place untouched by the world outside.
Father Andrien sat quietly among the other priests, hands folded neatly in his lap, his mind half-focused on the sermon that had concluded minutes ago. Today was an ordinary day—or at least, it should have been.
At the pulpit, Father Gabriel, one of the elder priests, cleared his throat. His voice was as steady as ever, yet there was an unusual warmth to it, a tone reserved for rare occasions.
"We are blessed today," Gabriel began, "to welcome a new brother into our sacred halls."
Andrien lifted his gaze as the priest gestured towards the entrance. A man stood there, clad in the same dark robes they all wore—yet somehow, he did not seem the same.
Lucian.
His features were sharp yet refined, his skin pale in the glow of the afternoon sun. His hair was a deep shade of chestnut, neatly combed, but there was something almost too precise about it. And then there were his eyes—a shade of gray so cold they looked almost silver, framed by thick lashes that made them all the more piercing.
There was nothing outwardly strange about him, and yet, as he stepped forward with measured grace, Andrien felt something stir in his chest.
Unease.
Father Gabriel turned to the others. "Brother Lucian comes to us with a heart devoted to God. He has traveled far and seen much, and now he seeks to serve within our church."
Lucian gave a humble nod, lowering his gaze as if in reverence. "It is an honor," he said, his voice smooth, deep, carrying a gentleness that seemed carefully placed.
Andrien wasn't sure why that unsettled him.
Gabriel gestured for Lucian to step forward. "Brother, would you do us the honor of leading today's closing scripture?"
Lucian inclined his head, stepping toward the altar. He reached for the Bible, his fingers grazing over the delicate pages before stopping at a verse.
"Matthew 7:15," he murmured, lifting his gaze to the congregation. Then, with perfect clarity, he recited:
"Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves."
The words rolled off his tongue like honey, smooth, unwavering. His tone carried nothing but devotion, and yet—
Andrien saw it.
The faintest flicker of something beneath that serene smile. Something almost amused.
He swallowed thickly.
No one else seemed to notice.
---
By evening, the sanctuary was quieter, the golden glow of candlelight replacing the sun's warmth. The halls carried the soft hum of murmured prayers, the rustling of robes, and the distant chime of bells signaling the passing hours.
Andrien had spent most of the day occupied with scripture readings, tending to minor affairs within the church, and yet Lucian's presence had lingered at the edge of his mind.
So when he stepped into the courtyard for a breath of fresh air, it was almost unsurprising to see him there.
Lucian stood beneath the archway, speaking to Sister Elise, one of the nuns who had served the church for years. She was a gentle woman, known for her kindness and unwavering faith. She laughed softly at something Lucian had said, her veil swaying slightly as she turned—her eyes lighting up when she spotted Andrien.
"Father Andrien!" she called, waving him over. "Come, join us."
He hesitated. Just for a moment. But refusing would have been impolite.
Stepping forward, he felt Lucian's gaze settle on him—calm, expectant.
Sister Elise clasped her hands together. "Brother Lucian was just telling me about his journey as a priest. Did you know he spent time ministering in the northern villages?"
Andrien turned to Lucian. "Is that so?"
Lucian smiled. "Indeed. The road was long, but faith is a steady guide, wouldn't you agree, Father?"
Andrien studied him carefully. There was no fault in his words, no hesitation, and yet…
It all seemed too perfect.
Sister Elise sighed. "How wonderful to have someone so dedicated among us. The people in those villages must have been blessed to hear your words."
Lucian's smile deepened, his gaze lingering on Andrien for a beat too long before he turned back to Elise.
"I only did what any man of faith would do," he said smoothly. "To serve is an honor. To guide is a duty."
Andrien pressed his lips together.
There was nothing outwardly wrong with this conversation, and yet, he couldn't shake the way his skin prickled, the way his instincts told him something was off.
"Father Andrien," a voice called from behind him.
He turned. One of the senior priests stood at the doorway, gesturing for him to come inside.
Andrien exhaled, giving a small nod. He turned back to Elise and Lucian. "Excuse me."
As he stepped away, Lucian moved as well—brushing past him.
And that was when it hit him.
A scent. Faint, but undeniable.
Not incense. Not candle wax.
Something sharper.
Something like sulfur.
The realization struck him cold, and before he could stop himself, he glanced over his shoulder.
Lucian had already turned back to Sister Elise, speaking in that same easy, measured tone.
As if nothing had happened.
As if Andrien had imagined it.
---
That night, as he sat alone in his chamber, Andrien couldn't find peace.
Lucian had done nothing wrong. Nothing that he could call out or even explain.
And yet, he could not forget.
Not the way Lucian had smiled at the verse about false prophets.
Not the way he had spoken—so effortlessly, so perfectly, as if every word was crafted for the ears of the devout.
Not the way the scent of sulfur had clung to the air as he passed.
Andrien clenched his jaw.
It was foolish. He was being foolish.
Lucian was a priest. He had done nothing blasphemous, nothing that warranted suspicion.
And yet…
Something was wrong.
And he feared that, in time, he would come to understand exactly what it was.