Chapter 5 Elior
Elior
When the chapel emptied one by one, I stayed in the Seat of Light until Father gave the slight nod that meant I could move. My legs ached a little from staying so still, but I didn’t mind. The ache always felt right, somehow. Like proof that I’d done what I was supposed to.
Father stepped closer, resting a hand on my knee. “The Light shone so clearly tonight through you,” he said.
His praise made my chest warm. “Thank you, Father.”
He smiled faintly, though his eyes were already moving past me—toward the doorway where Brother Gabriel was talking quietly with someone new. I followed his gaze, and the moment I saw who it was, my breath caught.
Jace!
He was standing half in shadow, but I could very clearly see it was him.
And he was wearing a robe!
Father’s hand squeezed lightly before he withdrew it. “Rest well tonight, my son. Tomorrow will be another full day.”
“Yes, Father.”
He turned, walking down the aisle to the chapel door. Once there, he began speaking with Brother Gabriel, their voices low. I lingered where I was, pretending to straighten the folds of my robe while sneaking one last glance across the chapel.
Jace was listening politely to a group of the men who’d gathered to greet him—new faces always stirred curiosity here—but his expression was distant, like there was something else on his mind. The candlelight picked up the edge of his sharp jaw and the tiniest drop of sweat on his brow.
I ducked my head quickly when he turned, though I doubted he’d seen me. My heart was pounding so hard it almost made me dizzy.
Light, forgive me, but I couldn’t stop smiling.
He was really here! After days of wondering whether he’d ever come back, he had.
Father said attachment clouded the channel, that the Vessel must remain pure of personal desire and social distractions. I believed him—I always believed him—but that didn’t make the warmth in my chest any easier to smother.
He was my crush.
Maybe I could ask permission to speak with Jace. Just a short conversation. To welcome him properly, as a Brother should. After all, Father had allowed me to speak to him during his visit, so maybe it’d be okay.
My stomach fluttered at the thought.
I wondered if he remembered me, too. He probably didn’t.
But still… I hoped I got to talk to him again, if only to welcome him to the Covenant.
While I’d been deep in my thoughts, the door to the chapel had closed, leaving me alone in the quiet. I worried for a second, as I thought Father had forgotten my step stool, but it was down there—I must’ve just not noticed Father pushing it around the Seat.
Even with the assistance of the stool, getting up and down was a bit of a challenge. I scooted forward, bringing my butt to the edge of the stone chair, then grasped the edge with both hands before dropping the few inches to the stool.
The stone was cool against my palms, and for a moment I stayed there, catching my breath.
The chapel always felt different when it was empty—like the Light lingered, watching, waiting. I whispered a small prayer under my breath, thanking it for allowing me to serve again tonight.
Then I gathered my robe and stepped off the stool, careful not to let it scrape the floor.
The side door to my rooms was hidden behind a wooden panel that creaked faintly when I pushed it open.
The air on the other side was faintly scented with lavender, and the smell alone made my heart feel so full because it meant Dahlia had left me a sachet, as she sometimes did when she thought I needed my rest. I wasn’t supposed to say much of anything to her, or her to me—well, besides during confession—but I liked to think we communicated in little nonverbal ways.
I closed the door behind me and hummed as I walked through the small kitchen into my bedroom.
I lit the small lamp on my desk and hung my robe on its hook. My sleeping clothes were folded neatly on the chair—plain cotton, soft from many washings. I changed quickly, running a hand through my hair to shake loose the stiffness.
I pressed a hand to my chest as I sat on the edge of my bed and laughed under my breath. “You’re being ridiculous,” I whispered to myself.
But it didn’t make the butterflies go away.
He was really here. Jace was here, in one of the dormitories, probably settling into his bed right now, just like I was, only a few buildings away.
I wondered if he liked his room. If he’d gotten one of the newer mattresses from the last supply delivery. If he thought the robes were comfortable or too hot. If he was nervous or homesick.
I knew I shouldn’t think about those things. Father always said that my mind should be clear when I prayed, but every time I tried to imagine a blank space, Jace’s face appeared in it instead—his dark eyes, his small smile.
I stood for a moment to turn off the light, then climbed back into bed, the sheets cool against my skin. Moonlight slipped through the window, spilling onto the floorboards. I folded my hands over my chest and whispered another prayer—this one softer, more secret.
“Light, keep him safe here,” I murmured. “Help him find peace, and help me… be good.” My throat tightened around the last word.
Outside, the night insects began their quiet song, and I let my eyes close. I told myself I was only excited that a new face had joined us. That was all. That was what Father would want.
But as I drifted toward sleep, I couldn’t stop the tiny, traitorous thought that slipped in before dreams took me.
I hope I’ll see him in the morning.
* * *
The morning light streamed through the chapel windows, bathing the space in a pale early-morning glow.
I was already seated in the Seat of Light, hands resting on my knees, back straight, the cool stone pressing into me like a reminder to be still. My heart, though, didn’t seem to understand stillness. It beat far too quickly for morning prayers.
Father stood before the congregation, preaching as eloquently as he always did. I tried to listen—I really did—but my eyes kept drifting past him, to the rows of robed figures seated in the pews below.
And there he was.
Jace.
He sat near the back, his dark hair slightly messy in a low bun with a few strands hanging loose, his posture just a little too relaxed compared to the others. He looked good in the robe—too good, maybe. The simple white fabric should’ve made everyone look the same, but on him it somehow didn’t.
I quickly glanced away, pulse fluttering. I needed to focus.
But a moment later, curiosity won again, and my gaze slipped back.
Jace was looking right at me.
I froze. For a heartbeat, I couldn’t breathe. Then he smiled. Just a small one, the kind that barely curved his lips, but it felt like the whole room brightened.
Heat climbed up my neck so fast it made my ears burn. I looked down at my lap, pretending not to react. I hoped he couldn’t see the smile I tried to hide.
I told myself to be still, to be calm, to not move a muscle, but the giddiness buzzing under my skin made it feel impossible.
Father’s voice carried through the chamber, steady and sure, but his words blurred together. All I could think about was that Jace had seen me and smiled.
That meant he probably remembered me, right?!
That thought kept repeating in my mind like a secret hymn.
When Father raised his hands to conclude the prayer, everyone stood. Father surveyed the congregation briefly before turning to me. His expression softened when he looked at me, and I straightened my shoulders, channeling calm.
But inside, I was still glowing.
As everyone began to file out, I stole one last glance toward the back of the chapel. Jace was standing now, waiting for the aisle to clear. He caught my eye again, and this time, he gave me a small nod.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from smiling too much. The Light must’ve been testing me, because I’d never felt such a strong pull toward something—or someone—so human.
Sighing, I got down from the Seat and started towards my rooms. Halfway there, I changed my mind, deciding that I needed a walk.
The air outside was cool and smelled of morning dew. The compound was usually pretty quiet after morning prayers—most of the congregation was busy with chores or work.
That made it the best time for me to walk.
Father called it communing with the Light, and that’s what I liked to think of it as. Sometimes I felt closer to the Light when I was alone out here—when I could listen to the wind through the corn and let my thoughts settle like dust after a storm.
My sandals scuffed softly against the packed dirt as I followed the edge of the field. The sun was climbing higher, gilding the stalks and fences in pale gold. I breathed in deeply, trying to focus on connecting with the Light.
I was halfway around the compound when I heard footsteps behind me. Heavier than mine.
I turned, half-expecting to see one of Father’s Inner Circle coming to fetch me.
But no. It was Jace.
He was walking up the path, his robe slightly open at the neck, one hand brushing back his hair as though he’d jogged to catch up.
“Hey,” he said. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
I blinked at him, caught off guard. “You didn’t,” I said quickly, though my heart rate said otherwise. “I just—I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
He smiled faintly, the same kind one might give a skittish animal to coax it closer. “I saw you leave after prayers. Thought I’d stretch my legs too. Hope that’s alright.”
“Um… Okay.” My voice came out softer than I meant it to.
For a few steps, we walked side by side. It felt strange—wrong, almost—to have someone walking with me during this time. The air between us felt charged with something I couldn’t name.
“You do this every morning?” Jace asked after a moment.
“Not every morning, but most of them.” I glanced at him briefly, then back to the horizon. “It’s how I… commune with the Light.”
“Right.” His tone was gentle, not mocking, but there was something thoughtful behind it. “You ever get tired of walking the same loop?”
I frowned slightly, considering that. “No. The Light doesn’t change, but the way I hear it does.”
“That’s a nice way to put it.”
My fingers curled against the fabric of my robe. I wanted to ask why he was here, really here—but my stomach twisted with unease instead.
I slowed, then stopped altogether. “Brother Jace,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “Do you have permission from Father to be out here with me?”
He blinked, surprised. “Permission?”
“Yes.” I looked down, the words rushing out faster now that I’d started. “The members aren’t supposed to speak to me unless he allows it. It’s not…” I hesitated, heat rising to my cheeks. “It’s not proper.”
There was a beat of silence. I couldn’t see his face, but I felt him watching me.
“Right,” he said finally, his voice softer. “Didn’t mean to overstep.”
My throat felt tight. “You didn’t,” I said quickly. “I just… I don’t want Father to be displeased.”
He nodded once, looking out toward the fields. “You care about him a lot.”
“Of course,” I said, almost automatically. “He’s the Voice of the Light. Everything I have—everything I am—is because of him.”
Something flickered across Jace’s face, but it passed quickly. He gave a small nod. “Guess I’ll leave you to your walk, then.”
He took a few steps back, turning toward the path that led to the dorms. I told myself to keep walking, to continue my communion, but before I could, he glanced over his shoulder and said, quietly, “See you later, Elior. Have a good day.”
My breath caught.
He’d said my name.
I watched him walk away until he was nothing but a white blur, and only then did I remember to breathe again.
I stood there for a long moment after he left, the breeze tugging at the hem of my robe. I told myself to move, to keep walking, but my feet didn’t seem to want to.
Finally, I turned back toward the edge of the field, trying to shake it off, but my mind wouldn’t stop circling back to him. I shouldn’t have said anything. I shouldn’t have made him leave.
My sandals brushed over the dirt as I walked, but I barely noticed the sound. I kept replaying the moment—how easily he’d fallen into step beside me, how his voice had sounded when he said my name. I’d never heard anyone say it like that before, like someone calling out for a friend.
I let out a quiet breath, pressing my palms together. I was supposed to be clearing my mind, listening for the Light’s guidance. But all I could hear was the echo of his voice.
I wondered what we might’ve talked about if I hadn’t stopped him. Maybe he would’ve told me about his life before he came here—what the world outside was like. I used to imagine things like that when I was younger, but Father said curiosity was the first crack where darkness seeps in. Still…
Would he tell me about the places he’d been? The people he’d met? What he liked to eat, or the kind of music he listened to? Maybe he’d laugh, and I’d laugh too.
A warmth spread through my chest at the thought, and I stopped walking again, embarrassed by the smile tugging at my mouth.
This wasn’t how I was supposed to feel. I wasn’t supposed to think about someone like that.
But even as I tried to steady my thoughts, my heart kept drifting toward him like a moth to a flame.