Chapter 7 Elior
Elior
Walking the edge of the compound used to be a quiet thing, a time for me to connect with the Light and clear my mind.
I used to love the stillness of it—the rustle of the dry grass, the morning sun warming the back of my neck.
But now… now there was Jace.
And I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t different. I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t different.
Every morning for the past few days, he’d followed me out here, giving me a minute by myself before he caught up. And every morning, my chest would do that ridiculous fluttering thing, like a sparrow trapped behind my ribs, beating itself silly just because he smiled at me.
I shouldn’t enjoy it this much.
I knew that.
Father hadn’t given explicit permission for us to walk together. Members weren’t supposed to speak freely with me unless he said so—not even the new ones, especially not the new ones. But… well…
Somebody had to have seen us by now.
There were always eyes in the compound, always someone tidying the grounds or moving between tasks.
No one had stopped us. No one had whispered a warning.
And Father hadn’t called me in. He hadn’t scolded me.
He hadn’t frowned in that quiet, disappointed way that made my stomach twist in painful knots.
So maybe… maybe it was fine.
Maybe the Light wanted Jace to have someone to help him settle in.
And if the Light wanted it, then Father would allow it. That was how things worked.
At least, that was what I kept telling myself as I walked along the outer fence line, kicking at a small rock with the toe of my sandal.
The early sun flickered between the clouds, catching on the fence.
I tried to focus on the rhythm of my steps, the steady inhale and exhale, the whisper of the Light at the back of my mind.
But all I could really think about was Jace’s laugh—that low, warm sound he made whenever I said something he found amusing. Or the way he’d walk just slightly slower than he needed to, matching my pace without making it obvious.
Or how he looked at me.
No one had ever… looked at me like that before. It felt like he was actually paying attention, like he wanted to hear what I had to say.
Sometimes Jace would look at me, and it made my whole face go hot. It made me feel… fluttery, lightheaded.
It made me feel like maybe I wasn’t just the Vessel—maybe I was something soft and normal and worth noticing.
I pressed my fingertips to my warm cheeks, trying to chase the color away, and let out a small breath.
It probably didn’t mean anything. Jace was friendly.
Kind, even. He welcomed me into conversation without hesitation, and maybe that was just because he hadn’t grown up here.
He didn’t know how careful we were supposed to be about roles.
He didn’t know how much he could get in trouble for talking to me.
But he didn’t mean anything bad by it. He was just curious—about the compound, about the Light, about Father’s teachings. And wasn’t it my job to guide the members? To help them understand?
Yes. Yes, that was right. That was good. The Light would approve.
Besides… if Father really didn’t want us talking, he would’ve stopped it.
So I lifted my head toward the sound of approaching footsteps, and even before I saw him, my heart raced with anticipation.
Jace was coming.
And I couldn’t help smiling.
Jace fell into step beside me like he’d been meant to be there all along.
“Good morning,” he said, voice a little rough like he hadn’t quite woken up all the way yet.
My smile came too quickly. I tried—truly tried—to make it smaller, gentler, more appropriate, but my cheeks were already flushed. “Good morning, Jace.”
He tucked his hands into his robe sleeves the way some of the older members did, but it looked different on him—looser, more casual, like nothing he did could ever be stiff or ceremonial.
His hair was down today, the thick dark locks hitting just below his shoulders.
I’d never seen a man with long hair before, but it looked so good on him.
My fingers twitched at my sides, aching to reach up and touch.
“Hope I’m not interrupting you,” he said lightly, glancing at me.
I shook my head a bit too fast. “You’re not. I like having someone to walk with.”
Light above, that sounded too honest.
I cleared my throat. “I mean—it helps you get familiar with the grounds. That’s… good. Yeah.”
His lips quirked. I looked away quickly, fighting the color returning to my cheeks.
We walked a few steps in comfortable quiet before he asked, “So… I wanted to ask. The discipline stuff you mentioned yesterday. You didn’t get to finish explaining it.”
“Oh.” My fingers curled around the fabric of my sleeve. “Right. That.”
“Only if you feel like talking about it,” he added quickly.
“It’s not a secret,” I said, eager to reassure him. “Discipline is… one of the ways we stay aligned with the Light.”
He hummed thoughtfully. “What kind of discipline?”
“Different kinds,” I said, trying to remember how Father explained it. “There’s spiritual discipline, like fasting or silence. Or emotional discipline—training yourself not to give in to fear or pride or anger.”
“And… physical?” Jace asked gently.
I noticed the careful edge in his tone. “Yes. Sometimes Father uses physical correction. Only when necessary, though.” I glanced at him, worried he might misunderstand. “It’s never meant to be cruel. It’s to keep us on the right path.”
Jace’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “And who receives the… correction?” he asked.
“Anyone can,” I said. “Even Father, once, many years ago. He let the Inner Circle correct him to show humility.” I smiled softly at the memory, even though I hadn’t been alive for it—it was a story I’d been told. “No one is above the Light.”
“And you?” His voice dipped. “Do you ever get corrected?”
My steps faltered. Not because the question frightened me—I wasn’t afraid to answer—but because it made my stomach twist in a strange, fluttery way. No one asked me things, especially not about myself.
“I… sometimes,” I admitted. “Only when I disappoint Father. But—but he doesn’t choose to physically discipline me. He says that’s not what I need.”
“Does it happen often?” He kept his voice calm, gentle.
I shook my head quickly. “No. Not often. I try very hard to be good.”
The breeze brushed past us, rustling the tall grass and the nearby corn stalks. I kept my gaze forward, but I could feel him looking at me—could feel the air charge between us like a held breath.
“But if you disappoint him…?” he pressed, voice even softer now.
I shrugged. “He corrects me. He leads me back to the right path.”
There was silence for a moment long enough that I risked a glance.
Jace’s mouth was set in a thoughtful line. Not angry, not upset, just… focused. Like he was piecing something together in his mind, then he looked at me fully, and his expression softened. “Thanks for explaining all that, Elior. You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” I said, and I couldn’t help the shy smile tugging at my lips. “But I don’t mind talking to you.”
His eyes heated in a way that made my chest feel too small for my heart.
And when he asked another question—something about our younger members, I think—I answered it eagerly, walking a little too close, glowing a little too brightly.
As we walked a little farther, my voice getting more use than it had in years, I felt comfortable in a way I never did with anyone except Father.
And then, suddenly, something flickered in my memory.
“Oh—” I stopped mid-step. “Confession is tonight.”
Jace blinked, raising a brow and turning toward me. “Confession?”
“Yes.” I nodded, smoothing a wrinkle in my robe. “It happens every ninth evening, or in the morning of the tenth day, if we’re too busy. Have they told you what to expect yet?”
He shook his head. “Not really. I’ve just heard the word tossed around. Figured it was like… a special prayer service or something.”
“Oh, no.” I shook my head harder, happy to help him understand. “It’s not like the morning or evening prayers. It’s more private.”
His brows lifted a little, encouraging me to keep going. “How private?”
“Well…” I felt my cheeks warm, not because it was embarrassing, but because the role still made me nervous sometimes. “I sit in the Seat of Light in the chapel—”
Jace clarified, “The big stone chair up front?”
“Yes.” My shoulders straightened automatically when I said it. “I sit there, and the members come one by one. They kneel, and they tell me their sins. Or… not only sins. Sometimes just burdens. Fears. Things that make it hard for them to feel the Light.”
“And you… listen?” he asked, voice a touch lower.
“Yes. I listen.” I glanced toward the chapel even though we were nowhere near it. “And I take on whatever’s weighing on their spirit.”
A soft breeze brushed past us. I didn’t see Jace’s reaction right away, but when I looked up, his expression was strangely unreadable.
“How long does it usually last?” he asked, calm as ever.
“Hours,” I said. “Sometimes three or four. But it’s important. Father says confession keeps the congregation healthy and united.”
Jace nodded slowly. “And everyone participates?”
“Everyone,” I said with certainty. “Even Father, sometimes. Though usually he confesses privately to the Inner Circle.”
“And me?” Jace asked lightly, but with that same deep attention he always had. “What should I expect?”
“Oh.” I blinked at him, suddenly bashful. “Well—if there’s anything in your heart that feels heavy, or anything that makes it hard for you to feel the Light, you can tell me. But you don’t have to if you’re not ready. It’s usually hard for new arrivals.”
He watched me for a long moment. Not unkindly. Just… intently. “So I come to you,” he said slowly, “sit in front of you, and tell you things no one else knows.”
“That’s the purpose,” I said, relieved he understood. “It helps people feel clean. Lighter. Closer to the Light.”
He hummed thoughtfully. “And tonight’s the night?”