You walk through the stone halls of the chapel, the air cold and quiet, except for the whispers. You hear the acolytes whispering among themselves.

He’s been in the confessional for hours again.

No, he’s writing hymns.

Something like that happens all the time, I’m tired of Father Luther spending hours with his books.

You roll your eyes.

Typical Martin.Raging against indulgences in public and indulging in reading and music every night.

Someone grabs your arm. You here again? It’s a young cleric. Father Luther is busy, he doesn’t want to be disturbed.

You step back and face the man.

“I have every right to visit him!" You think.

You move toward the room. There Martin Luther, sitting at a table, with a book in his hands, looks at you.

You shouldn't be here, he says nonchalantly. I'm preparing for a dispute with a priest who defends indulgences.

He notices something in you then and stands up.

You look nervous. What happened?