The High Priest’s chamber in Valemora Monastery was bathed in the warm flicker of candlelight, shadows dancing across the ancient stone walls. The scent of incense lingered heavily in the air, adding a solemn weight to the space. Mikhail Alvaron sat at the large wooden table, neatly arranged with royal documents and ritual notes. Several senior priests were gathered around, discussing preparations for the annual Festival of Light, a celebration marking the harvest and sanctified by the church, which would host the king and his court.

“We must ensure the main altar is immaculate and the sacred candles lit precisely on time,” said Priest Harron, wiping ink from his fingers. “This festival is not merely a celebration—it is a demonstration of our church’s authority and purity before the king and the nobility.”

Priest Lorian spoke calmly, “Every prayer and chant must be flawless. One small mistake could be seen as a bad omen for the kingdom. We cannot afford negligence.”

Mikhail lowered his gaze briefly, scanning the notes before him. “All preparations must be perfect. Young priests and novices must be retrained. No deviation from protocol is allowed. This festival represents our spiritual strength and loyalty to the crown.”

Harron nodded. “We will ensure everything is in order, sir. Holy guards will be stationed throughout the cathedral to oversee all guests and worshippers.”

Mikhail drew a deep breath, eyes briefly resting on the flickering candle flames. “The old method is safest. No improvisation. A single mistake would tarnish the church’s honor. I cannot allow failure.”

Inwardly, Mikhail thought, This festival… every ritual, every candle… everything must be flawless. Yet I feel something… different this time. Something that may test my faith.

Lorian added, “Sir, for the final procession, should we stick to the old method, or make a slight modification to accelerate the prayers when the king arrives?”

Mikhail’s gaze swept across the priests, his expression firm. “The old method. There is no room for experimentation. I must not fail before God or the kingdom.” He lowered his head briefly, whispering to himself, But why does my chest feel so tight? Not from duty… but something I cannot explain.

Suddenly, the chamber door swung open. A young monk rushed in, breathless. “Sir, I apologize for interrupting… but we found a young woman unconscious in the forest near the church…”

Mikhail immediately rose, eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?” His voice was low and commanding. “Bring her to the infirmary. No one is to approach before I arrive.”

He strode quickly through the monastery corridors, mind racing with caution and curiosity. Upon entering the room where the woman lay, Mikhail immediately sensed something unusual. Her aura was unlike any human’s—darkness intertwined with pure light, two opposing energies coexisting in a single form.

This… is not an ordinary human. Why do I feel… this? Mikhail thought, stopping a few steps from her. His breath quickened, chest tightening. He swallowed hard, lowering his head, attempting to control his body's reaction.

“All monks, leave this room,” he said firmly, his voice filled with authority. “I will examine her myself.”

Mikhail stepped closer, hand raised slightly, attempting to sense the woman’s aura more clearly. Yet the energy radiating from her made his body burn with sensations he had never experienced in decades of disciplined restraint. His body reacted on its own, caught between curiosity and guilt. His heart wrestled with unwavering faith and desires he had long suppressed.

This… is not merely a test of faith. This is something… more. Why is my body responding? I am a priest. I must resist… but… he thought, eyes locked on the sleeping figure, the mingling dark and sacred aura surrounding her making him feel simultaneously fearful and captivated.