Chapter 3 : The challenge : Saint Raphael’s Theological Seminary – Dormitory Wing-Elijah Moreau
799 Words
The seminary at night was a different world.
By day, it was a place of structure, of scripture, prayer, and obedience. But once the bells tolled curfew and the halls emptied, silence settled over the old stone walls like a second skin. In the dark, the monastery’s long corridors stretched endlessly, the glow of candle sconces flickering against towering statues of saints.
Elijah moved swiftly through the dormitory wing, the echo of his own footsteps his only company. He had stayed too long in the library, allowed himself to be drawn into Cassian’s games when he should have left the moment he sensed trouble.
Cassian.
The name alone stirred something in him, something he wasn’t ready to name.
Elijah had spent years perfecting the art of self-denial. He knew how to bury temptation, how to silence desires that had no place in the life he had chosen. But Cassian Devereux made everything difficult.
With his smug smirk and careless attitude, Cassian was everything Elijah was not, reckless, defiant, unapologetic. And yet, there was something else, something deeper lurking beneath his smirks and sharp words.
Something that made Elijah feel seen in a way that terrified him.
Shaking off the thought, Elijah reached his dormitory door and pushed it open. The small room was sparse, like all seminary quarters, narrow cot, wooden desk, a single crucifix on the wall. It was enough. It had to be.
He was about to kneel for evening prayer when a voice interrupted him.
“You left in a hurry.”
Elijah whirled around.
Cassian was leaning against the doorframe, the dim candlelight casting shadows across his face. His uniform was slightly rumpled, his black tie loosened at the collar, a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead.
And in his hands, he held the manuscript.
Elijah’s blood turned to ice.
His gaze snapped to the book, then back to Cassian. “Where did you get that?”
Cassian smirked. “Right where you left it. Or, rather, where the Church left it.” He turned the old pages between his fingers, feigning casual interest. “Funny thing. This doesn’t read like a saint’s biography.”
Elijah stepped forward, voice low and urgent. “You have no idea what you’re holding.”
Cassian arched a brow. “Enlighten me, then.”
Elijah clenched his fists. “That’s not meant to be read.”
Cassian’s smirk deepened. “That’s what makes it interesting.”
Elijah knew he should demand the book back, shut this down before it spiraled into something dangerous. But Cassian had already seen enough.
“The Church buried this for a reason,” Elijah said, voice tight. “If anyone catches you with it”
“Let me guess. Eternal damnation?” Cassian teased.
Elijah glared at him. “Expulsion. Or worse.”
Cassian didn’t look concerned. Instead, he flipped to a particular passage, his expression shifting from amusement to something else, something unreadable. He read aloud, voice softer now, the teasing edge gone.
“His love was his downfall. His devotion was not to God, but to the man he called beloved. Their faith was true, but their love was forbidden…”
Silence thickened between them.
Cassian closed the book. “Tell me, Moreau.” His voice was quiet, but it carried weight. “How many saints do you think the Church erased?”
Elijah swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”
Cassian stepped closer, the space between them shrinking. “How many of them were like you?”
Elijah’s breath caught.
Like you.
The words settled over him like a confession, raw and undeniable.
He wanted to deny it. To shut Cassian out, to call him a liar, to claim that he was nothing like the men in those pages. That his devotion was pure. That his faith had never wavered.
But Cassian was still watching him, waiting for an answer Elijah didn’t know how to give.
“I think,” Cassian murmured, tilting his head, “this book scares you.”
Elijah exhaled sharply. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Cassian hummed, unconvinced. Then, before Elijah could stop him, he tossed the book onto the desk beside them.
“Fine. If it doesn’t scare you, prove it.”
Elijah frowned. “What?”
Cassian’s eyes glinted. “Read it.”
Elijah tensed.
Cassian leaned in, voice dropping just above a whisper. “Or are you afraid of what you’ll find?”
Elijah could hear his own heartbeat, loud and insistent.
He should tell Cassian to leave. To stop playing games. To forget this ever happened.
But he didn’t.
Instead, his fingers hovered over the book’s worn cover, the weight of history pressing against his skin.
And then, against every warning in his mind
He opened it.
- Writer
