Chapter 1: The seminary : Saint Raphael’s Theological Seminary, present day : Elijah Moreau
675 Words
The first rule of Saint Raphael’s Seminary was obedience.
The second was silence.
Elijah Moreau had mastered both.
He sat in the dim glow of the library’s ancient chandeliers, his hands folded neatly over the leather-bound text in front of him. The scent of old parchment filled the air, blending with the faint traces of incense still clinging to his black cassock. It was past curfew, but that had never stopped him before.
He needed this,these quiet hours, alone with scripture. Alone with his thoughts.
Tonight, he was reviewing the canonization records of Saint Aurelius, an early martyr whose devotion had been praised for centuries. His fingers traced the Latin script, absorbing each word with the reverence it deserved.
“His faith was unwavering, his soul pure. He forsook all earthly temptations, choosing the righteous path of celibacy and devotion to Christ…”
Elijah exhaled slowly, pressing his thumb against the edge of the page. He wanted—needed, to believe in these words. To believe that discipline could erase doubt. That devotion could silence the parts of himself he had spent years trying to suppress.
But faith was no shield against temptation.
Especially not when Cassian Devereux had just walked into the library.
The heavy oak doors groaned as they swung open, breaking the sacred stillness of the room. Elijah didn’t look up at first. He didn’t have to. He recognized the sound of Cassian’s footsteps, lazily confident, deliberately disruptive. He recognized the scent of cigarette smoke that clung to his uniform, despite the strict rules against such things.
And when Cassian finally dropped into the seat across from him, Elijah forced himself to keep reading.
“Still pretending to be a saint, Moreau?” Cassian’s voice was smooth, edged with amusement.
Elijah ignored him.
Cassian sighed dramatically, stretching out like he owned the place. “You know, I thought the whole vow of silence thing only applied to monks, but you take it to a whole new level.”
Elijah turned a page.
Cassian leaned closer. “What are you reading, anyway? Some holy text about how to be the perfect little priest?”
Elijah clenched his jaw. “If you don’t take this seriously, you shouldn’t be here.”
“And yet, here I am,” Cassian said, smirking. “What a mystery.”
Elijah finally looked up, meeting Cassian’s gaze. That was his first mistake.
Cassian was the kind of beautiful that didn’t belong in a seminary, sharp jawline, dark tousled hair, lips curved in something between a smirk and a challenge. But it was his eyes that unsettled Elijah the most. They held a fire that didn’t waver, a confidence that made it seem like he saw everything Elijah tried to hide.
Elijah should have looked away.
He didn’t.
And Cassian, ever the opportunist, leaned in with a wicked grin. “Careful, Moreau. You keep staring at me like that, and someone might start asking questions.”
Elijah snapped his book shut. “Some of us take our calling seriously, Cassian.”
Cassian’s smirk didn’t fade. If anything, it deepened. “And yet, you still can’t stop looking at me.”
Elijah’s pulse was steady, but his hands betrayed him—his grip tightening around the leather binding of his book. This was what Cassian did. He pushed. He tested limits. He unraveled things.
Elijah would not let himself be unraveled.
He stood abruptly, tucking the book under his arm. “You should leave before you get caught. Again.”
Cassian tilted his head, amusement flickering in his gaze. “And what about you, Saint Elijah? Shouldn’t you be asleep, dreaming of heaven instead of hiding away in the library?”
Elijah didn’t answer. He turned and left, his steps measured, his heart steady.
But long after he was gone, Cassian remained in the library.
And in the dim light, something old and forgotten caught his attention—a dusty manuscript wedged between the shelves, its spine barely visible.
Curious, he reached for it.
And in that moment, everything changed.
- Writer
