The day everything began was as ordinary as any other. Nothing had foretold the arrival of the One whose name had been whispered in fear for centuries. Yet, as the sun began to dip toward the west, the medieval abbey perched on the rocky isle of Mont-Saint-Michel – located off the southwestern coast of Normandy, France, along the English Channel – seemed to hold its breath. Surrounded by treacherous tides, it stood like a stone sentinel, diligently guarding the secrets hidden behind its high walls. Along one of the narrow, cobbled streets stood a tiny shop – modest, yet full of warmth. The scent of wax, lavender, and incense drifted from its doorway, luring visitors with a fragrance that had filled the area for countless generations. Locals frequented the place with particular fondness, for it had belonged to women of a single lineage for centuries: a line of herbalists and, as the villagers said, healers. Twenty-five-year-old Aurora, granddaughter of the current owner, was just finishing her work. The wooden shutters she closed muted the last rays of sunlight touching the glass. Her reverie was broken by the tall, resonant sound of the slowly sliding front door.

– I’ve been calling you for a minute – greeted her with a smile Pierre Dumont, the abbey’s prior.

– I’m sorry, I was lost in thought – she replied, slightly blushing.

– Ah, it’s all right, it’s all right, nothing happened – he reassured her. – I’m just showing the new colleague around, who will be staying with us for a while. Aurora, this is Father Emilio Rinaldi. He came to us straight from the Vatican… Where did he go?

Looking around, he noticed Aurora peering into the shop she had just closed.

– Is that him? – she asked, pointing toward the stranger with her eyes.

Emilio, captivated by the interior scented with honeyed wax, dried herbs, and incense smoke, walked slowly among the shelves stacked to the ceiling. He marveled at the hand-poured candles, jars of essential oils, and vials filled with various macerations. Most of all, his attention was drawn to the wax sculptures – each one depicting something different. So absorbed in the beautiful craftsmanship, he didn’t notice the hanging bouquets of lavender, wormwood, and verbena dangling from the ceiling, which he brushed against with his head. As he bent down, a high-pitched jingle from a bell above the door reached his ears. Aurora, releasing the cold metal handle, almost immediately focused her gaze on the young, slender man, nearly a head taller than her. His curly, untidily arranged chestnut hair fell below his eyebrows, effectively hiding his eyes. Just as she hoped to catch a glimpse of them, he swiftly turned his head in the opposite direction.

– Who are you? – she whispered, taking a deep breath.

The moment she exhaled, the candle right before her went out. The others, still flickering, cast only a faint light across the shop’s interior. Emilio stood by the last candle. Aurora watched him carefully. His delicately defined jaw and pale, almost translucent skin seemed too ghostly in the warm light of the dying flame. Then she felt something. Something stirring within her body. Some long-dormant consciousness. Or rather, a fragment of it. Eyes wandering over the candles, she hastily closed them. For the first time in her life, panic overwhelmed her. As she tried to draw a breath, it felt thickened. Cut off from oxygen, she feverishly opened her eyes. Doing so – she froze, for Emilio, like a hawk, was staring at her. Nervously gasping for air, she watched in silence as two fingers of his right hand extinguished the last candle flame. It was over. In the thick darkness, she once again felt something moving within her – awakening. The last thing she remembered was the velvet touch of a cassock black as pitch.

– Doctor! Doctor! She’s awake! – shouted three women who hadn’t left Aurora’s side for a step at the hospital bed.

– How are you feeling? – asked the doctor, approaching her.

– What happened? – she asked, trying to sit up.

– No sudden movements, please stay lying down – the doctor ordered sharply.

– You fainted – her grandmother replied, her voice trembling with concern.

– Water. I want to drink water – she requested.

– I’ll help you, wait – said Aurora’s mother, quickly coming to her side.

– All right – said the doctor once she drank. – Now, please tell me what you remember as the last event before fainting.

– I remember being in the shop. I was closing it when Prior Dumont came with… – unable to recall the priest’s name, she closed her eyes. – Unfortunately, I don’t remember the name of the man he was with.

– It’s nothing. The important thing is that you remember the last few hours. This allows us to rule out any neurological changes – he explained, typing something into her patient chart.

– Can I go home now? – she asked hesitantly.

– Yes. I’ll just prepare the discharge papers.

– Thank God! – said the neighbor, the owner of the shop directly across from Aurora’s family store, with relief. Seeing that she had fainted, the woman had immediately called an ambulance, but due to the location on the island, she offered to take her to the nearest hospital herself. She only asked the prior and the young priest to help carry her to the car, parked a few dozen meters away.

– Are you sure you feel okay? – her grandmother asked, probing.

– Yes.

However, the woman remained unconvinced. She knew her granddaughter well enough to sense that something was off. She didn’t want to prolong the conversation, especially since Aurora wasn’t willing to give any explanations. She decided to patiently wait until they returned home, hoping that her granddaughter would calmly recount what had caused her to faint. Unfortunately, as soon as Aurora crossed the threshold of her small, thirty-square-meter apartment, located less than two kilometers from her family home, she thanked them for their care and asked to be left alone. She wanted to rest in silence. Reluctantly, with grumbles of dissatisfaction, the three women left her modest dwelling. Truly exhausted from the whole ordeal, she went to take a shower. Twenty minutes later, she was already lying in a large, soft bed, covered with a blanket. As soon as she turned onto her side, pressing her face against the cool pillow, her body relaxed, yet her mind remained alert, as if waiting for something. Before she knew it, sleep arrived. She had slept peacefully since childhood. She had never had nightmares. But this dream was different. Wrapped in a deep, silky darkness, it surrounded her from all sides. Instinctively, she looked down. She was barefoot… standing on something that resembled a mirror-like sheet of water. Cold water. There was no horizon. No point of reference. She found herself in the very heart of nothingness. Just as she was about to say something, a voice formed in her mind. Neither male nor female. It sounded like the echo of a memory that did not belong to her.

– Duni.

Hearing the unfamiliar name, she flinched. And though she wanted to ask to whom the voice belonged and whom it was calling, she did not, for no word could pass through her throat.

– Duni. – the voice repeated.

Shivers ran through her entire body. She was completely alone. And yet… being watched by someone. After a while, the surface beneath her feet began to crack. She woke up drenched in sweat. The clock on the wall showed 3:13 a.m. Complete silence reigned in the apartment. Strangely, the air carried a moist scent, as if sprinkled with dew. She lay motionless. Staring at the ceiling, she felt the dream settling in her mind like dust, leaving behind a lasting mark. She sprang up abruptly. Grabbing her phone, she began searching online for anything about the name “Duni.” Unfortunately, she found nothing. With a sigh, she set the phone aside. Only two hours of sleep remained before she would have to get up.

– Good morning. – said the prior, entering the shop.

– Good morning. – replied Aurora’s grandmother, her voice thoughtful.

– I came to check on Aurora. How is she feeling?

– I wish I knew. – she answered, greeting the entering tourists with a forced smile.

The prior, seeing them, discreetly stepped into the corner of the shop so as not to get in anyone’s way. He only emerged once the couple had left.

– She called this morning to say she would be late. An hour after she was supposed to be here, she called again, saying something came up and she wouldn’t be coming at all. – The woman sighed heavily, then looked at the next customers with resignation.

– Maybe I should go to her. I feel responsible for the whole incident. – he said in a lowered voice. – Who knows… if I hadn’t stopped her for that conversation…

– It’s not your fault, Prior. She’s been overworking herself for weeks. I told her to rest more. But she stubbornly insisted that two or three hours of sleep were enough.

As she bid farewell to the next customers, she turned her cheerful gaze toward him, a gaze that dimmed as soon as they were alone.

– I’ll go to her. I need to make sure she’s all right.

– She’s in the workshop. – she said on her way out, greeting the next customers.

Before leaving the island, the prior went to his home, located just a few dozen meters from the shop. The east-facing windows revealed the bay, where the tide was slowly coming in. He had to hurry. Meanwhile, Aurora, completely absorbed in shaping a new candle, didn’t notice her mother, Isabelle, entering the large, spacious room where she worked.

– You have a visitor – she said, approaching her daughter.

– A visitor? – Aurora repeated, looking up.

– Waiting outside.

– Who is it?

– Some priest from the Vatican. Emilio… something.

Aurora stood up to look out the window. It’s him… she whispered. Emilio, as if by the touch of a magic wand, seemed to hear her whisper and automatically directed his gaze straight at her. She lost her breathing rhythm and began to choke on her own saliva.

– Are you all right? – her mother asked, her voice filled with concern.

– Yes. – she answered flatly. – I’ll be right back.

As she stepped outside, her legs, which a few minutes earlier had lightly moved to the rhythm of the music flowing from the radio, now struggled on the sandy ground that led to the wooden bench where the handsome priest stood.

– Good morning. – he said, with a strong Italian accent.

– Good morning. – she replied cautiously.

– Yesterday we didn’t get a chance to talk. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Emilio Rinaldi. The Vatican has sent me to this area for a year. During this time, I will provide secular service here at Mont-Saint-Michel.

The sincere smile on his cheerful face made her smile in return.

– I am Aurora Lumière. – she said, offering her right hand in greeting.

As Emilio reached to take it, Aurora’s hand went up. Following her gaze and waving joyfully, he mirrored the gesture.

– How did you find your way here? – asked the prior, stepping out of the car, astonished.

– Early in the morning I went to the bakery for some bread. On my way back, I got lost in the narrow alleys. The only shop open in the area was the one where Aurora fainted yesterday. I went in, greeted everyone, and after a few pleasantries, I learned I was speaking with her grandmother. I asked for the address.

– I understand, but how did you get here? – the older man repeated his question.

– On foot. The local residents are very kind. They immediately showed me the way. The prior, as cheerful as Emilio, began to laugh loudly.

– Your legs must hurt a lot – he summarized, knowing how many kilometers Emilio had walked. – Now, let’s get to the point. How do you feel? – He directed this question to Aurora.

– Fine. Nothing’s wrong. Please, come inside. We’ll sit down, have a bite, and drink something cold.

– Wonderful. There’s nothing better than your lemonade – the prior clapped his hands with joy.

During the hour-long chat, most of the words came from the older man. Emilio occasionally interjected with a short sentence. Aurora practically stayed silent. Since birth, she had valued the closeness of nature more than people. She avoided others as much as she could. The exception was the little shop where she worked every third day, and only during the season. Even there, seeing incoming tourists, she would pause at the register, praying they wouldn’t notice her immediately. Unfortunately, her beauty attracted everyone, regardless of age, gender, or orientation. Her father had always said since she was born that she was like a magnet one couldn’t resist. And it wasn’t surprising. Standing one hundred sixty-six centimeters tall and weighing forty-five kilos, she was as fragile as a twig. Her naturally rosy face, sprinkled with millions of brown freckles, culminating in a delicate, proportionate, warmly rounded nose, invited staring. The wide cheekbones were accentuated by full, sensual lips, colored like ripening rose petals. Her long, waist-length red hair, slightly wavy and mostly tied in a bun, fell unevenly across her forehead, partially covering it. Thick, bushy eyebrows emphasized the blue shade of her eyes, where pupils the size of peppercorns highlighted their oceanic color. Her beauty was so delicate, so untouched, that when she reached the age of thirteen, the first admirers began to knock at the door. Yet she did not desire their attention or their affection. Her thoughts revolved only around the world that consumed her completely. That world was candles.

Their scent… Their glow… For hours she lost herself in creating ever-new shapes, aromas, and textures. That is why it surprised her so much when she sometimes caught herself feeling the desire to draw closer to the unknown foreigner. She rarely looked people in the eyes, and when she did, it was only for a fraction of a second. But with Emilio it was different. Seeing him for the second time in her life, she could not understand why she longed for his attention. Eye contact. It never crossed her mind that Emilio, like her, kept people at a distance. The reason? A deep-seated resentment toward those he had once loved and who had so easily abandoned him. It was his family. When, at the age of eighteen, he felt a calling, they almost entirely turned away from him. He came from southern Italy. In his house lived eight people: father, mother, himself, and five younger brothers. They were raised in the Catholic faith, but not so strongly that the parents were willing to give any of their sons to serve, and especially not to the Vatican. Emilio could not understand their resistance. Therefore, one night, without saying anything to them, he packed and left, leaving behind a short letter explaining that the desire to serve God was stronger than the life of an ordinary man. Since then, eight years had passed, during which he had not once seen the people closest to his heart. Over time, he began to distance himself from the surroundings that – like his family – began to impose their will on him too strongly. The deeper he delved into theological knowledge provided by the Vatican library, the more strongly he felt disappointment in the institution of which he was a part. Cracks began to form in the solid foundation on which he had built his faith, slowly breaking it apart. The inner struggles and dogmas he wrestled with brought him nothing but enemies. And although, despite his young age, he had reached the pinnacle of knowledge and his opinion was valued even by those closest to the pope, he quickly fell from their favor, asking uncomfortable questions and probing issues that for centuries had undermined the very purpose of the Catholic Church on the international stage. That was why his doctoral work had to wait until the punishment of exile to a foreign land came to an end. Then he would return to his homeland and finish what he had begun. The very thing that had led to his banishment. One year… He only had to endure one year…

– Aurora, a courier for you! – her mother shouted from the other room.

– A courier? But I didn’t order anything, – she muttered under her breath. – I’ll be right back – she said apologetically to the prior and Emilio.

The young priest stood to glance through the slightly open window. Aurora was already returning. Before opening the box, she wiped her hands on the linen apron tied around her narrow waist.

– What could it be? – with a note of curiosity, she cut through the tape tightly wrapped around the package with a sharp knife.

The prior looked at Emilio. The young priest kept his eyes fixed only on Aurora, never once looking away. As the lid of the cardboard box lifted, a rich, herbal, almost ceremonial fragrance wafted out.

– Oh my God…