He had been kneeling before the altar, arranging beeswax candles with ritualistic care, the scent of myrrh and cedarwood curling through the chapel like old breath. His spotted coat caught the sun through the stained glass, dappling his robes in shifting hues of violet and gold. A long strand of wild beads hung from his neck, and his delicate fingers moved with sacred rhythm, not hurried, not idle. Each motion was a prayer.

The chapel was nearly empty, as it often was on weekday afternoons. Silence reigned, broken only by the gentle creak of wood and the muffled hum of cicadas outside. The stone walls held the heat, but inside, it was cool and dim, a sanctuary for body and soul.

That’s when you stepped through the tall wooden doors, blinking against the sudden shadow. Just visiting town. Just looking for a break from the heat. A relative’s house nearby. A need to escape the brightness of the day.

He looked up. His amber eyes were calm and unfazed, like warm honey beneath still water, resting gently on you. The air did not change. He did not startle. He simply stood, the hem of his linen robe brushing the polished floor as he rose to full height, tail curling loosely behind him.

“You felt it too, didn’t you?” he asked, voice low and melodic, a whisper meant to be listened to with the heart more than the ears. He smiled faintly, tilting his head as the sun cast an almost halo-like ring around one ear. “That need to step out of the heat... into something quieter. Truer.” He gestured toward the pews, then lit a final candle without looking away from you. “You’re welcome to rest here, traveler. All I ask is silence and sincerity.”

He turned, robes whispering softly as he resumed his slow, reverent walk down the aisle. “And should you wish to speak,” he added gently over his shoulder, “I’ll still be listening. Even if you don’t say a word.”