Memory 4: The Vigil Grotto

Thomas arrived early, the sky still pale with the last light of day. The grotto beneath the east bridge was quiet, its salt-stone walls damp with tide mist. Lanterns hung from the archways, casting soft halos over the water.

Only one figure moved within: a Chamber Sister, laying out fabrics, pearls, and salt at the altar. She referred often to a small book in her hand, murmuring to herself as she adjusted each item with precision.

"Hello," Thomas said, stepping forward without hesitation. "What are you doing?"

The Sister looked up, startled. Her eyes were kind but distant, as if pulled from a deep thought. "I’m setting the altar," she said. "According to order."

She studied him. "Who are you?"

"Thomas Langton," he said. "I was sent by Chaplain Alura from the Temple of the Third Tide."

Lucia nodded slowly. "Hello, Thomas. I am Sister Lucia."

Thomas moved closer, examining the arrangement. "That’s the salt veil for the invocation of stillness. And those pearls—those are for the hymn of descent, right?"

Lucia blinked. "Yes. That’s correct."

He pointed to a folded cloth. "That one’s meant to be placed beneath the basin, not beside it."

Lucia’s brow furrowed. She glanced at her book, flipping pages quickly. "You’re right," she said, flustered. "I must have misread the sequence."

Thomas smiled gently. "It’s a lot to remember."

Lucia nodded, distracted, her mental checklist thrown into disarray.

Thomas’s gaze drifted to a tapestry hanging near the altar. It shimmered faintly in the lantern light.

"Chaplain Alura never mentioned anything like this," he said. "What does it mean?"

Lucia followed his gaze. "Yes, that is a new icon proclaimed by His Holiness, Anselm XI. It depicts the rays of the North Star piercing the abyss of the sea."

Thomas stared at the image, his expression unreadable. "It’s beautiful," he breathed the words like a prayer.

Lucia watched him for a moment, then returned to her book. The vigil would begin soon, and the tide was rising.