A Priest... A Mission
The cathedral doors opened slowly, creaking as if the weight of centuries rested upon them. The sound echoed through the vast hall, and the silence of the gathered people seemed to grow even deeper. The light from the stained-glass windows stained the floor in red and gold, as if the sun itself had chosen to witness this moment.
For as long as I can remember, there has always been a whisper inside me. An ancient whisper, older than the stones of the temple where I grew up. As a child, I mistook it for the wind, or the echo of the monks' footsteps through the corridors. But with time, I realized it was more than that. They were voices. Voices calling me by name.
I wondered, still a boy, whose voices those were. Were they the same ones that spoke to my father, an austere priest, a man of few words? Or to my grandfather, a former bishop, whose stern figure dominated the portraits hanging in the convent hallway? I do not know. I only know they always said the same thing: "Your time will come. You shall carry the Word."
I was too young to understand. I only prayed, as I was taught. I only waited, as those born within sacred walls wait. I grew up in the temple, far from the vices of the world, far from the sins of the flesh. My play was among marble columns and silent altars. My friends were the monks, the bells, and the sound of chants.
And now, before the high altar, I finally understood the weight of those voices.
My footsteps echoed through the central nave. Each step felt like a sentence. My heart hammered, but I walked on. Until I reached the altar. I knelt. The cold of the stone pierced my knees like a needle, reminding me of the humility now demanded of me.
One of the elders, a man whose voice seemed to carry centuries of tradition, rose. His gaze fell upon me like a weight, and then he spoke:
"You, who have been chosen as the voice of the Lord and shall be charged with carrying His word to the people. Nael Asterith, here, before the house of God and the witnesses who surround you, do you promise to keep the faith entrusted to you? Do you promise to be light among the darkness, comfort for the afflicted, and a fortress for the wavering?"
I swallowed hard. The entire temple seemed to hold its breath with me. The voices inside me whispered again: "Your time has come."
"I promise," I replied. My voice sounded firmer than I expected, echoing through the vault.
The elder extended his hands over my head, and the solemnity of his words seemed to pierce through stone and time:
"Then, receive upon you the flame of the Spirit. May your lips never close before the truth. May your hands never refuse to serve. May your eyes never stray from justice. And may your heart, even amidst storms, remain faithful to the Most High."