L'Eglise Aristotelicienne Romaine The Roman and Aristotelic Church

[Kalixtus]

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Fiat lux, et facta est lux.
Let there be light, and there was light.

Easter Vigil
A night unlike any other – and yet, as with all things sacred, it began with a chain of preparations, whose deeper meaning would only reveal itself in time. For this year, the Feast of Renewal was not simply to be celebrated – it was to be inhabited, embraced with a fervour deeper, more radiant than ever before.

Of course, Easter was honoured every year with grandeur. But this year... there was something else. A subtle tension hung in the air, like the hush before a thunderstorm. Some blamed it on the early, vigorous spring. Others dismissed it as imagination. Kalixtus, however, remained uncertain.

He had seen too many decades come and go to trust easily in vague feelings. And yet—he sensed it. Something demanded surrender to the light. Still, the cardinal was not one to drift into superstition or fear. So he turned to the concrete: he oversaw the preparations.

On this night of nights, the Easter fire would be lit beneath the dome of the Titus Basilica. Dozens of candles had arrived, blessed and placed in crates, awaiting their sacred hour. From the heights of the dome, he observed the workers arranging the wood—just beside the great obelisk from distant Egypt, that marked the centre of the Square of Aristotle.

Here the faithful would gather. They would pray, they would sing. They would stand in darkness and witness the moment the light conquers it. For that, in the end, is the mystery of all things:
Goodness triumphs.
The light returns.

Forty days of fasting were nearly at their end. The people would soon rise from the dust of their penance, as the dogma teaches—reminded of the Fall of Oanylone, yet drawn toward grace.

A feast is coming.
A feast that tells us:
God’s grace is real.
His essence is love.
Our responsibility lies in faith and virtue.

Up here, beneath the stone crown of the dome, Kalixtus felt light. Free. Almost young again. Rome stretched out beneath him – a vision of splendor, of memory, of eternity.

Here, in the monument carved from faith, heaven and earth embraced, the visible and invisible met.

The wind played with his white hair like a child tugging on a veil. And as his gaze drifted over the ancient city, he whispered:
“Fiat lux, et facta est lux.”

An old phrase. Eternal. And yet, this year… it rang differently.

The men below were nearly done. Soon, Kalixtus would begin the long descent into the basilica’s heart. He would cast a final glance up toward the dome, toward the high altar with its twisted bronze columns, and ensure all was ready.

Then – when once more the marble lay firm beneath his feet – he would prepare for the night.
The night that becomes dawn.
The night in which light triumphs.
The night where goodness is made manifest.
The night of Easter.



Fiat lux, et facta est lux.
Que la lumière soit, et la lumière fut.

Veillée Pascale
Une nuit comme nulle autre – et pourtant, comme tant de choses sacrées, elle commença par une chaîne de préparatifs, dont le sens profond ne se révélerait que plus tard. Car cette année, la Fête du Renouveau ne devait pas seulement être célébrée – elle devait être vécue, pénétrée d’une ferveur plus intense, plus brûlante que jamais.

Bien sûr, Pâques était chaque année marquée d’éclat. Mais cette année… quelque chose vibrait autrement. Une tension discrète flottait dans l’air, semblable au silence juste avant l’éclair. Certains y voyaient les effets du printemps précoce et vigoureux. D’autres n’y voyaient qu’illusion. Kalixtus, lui, restait partagé.

Il avait vu passer trop de décennies pour se laisser troubler par de simples impressions. Et pourtant – il le sentait. Quelque chose appelait à la reddition, à l’abandon au feu.
Mais le cardinal n’était pas homme à céder à la superstition. Il se tourna donc vers l’essentiel : il vérifia les préparatifs.

En cette nuit des nuits, le feu pascal serait allumé sous le dôme de la basilique de Titus. Des dizaines de cierges bénis étaient arrivés, soigneusement rangés dans leurs caisses, en attente de leur heure sacrée. Depuis les hauteurs de la coupole, il observait les ouvriers empiler le bois – juste à côté du grand obélisque venu d’Égypte, qui marquait le centre de la Place d’Aristote.

Là, les fidèles se rassembleraient. Ils prieraient, chanteraient. Ils se tiendraient dans l’obscurité, jusqu’à ce que la lumière la perce. Car au bout du compte, tel est le mystère de toutes choses :
Le Bien triomphe.
La lumière revient.

Quarante jours de jeûne touchaient à leur fin. Le peuple se lèverait bientôt de la poussière de sa pénitence, ainsi que le dogme nous l’enseigne – rappelé à la chute d’Oanylone, mais conduit vers la grâce.

Une fête approche.
Une fête qui nous rappelle :
La grâce de Dieu est réelle.
Son essence est l’amour.
Notre devoir repose dans la foi et dans les vertus.

Là-haut, sous la couronne de pierre de la coupole, Kalixtus se sentait léger. Libre. Presque jeune. Rome s’étendait à ses pieds – splendide, ancienne, vivante.

Ici, dans le monument sculpté par la foi, ciel et terre se rejoignaient, le visible touchait l’invisible.

Le vent jouait avec ses cheveux blancs, comme un enfant tire un voile. Et tandis que son regard caressait les toits de la Ville Éternelle, il murmura :
« Fiat lux, et facta est lux. »

Un mot ancien. Éternel.
Mais cette année… il résonnait autrement.

En bas, les hommes achevaient leur tâche. Kalixtus allait bientôt entreprendre la descente vers le cœur de la basilique. Un dernier regard vers le dôme, vers le maître-autel aux colonnes torsadées de bronze, et il s’assurerait que tout fût prêt.

Puis – lorsqu’il sentirait de nouveau le marbre sous ses pieds – il se préparerait pour la nuit.
La nuit qui devient aube.
La nuit où la lumière triomphe.
La nuit où le Bien se révèle.
La nuit de Pâques.

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[Iaudas]

Was Holy Saturday, the long night day leading to Renewal Sunday began. An evening of long silence beginning with the Easter Vigil, a moment of hope when faith would shatter doubt. A mystical moment in which light would pierce the darkness. A night that particularly interested the old man's faith, cause it was a symbol of restoration : good triumphed over evil. Old Iaudas walked towards the square of Saint Titus with his candle in his hand. He would not have the physical capacity to visualize the light of the Paschal candle, but he would certainly feel the warmth of faith.

[Garsande.Lucile]

La nuit tombait lentement sur Rome, enveloppant la ville dans une douce obscurité, tandis que les étoiles commençaient à scintiller dans le ciel. Garsande, vêtue d'une robe d'un bleu profond qui évoquait les fresques de la basilique, se fraya un chemin à travers les rues pavées, son cœur battant d'excitation et de dévotion. Elle se dirigeait vers la Basilique Saint Titus, où la veillée pascale promettait d'être un moment exceptionnel.
À l'approche de la basilique, elle ressentit une énergie palpable dans l'air, une sorte de vibration mystique qui semblait résonner avec son propre esprit. Des groupes de fidèles, leurs visages illuminés par la lumière des bougies, se rassemblaient déjà autour de l'entrée, discutant à voix basse, partageant des sourires et des étreintes. C'était une communauté unie par la foi, prête à célébrer la résurrection.
En entrant dans la basilique, elle fut immédiatement frappée par la beauté du lieu. Les colonnes majestueuses se dressaient comme des sentinelles silencieuses, tandis que les fresques somptueuses sur les murs racontaient l'histoire de la foi aristotélicienne. Le grand dôme, sous lequel le feu pascal allait être allumé, était un symbole de la lumière divine, et elle se sentit privilégiée d'être témoin de ce moment sacré.
Elle s'avança vers l'autel, où des cierges étaient déjà disposés, attendant d'être allumés. L'odeur de la cire fondue et des fleurs fraîches remplissait l'air, créant une atmosphère à la fois paisible et chargée d'anticipation. Les chants des prêtres résonnaient, accompagnés par le bruit doux des chœurs, en une mélodie qui ennoblissait l'âme.
Alors que les fidèles prenaient place, elle trouva un coin où elle pouvait voir la cérémonie se dérouler. Les jours de jeûne et de pénitence touchaient à leur fin, et cette nuit serait une célébration de renouveau, un moment où la lumière de la foi brillerait de mille feux.
Elle s'imprégna de l'énergie collective qui émanait de la foule. Chacun avait son propre parcours, ses propres luttes et ses propres espoirs, mais tous étaient unis par cette quête de la lumière. Elle ferma les yeux un instant, laissant les chants et les prières envelopper son être. Elle se sentit connectée à quelque chose de plus grand, à la promesse de la résurrection, au renouvellement de la vie.


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The night was slowly falling over Rome, enveloping the city in a gentle darkness, while the stars began to twinkle in the sky. Garsande, dressed in a deep blue gown reminiscent of the basilica's frescoes, made her way through the cobbled streets, her heart beating with excitement and devotion. She was heading towards the Basilica of Saint Titus, where the Easter vigil promised to be an exceptional moment. As she approached the basilica, she felt a palpable energy in the air, a kind of mystical vibration that seemed to resonate with her own spirit. Groups of faithful, their faces illuminated by the light of candles, were already gathering around the entrance, speaking in hushed tones, sharing smiles and hugs. It was a community united by faith, ready to celebrate the resurrection. Upon entering the basilica, she was immediately struck by the beauty of the place. The majestic columns stood like silent sentinels, while the sumptuous frescoes on the walls told the story of Aristotelian faith. The grand dome, beneath which the paschal fire was to be lit, was a symbol of divine light, and she felt privileged to witness this sacred moment. She moved towards the altar, where candles were already arranged, waiting to be lit. The scent of melted wax and fresh flowers filled the air, creating an atmosphere both peaceful and charged with anticipation. The chants of the priests resonated, accompanied by the soft sound of the choirs, in a melody that ennobled the soul. As the faithful took their places, she found a corner where she could watch the ceremony unfold. The days of fasting and penance were coming to an end, and this night would be a celebration of renewal, a moment when the light of faith would shine brightly. She soaked in the collective energy emanating from the crowd. Each person had their own journey, their own struggles and hopes, but all were united by this quest for light. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the chants and prayers to envelop her being. She felt connected to something greater, to the promise of resurrection, to the renewal of life.
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[Adelene]

La nuit serait obscure, et la lumière peinerait à percer cette obscurité épaisse. Le feu, même ardent, ne parviendrait ni à réchauffer le cœur ni à apaiser l’âme du cardinal de Kermabon. Il serait là, présent tout au long de cette longue cérémonie, mais son esprit, lui, continuerait de sombrer, lourdement, dans les méandres tortueux de la condition humaine. Il serait là parce que tel est son devoir : faire acte de présence.

Et pourtant, déjà, il sentait une parcelle de son âme s’échapper — emportant avec elle quelques-unes des lourdeurs qui l’écrasaient depuis plusieurs jours. Mais à mesure que cette charge semblait se délester, son cœur, lui, s’alourdissait, devenant une pierre trop dense pour être portée.

Cela faisait trois jours qu’il gardait le lit, sans rien avaler. Il avait fallu le tirer de sa couche, le laver, le raser, l’habiller — autant de gestes qu’il n’avait plus la force d’accomplir seul. Pour le maintenir éveillé durant la cérémonie, un apothicaire des faubourgs de la Cité Éternelle lui avait vendu une fiole contenant une mixture aux effets stimulants, garantis par ce vieux marchand à mi-chemin entre médicastre et sorcier. Et de fait, lorsque le soir tomba, Adelène fut en état de se rendre à la basilique Saint-Titus et de prendre la place qui lui était destinée.

Il se tenait là, droit, comme enraciné dans la pierre. Mais son regard, lui, fuyait, s’égarait sous les voûtes de la basilique. En un instant, il oublia son corps et se sentit devenir oiseau, voltigeant librement dans l’enceinte sacrée. En se penchant depuis les hauteurs, il observait les premiers arrivants, les cierges déposés çà et là. Puis, tel un faucon, il plongea vers le maître-autel, avant d’effectuer un virage serré pour se poser dans une chapelle latérale, sur le dossier d’un prie-Dieu. Derrière lui, un léger murmure montait, mais aucune parole ne parvenait jusqu’à lui.

Mais déjà, l’envol se faisait plus lourd. Les ailes d’Adelène perdaient leur vigueur, et l’oiseau qu’il était devenu redescendait lentement vers sa condition humaine. Le plafond de la basilique ne scintillait plus avec la même intensité. Les fresques s’émiettaient, les couleurs devenaient ternes. Les battements de son cœur, qu’il ne sentait plus, revinrent cogner contre sa poitrine, comme s’ils voulaient le rappeler de force à son enveloppe corporelle.

Le remède commençait à perdre de son emprise. Les premières vagues fantastiques refluaient, laissant sur le rivage de son esprit un goût amer, et le frisson d’un vide immense.

Un frisson, justement, le saisit aux reins. Puis un autre. La sueur perla lentement à son front, glacée comme du givre. Il glissa la main dans sa robe, chercha à tâtons la petite fiole rangée à l’abri de tous les regards. Ses doigts tremblaient à peine, mais assez pour qu’il sente quelque chose en lui se dérégler.

Autour de lui, les bruits devenaient plus vifs. Des pas résonnaient dans les travées, des silhouettes glissaient dans l’allée centrale, des chuchotements pressés s’élevaient et se confondaient dans une ambiance solennelle.
Mais Adelène, lui, s’enfonçait. Tandis que les autres s’échauffaient, il se refroidissait. Il décapsula discrètement la fiole, porta le col à ses lèvres. Une goutte. Deux. Il sentit immédiatement l’amertume descendre le long de sa gorge. L’effet ne tarda pas à revenir, mais sans la légèreté de la première fois. Cette fois, ce n’était plus un vol. C’était une traction : une force l’arrachait à lui-même, mais sans direction, sans légèreté.

Sa vision se brouilla un instant. Le sol vacilla sous ses pieds. Il porta la main à un pilier pour éviter de chuter, essuya son front moite du revers de sa manche. Il avait pâli, encore. Son visage avait pris la teinte cireuse des cadavres. Mais l’obscurité tombante lui servait de rideau, derrière lequel se dissimuler. Avec un peu de chance, pensait-il, les effets finiraient par devenir supportables, et lui rendraient supportable cette longue cérémonie qui ne faisait que débuter.

___


The night would be dark, and the light would struggle to pierce this thick darkness. No amount of fire could warm the heart or soothe the soul of Cardinal de Kermabon. He would be there, present throughout this long ceremony, but his spirit would continue to sink, heavily, into the tortuous meanders of the human condition. He would be there because that was his duty: to be present.

And yet, already, he felt a part of his soul slipping away - taking with it some of the heaviness that had been crushing him for several days. But as the load seemed to be lifted, his heart grew heavier, becoming a stone too dense to carry.

He had been lying in bed for three days without swallowing anything. He had to be dragged out of bed, washed, shaved and dressed - all things he no longer had the strength to do alone. To keep him awake during the ceremony, an apothecary on the outskirts of the Eternal City had sold him a vial containing a mixture with stimulating effects, guaranteed by this old merchant halfway between doctor and sorcerer. And so, as evening fell, Adelene was able to make his way to the Basilica of Saint Titus and take his place.

He stood there upright, as if rooted in stone. But his gaze wandered, wandering under the vaults of the basilica. In an instant, he forgot his body and felt himself become a bird, fluttering freely in the sacred precincts. Leaning down from the heights, he observed the first arrivals and the candles placed here and there. Then, like a hawk, he dived towards the high altar, before making a sharp turn to land in a side chapel, on the back of a prie-Dieu. Behind him, a slight murmur went up, but no words reached him.

But already, the flight was getting heavier. Adelene's wings were losing their vigour, and the bird he had become was slowly descending back to its human condition. The ceiling of the basilica no longer sparkled with the same intensity. The frescoes were crumbling, the colours dull. His heartbeat, which he could no longer feel, came pounding back against his chest, as if it wanted to force him back into his physical body.

The remedy was beginning to lose its hold. The first fantastic waves receded, leaving a bitter taste on the shore of his mind and the shiver of an immense emptiness.

A shiver ran down his spine. Then another. Sweat slowly beaded on his forehead, as cold as frost. He slipped his hand inside his robe and groped for the small vial tucked away out of sight. His fingers were barely trembling, but enough for him to feel something inside him go wrong.

All around him, the noises were getting louder. Footsteps echoed in the aisles, silhouettes glided down the central aisle, hurried whispers rose up and merged into a solemn atmosphere.

But Adelène was sinking. While the others were warming up, he was cooling down. He discreetly uncorked the flask and lifted the neck to his lips. One drop. Two. He immediately felt the bitterness running down his throat. It didn't take long for the effect to return, but without the lightness of the first time. This time, it was no longer a flight. It was a pull: a force was tearing him away from himself, but without direction, without lightness.

His vision blurred for a moment. The ground shook beneath his feet. He put his hand on a pillar to avoid falling and wiped his sweaty forehead with the back of his sleeve. He had gone pale again. His face had taken on the waxy hue of corpses. But the falling darkness served as a curtain behind which he could hide. With a bit of luck, he thought, the effects would eventually become bearable, and make this long ceremony, which was only just beginning, bearable for him.

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Son Éminence Adelène de Kermabon - Cardinal de Saint Nicomaque de l'Esquilin - Archevêque de Bordeaux

[Fenice]

The night was cold. Or maybe it was tiredness, worry.

She had thought that walking to the basilica would warm her up, but clutching the heavy cappa magna with one hand and holding up the candle, she limped across the huge Aristotle square and felt cold.

Yet with all her strength she had Faith in rebirth. For months, her carriage had driven through the avenues where the trees had almost black branches, naked in the winter light. Then, almost without warning, the buds on the branches had returned, as they had done for centuries, for millennia, forever, without human intervention. Life... The Creator's loving gift, which His creatures too often despised or took for granted.

It would have been easier if she had had the gift of a simple faith, without questions, without knowledge. But she still knew that she was only a small thing, a tiny flame of light in the Light.

*****

La notte era fredda. O forse era la stanchezza, la preoccupazione.

Ella aveva pensato che camminare fino alla Basilica l'avrebbe riscaldata, ma stringendo con una mano la pesante cappa magna e tenendo sollevata la candela, zoppicava attraverso l'enorme piaza di Aristotele e sentiva freddo.

Eppure, con tutte le sue forze aveva Fede nella rinascita. Per mesi, la sua carrozza aveva attraversato i viali in cui gli alberi avevano rami quasi neri, nudi nella luce invernale. Poi, quasi senza preavviso, le gemme sui rami erano ritornate, come succedeva da secoli, da millenni, da sempre, senza intervento umano. La Vita... Il dono amorevole del Creatore, che le Sue creature troppo spesso disprezzavano o davano per scontato.

Sarebbe stato più facile se ella avesse avuto il dono di una fede semplice, senza domande, senza conoscenze. Ma sapeva comunque di essere soltanto una piccola cosa, una minuscola fiammella di luce nella Luce.
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[Vanyar]

The Easter fire had not yet been lit, but the scent of oiled wood and beeswax hung faintly in the air. Workers moved with solemn focus, placing the last bundles of timber just beside the obelisk—an ancient sentinel, watching as it had watched for centuries, its roots in distant lands, its shadow now cast in the heart of Aristotelism. Vanyar paused for a moment near the steps of the Titus Basilica, his eyes drawn upward. From the heights of the dome, he could still see the faint outlines of those preparing the candles — blessed, crated, and ready to receive the flame that would soon travel, hand to hand, into the dark corners of the world. The sky above was indeed clear and dark, as foretold. A chill in the air tugged at the edges of his robes, but it troubled him little. Age, he thought, lends not only wisdom but also resilience—especially on nights such as this. There was clarity in the cold. And strength in silence. He gave a brief nod to a young acolyte who recognised him and offered a candle for the vigil. Vanyar accepted it wordlessly, holding it not as a ritual, but as a duty — one more act in a life spent guarding the light. Tonight, he would not speak until the fire was lit. Words had already done their part. Now came the flame.
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Presbyter & Bishop of the Universal and Roman-Aristotelian Church. | Bishop of Carlisle & Ptolemais

[uriel]

Impermanence ...
Rien en ce Monde n'était éternel, pas même Rome. Le Renouveau faisait partie du Cycle ; la nuit finissait toujours par se muer en jour, et le jour… en nuit.
Après l’aube et sa lumière diffuse, venait l’aurore et ses couleurs chatoyantes, juste avant le lever de l’astre du jour.

Après les funérailles du Cardinal Mastiggia, Uriel était resté à Rome, visitant et revisitant les lieux qu’il avait connus, les jardins des palais aujourd’hui abandonnés.
Il s’attarda quelque temps face à son ancien Palais, le Domus Angelico, une demeure peut-être trop simple pour être reprise par un prélat.
Restait-il quelque fantôme de son passé à l’intérieur ? Regrettait-il d’être parti, si longtemps ? D’avoir tant vu et tant expérimenté ?
D’avoir frôlé la mort tant de fois et d’être presque tombé dans ses bras… et même à l’été 1465, à Shuntian, en Kithaï, elle n’avait pas voulu de lui…

Il tourna alors le dos à cette bâtisse, laissant ces images du passé là où elles devaient être : rangées sur la bibliothèque de sa vie.

Il avait entendu parler de cette cérémonie, à laquelle il se rendrait — discrètement, simplement — pour contempler. Pour voir ce qu’il restait. Pour voir si ce qu’il avait annoncé s’était réalisé. Il le constaterait non comme une victoire, mais plutôt comme une froide évidence. Mais il était allé trop loin pour se soucier réellement de tout cela à présent.

En ces lieux, il espérait voir une personne qu’il estimait beaucoup, et qu’il savait certes dans la détresse. Avec Uriel, rien ne servait de forcer le Destin : c’était parfois comme si ce dernier lui répondait — parfois d’une main tendue et amicale, parfois d’un revers cinglant.
Cette fois-ci ne ferait pas exception.

Le Réaumont n’eut pas à chercher longtemps pour le voir, cet homme, qu’il constata émacié, souffrant, presque prêt à franchir le seuil de l’Autre Monde…
Adelène titubait, affaibli, voire drogué. Cela lui rappela à nouveau son propre parcours — et invariablement les tripots et les fumeries d’opium du quartier de Chongwenmen, où il avait cherché l’oubli.

Voyant le jeune cardinal, il s’en approcha silencieusement, le voyant vaciller. Il éprouva de la compassion pour cet état que d’aucuns auraient jugé pitoyable. Et lorsqu’il manqua de perdre l’équilibre, le blond le prit sous le bras afin de le redresser légèrement ; puis, il posa sur son avant-bras une main presque trop chaude avant d’enfin lui murmurer, cette fois hors de toute étiquette :

Il semblerait que vous me forciez la main pour vous soutenir, Adelène, dit-il avec un certain humour, en référence à leur dernier échange. Je connais trop bien ce mal, croyez-moi; il est temps, mon ami, de laisser votre regard aller au-delà des sept collines … et de le porter vers l’horizon.





Impermanence...
Nothing in this World was eternal, not even Rome. Renewal was part of the Cycle; the night always transformed into day, and day... into night.
After the dawn and its diffused light, came the morning with its vibrant colors, just before the rising of the sun.

After Cardinal Mastiggia’s funeral, Uriel had stayed in Rome, visiting and revisiting the places he had known, the gardens of the now-abandoned palaces.
He lingered for some time in front of his former palace, the Domus Angelico, a dwelling perhaps too simple to be taken up by a prelate.
Was there still some ghost of his past within? Did he regret leaving, so long ago? Having seen and experienced so much?
Having brushed death so many times, and almost fallen into its embrace... and even in the summer of 1465, in Shuntian, Kithaï, it had not welcomed him...

He then turned his back on the building, leaving those images of the past where they belonged: placed on the shelf of his life.

He had heard of this ceremony, to which he would go—discreetly, simply—to contemplate. To see what remained. To see if what he had announced had come to pass. He would observe it not as a victory, but rather as a cold, undeniable fact. But he had gone too far to truly care about all of that now.

In these places, he hoped to see a person he greatly respected, someone who was surely in distress. With Uriel, nothing served to force Destiny: it was sometimes as if it answered him—sometimes with an outstretched, friendly hand, sometimes with a stinging rebuff.
This time would be no exception.

It didn’t take him long to find him, the man, whom he saw to be emaciated, suffering, almost ready to cross the threshold into the Other World...
Adelène was staggering, weakened, even possibly drugged. It reminded him once again of his own path—and inevitably, the gambling dens and opium dens in the Chongwenmen district, where he had sought oblivion.

Seeing the young cardinal, he approached him silently, watching him falter. He felt compassion for the state that some might have judged pitiful. And when the man nearly lost his balance, the blond supported him under the arm to gently steady him. Then, he placed a hand, almost too warm, on his forearm before finally whispering to him, this time beyond all formalities:

It seems you are forcing my hand to support you, Adelène, he said with a certain humor, in refrence to their last exchange. I know this ailment too well, believe me; it is time, my friend, to let your gaze wander beyond the seven hills... and turn it toward the horizon.

[Marilyse]

Elle avait prévenu les fidèles de son diocèse de ces célébrations, puis s'était mise en route. Beaucoup de choses s'étaient passées ces derniers mois, dont elle avait pris note dans son cœur et dans son esprit. Des choses dont elle s'était employée à retirer ce qui pourrait la faire grandir comme personne et comme religieuse. Et alors que la jeune femme s'avançait en silence, discrète ainsi que le lui commandait sa nature, elle égrenait des prières intérieures pour leur Eglise et pour le monde, dans une ambiance dont l'étrangeté la frappa sans qu'elle n'en laissât rien paraître.


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She told the faithful of her diocese about the celebrations, and then set off. A lot had happened over the last few months, and she had taken note of it in her heart and in her mind. Things from which she had tried to draw out what would help her to grow as a person and as a religious. And as the young woman made her way in silence, discreet as her nature dictated, she offered up interior prayers for their Church and for the world, in an atmosphere whose strangeness struck her without her letting it show.

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[Lyssah]

After an extensive journey from Portugal to the Basilica of St. Titus in Rome, the deaconess and pontifical baroness of San Giorgio di Pesaro arrives to partake in the vigil and the Easter Mass.

The night air is crisp, yet the fire provides a comforting warmth. As she observes the flames dance, Lyssah reflects upon the trials of the past year and how her Aristotelian faith has sustained her through every challenge.
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*Primacy of Portugal - Archdiocese of Braga - Parish of Lamego*
Lusophone Inquisitor - Lusophone National Prosecutor - Lusophone Vice-Prefect of the Villa St. Loyats
First Archdeaconess of Braga - Deaconess of Lamego - Marquise of Vieira de Leiria - Baroness of San Giorgio di Pesaro

[Cinead]

The southern sky had already folded itself into deep violet when I gained the gallery that circles the inner drum of the great dome. Far below, in the Square of Aristotle, workmen moved like quiet shadows round the ancient obelisk, laying oak and pine in a careful crown. Two rows of crates stood ready at the pavement’s edge—dozens upon dozens of freshly blessed candles, each sealed wick waiting for the first spark of the Easter fire.

How many hearts through the centuries have paused here on this Night of Nights, watching the same slow labour and feeling the hush before the blaze? One flame, shared, and yet unspent.

The dusk dimmed by slow degrees. Oil‑lanterns guttered along the basilica façade, warm against the marble’s chill. From this height I could make out the spray of starlight beyond the roof‑line—distant embers lending their assent.

To‑morrow, at this very altar, I shall bend the knee and take the oath of the Sacred College. A crimson hat to rest upon a head still young, a heart that would rather linger among parish doors than beneath palace vaults. Yet if the Divine sees fit, who am I to refuse? Let the biretta be not a crown but a lantern, trimmed and ready.

The foreman below raised his arm; the wood‑stack was finished. A hush settled, deeper than before, as though even the stone held its breath. Somewhere within the basilica a single bell tolled the hour of compline, the note floating out across the square and away into Rome’s labyrinth of lanes.

“Lux vera quae illuminat omnem hominem…”* May the true Light, which enlightens every soul, steal forth from that first holy spark and reach even the shore of Kirkcudbright, the cliffs of Whithorn, the study‑stalls of every seeker who doubts the Nameless One lurks. Non nobis, Domine—never for our glory, but only Thine.*

I let the prayer fade into the vaulted dark, listening until only the faint scrape of a workman’s boot remained. Then I turned from the balustrade and made for the stair, mind already moving toward the homily that must greet the dawn, heart steady with the promise of borrowed fire.

So begins the vigil. So begins the light.
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Chartulary of the British Islands, Bishop of Whithorn, Archivist for the Registers, Translator at Order of Saint Jerome, Theologian at the Holy Office 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

[Pie de Valence]

Français/Anglais/Italien

Français
Au crépuscule d’un jour d’éternité, l’ancienne basilique vaticane se dressait, majestueuse et solennelle, comme une scène théâtrale tirée des premières pages de l’histoire aristotélicienne. Commanditée entre 326 et 337 après J.-C. sous l’impulsion audacieuse de l’ère constantinienne, sa construction témoignait à la fois de la puissance impériale et de la ferveur spirituelle qui donnaient naissance à une foi renouvelée.



S’étendant sur environ 8 052 m² (soit des dimensions de 122 par 66 mètres), l’édifice arborait une disposition classique, digne des basiliques romaines de l’époque. Sa grande nef, divisée en cinq vaisseaux par des colonnes de marbre aux teintes chatoyantes, offrait une symétrie étudiée, où chaque détail semblait minutieusement orchestré pour marier l’élégance architecturale aux ambitions sacrées. Le transept saillant, véritable manifestation emblématique de la croix, guidait le regard vers l’abside semi-circulaire, érigée autour de la tombe sacrée de saint Titus, renforçant ainsi le prestige mythique et historique du lieu.

Pour le visiteur, s’approcher de cette basilique relevait d’une expérience quasi mystique. La lumière, filtrée par de larges ouvertures, venait caresser les mosaïques et les reliefs, révélant le travail minutieux des artisans et rappelant l’excellence technique et audacieuse qui avait animé sa construction. Chaque pas dans ses vastes espaces invitait à la contemplation, rappelant que cet édifice n’était pas seulement un lieu de culte, mais aussi un symbole vivant de l’union du sacré et de l’universel, de la foi naissante et de l’ambition impériale.



Ainsi, l’ancienne basilique vaticane, par son architecture harmonieuse et impressionnante, offrait aux âmes en quête de transcendance une vision de beauté et de grandeur intemporelle, faisant résonner à jamais l’écho d’un passé glorieux où le divin embrassait le monde des hommes



et c'est exactement ce que ressentit le cardinal émérite, chaudement vêtu de ses plus beaux atours, quand il entra dans l'édifice à la suite de ses collègues de la Curie.

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English

As twilight fell on an eternal day, the Old Vatican Basilica arose, majestic and solemn, like a scene straight from the dawn of Aristotelian history. Commissioned between 326 and 337 AD, driven by the bold vision of the Constantinian age, its very construction testified to the confluence of imperial might and spiritual fervor that birthed a renewed faith.



Spanning approximately 8,052 m² (measuring 122 by 66 meters), the edifice boasted a classical layout, typical of Roman basilicas of the era. Its grand nave, divided into five aisles by shimmering marble columns, presented a deliberate symmetry, where every detail seemed meticulously orchestrated to unite architectural elegance with sacred ambitions. The prominent transept, clearly symbolizing the cross, drew the eye towards the semi-circular apse built around the sacred tomb of Saint Titus, thus enhancing the site's legendary and historical prestige. For the visitor, approaching this basilica was an almost mystical experience. Light, filtering through wide openings, gently illuminated the mosaics and reliefs, revealing the meticulous craftsmanship of the artisans and evoking the bold technical excellence that drove its construction. Every step within its vast spaces invited contemplation, a reminder that this edifice was not merely a place of worship, but also a living symbol of the union between the sacred and the universal, between nascent faith and imperial ambition.



Thus, the old Vatican basilica, through its harmonious and impressive architecture, offered souls in search of transcendence a vision of timeless beauty and grandeur, forever echoing a glorious past where the divine embraced the world of men.



and that is exactly how the cardinal emeritus felt, warmly clad in his finest vestments, as he entered the building behind his colleagues from the Curia.

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[uLingua italiana[/u]

Al crepuscolo di un giorno d'eternità, l'antica basilica vaticana si ergeva, maestosa e solenne, come una scena teatrale tratta dalle prime pagine della storia aristotelica. Commissionata tra il 326 e il 337 d.C. sotto l'audace impulso dell'era costantiniana, la sua costruzione testimoniava al contempo la potenza imperiale e il fervore spirituale che davano vita a una fede rinnovata.

e fu esattamente ciò che provò il cardinale emerito, sontuosamente avvolto nei suoi più bei paramenti, quando entrò nell'edificio al seguito dei suoi colleghi della Curia.


Esteso su circa 8.052 m² (con dimensioni di 122 per 66 metri), l'edificio presentava una pianta classica, degna delle basiliche romane dell'epoca. La sua grande navata, divisa in cinque navate da colonne di marmo dalle sfumature cangianti, offriva una simmetria studiata, dove ogni dettaglio sembrava minuziosamente orchestrato per coniugare l'eleganza architettonica alle ambizioni sacre. Il transetto sporgente, vera e propria manifestazione emblematica della croce, guidava lo sguardo verso l'abside semicircolare, eretta attorno alla sacra tomba di San Tito, rafforzando così il prestigio mitico e storico del luogo. Per il visitatore, avvicinarsi a questa basilica costituiva un'esperienza quasi mistica. La luce, filtrata da ampie aperture, accarezzava i mosaici e i rilievi, rivelando il lavoro minuzioso degli artigiani e richiamando l'eccellenza tecnica e audace che ne aveva animato la costruzione. Ogni passo nei suoi vasti spazi invitava alla contemplazione, ricordando che questo edificio non era soltanto un luogo di culto, ma anche un simbolo vivente dell'unione tra il sacro e l'universale, della fede nascente e dell'ambizione imperiale.



Così, l'antica basilica vaticana, con la sua architettura armoniosa e imponente, offriva alle anime in cerca di trascendenza una visione di bellezza e grandezza senza tempo, facendo risuonare per sempre l'eco di un passato glorioso in cui il divino abbracciava il mondo degli uomini.


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"Le modernisme n'est ni une dérive, ni une horreur, ni une maladie honteuse. C'est le terreau de la rénovation de l'Eglise, la terreur des conservateurs, l'air pur qui vivifiera la foi" (Pie II de Valence)
"On n'est jamais dans le mensonge quand on prêche la paix et l'apaisement, toujours quand on prêche la haine d'autrui" (Pie II de Valence)

[Ettore_Asburgo_D'Argovia]

The Venetian Cardinal had tarried at the Tribunal of the Sacred Rota, where petitions for marital dissolution had surged in recent weeks, burdening Father Ettore with restless nights and deepening the weary shadows beneath his eyes. His usually composed demeanor had given way to a slightly disheveled air, further worsened by the seasonal affliction that spring had unceremoniously bestowed upon him. Yet, on this night—the eve of Easter—he could not permit himself the luxury of infirmity. With a heavy sigh, he made his way toward Piazza San Tito, his gait faltering yet determined. As the great pyre loomed before him, he let his gaze flutter half-closed, endeavoring to shut out the pressing crowd and steel himself for the imminent hour, when poise and dignity would be his only companions.
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+ Ettore Asburgo D'Argovia
Cardinale-Presbitero di San Barnaba a Ripa
Decano del Tribunale della Rota Romana
Arcivescovo Metropolitano di Udine
Professore alla Pontifica Universitas Studiorum Aristoteliorum
Ufficiale dell'Ordine pontificio di Nicola V

[Branwyn]

Rome lay silent as Branwyn stepped through the portal of the Basilica of Titus. The sky stretched velvety over the eternal city, streaked with the last stars of the night. Torches flickered in the wind, bathing the faces of those waiting in warm gold.

Their robes - traditional ceremonial robes - rustled softly over the marble. The basilica was lit only by flickering Easter candles. Shadows crept up the pillars like the ghosts of the past. The air smelled of incense, myrrh - and something that only Branwyn could sense: the breath of change.

She stopped in the centre of the nave. Her eyes, grey-blue like the mist over the Highlands, gazed into the flickering fire.
On this night, she thought, it's not just the prayers that rise - the old questions rise with them.

What does resurrection mean in a world that forgets itself?

What remains of the light when power obscures it?

And who, if not they, the clerics of the Aristotelian church, would have the courage to build a new bridge - between the mysteries of heaven and the wisdom of earth?

Their hope? That this night would reunite the world where centuries had separated it.
That renewal would not lie in ritual words, but in the quiet strength of people who refused to bow down.

The bishop took her seat and waited for the mass to begin.
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[Seppel]

As always, the Archbishop of Constance had a lot to arrange and organise before he could finally make his way to the fairground where the Easter Vigil was to be celebrated.

He walked quietly across the square, his eyes searching for the episcopal violet so that he could join his colleagues. Here and there, he nodded slightly to familiar faces before finally taking his place to wait for the start of mass.
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[Blazingwill]

The Franciscan archbishop slithered his way through the streets of Rome to reach the basilica. The night felt heavy upon his shoulders as if hands were pushing him down. He could see the vigil fire from afar and smell the charred logs. He approached painfully.
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