L'Eglise Aristotelicienne Romaine The Roman and Aristotelic Church

[Vivian]

[EN]

The journey unto Rome had been most agreeable, as oft it was, though the passage did span several days along the weary roads, with nights spent in modest inns and amongst sundry settlements. ’Twas not the first time that Vivian undertook such a voyage, and her heart rejoiced still in the quiet delight born of beholding the bucolic vistas - ever-changing 'twixt plains and highlands, with vast and sometimes flowered fields, thick woodlands, solemn mountains, tranquil lakes, and the coastal lands, offering fair glimpses of the boundless sea.

On this occasion, she had travelled for the sacred celebrations of Easter. In all her years, the devout Aristotelian was to witness - for the very first time, most wondrously - the Paschal Vigil, an honour bestowed upon her by none other than her dear friend and Cardinal, Adonnis.

In the grand square before the Basilica of Saint Titus, Vivian stepped down from the carriage, just behind her granddaughter, Lilliana. As she composed herself with grace, awaiting the arrival of Dame Missmoon, her gaze fell upon the young girl, whose countenance shone with great energy and fervent joy at what she had just beheld. This sight filled Vivian’s soul with contentment, for it was plain that her influence had borne good fruit - the child had learned well the righteous path of Aristotelian virtue.

The scene before her - the grand piazza, resplendent in its solemn majesty - stirred in Vivian the memory of her own first pilgrimage to the Eternal City, and the spirited wonder she once had known. From her earliest days, she had followed the teachings of Jah and Aristotle with fervour, faith, and utmost reverence. So many masses, celebrations, funerals, and whispered prayers… Time had slipped away as in a fleeting breath, and now Lilliana appeared a mirror of her younger self.

Nor was it only Lilliana who stirred pride within her breast; her grand-nephew Izak walked the same hallowed road. At times, she pondered whether such pride were a sin, as she had long been taught to deem it thus. Yet, what word might better capture the feeling of seeing one’s kindred bound in shared faith and virtue? And so, she came to believe that mayhap such pride - born not of vanity, but of love and spiritual joy - was no sin at all, but rather a quiet blessing.

Her honey-gilded eyes, bright and full of warmth, lit upon the young Marquis, and her heart swelled.

— May Jah's grace be upon thee, dear nephew. Come, join us. It shall be a joy to share thy company upon this blessed night of vigil. As thou well knowest, the family must remain as one.

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[PT]

A viagem até Roma tinha sido bastante agradável como de costume, mesmo sendo um trajeto que tardava dias a fio pelas estradas, pernoitando entre hospedarias e distintas povoações. Não era a primeira vez que Vivian fazia aquele percurso e ela regozijava-se com o deleite que sentia em ver as paisagens bucólicas que variavam entre planícies e planaltos, com campos vastos e às vezes floridos, florestas densas, montanhas, lagos e zona costeira com belas vistas para o mar.

Naquela ocasião em específico, viajara para as celebrações da Páscoa. Em todos os seus anos, a fiel aristotélica iria presenciar - pela primeira vez, o que era deveras surpreendente - a vigília pascal, convite este feito pelo seu amigo e Cardeal Adonnis.

Na praça da Basílica de São Titus, Vivian desceu do coche logo atrás de sua neta Lilliana e, enquanto se recompunha delicadamente a esperar por Dama Missmoon, reparou que a jovem estava bastante enérgica e entusiasmada com o que acabara de ver, deixando Vivian satisfeita em saber que havia influenciado positivamente sua neta, por ter aprendido muito bem a seguir o bom caminho do aristotelismo.

Tal cena diante de seus olhos, perante toda a majestosa praça de Roma, levou a Viana a lembrar-se de sua primeira viagem à cidade e de toda a empolgação que sentia. Desde tenra idade, Vivian seguia os ensinamentos de Jah e Aristóteles com afinco, fé e respeito. Foram tantas missas, celebrações, funerais, orações… O tempo passava como num sutil piscar de olhos: Lilliana parecia sua versão mais jovem.

E não apenas Lilliana fazia com que Vivian se sentisse orgulhosa; seu sobrinho-neto Izak encontrava-se na mesma seara. Às vezes, ela se questionava se o orgulho era um sentimento legítimo de ser sentido, pois ela entendia o orgulho como um pecado. Entretanto, qual palavra seria apropriada para definir o sentimento de ver a família reunida na mesma fé? E foi assim que concluiu que, talvez, o orgulho sentido daquela forma não fosse um pecado, pois não era algo negativo em sua essência.

Seus olhos brilhantes e cor-de-mel fitaram o jovem Marquês com alegria assim que o viu.

— Jah o abençoe, querido sobrinho. Junte-se a nós. Será um prazer ter a sua companhia nesta bela noite de vigília! Como bem sabe, a família deve permanecer unida.
_________________

[Lil.li]

"𝒜MEN."

Lilli opened her eyes after finishing her prayer and felt her heart warm. She felt close to the divine. And that good feeling just grew and grew, because she was around people who were special to her, like her 'Grand-Mère', the Duchess, whom she loved like a mother. Turning her attention to the celebration, Lilliana noticed a familiar presence. It was her cousin, Izak de Garza e Viana, Marquis of Lanhoso, approaching.

As he was five years younger, the countess felt, to a certain extent, that Izak was like a younger brother. And the fact that she had such an excellent brother was a source of pride for her. Izak was an example of a man, even though he was only ten. While in Portugal some nobles were vulgar, strutting and showing off foolishly with trumpeters, sycophants, croquettes and blazons, boasting at court of political victories won in obscure ways and behaving like drunken plebeians, the young marquis was an example of intelligence, humility and sobriety.

"My most dear cousin Izak, by all means please stay. I wouldn't want to see you anywhere other than with our family"- She said, curtsying.



"𝒜MÉM."

Lilli abriu os olhos após concluir a sua prece e sentiu o coração aquecer-se. Ela sentiu-se mais perto do divino. E aquele sentimento bom apenas crescia e crescia, porque ela estava perto de pessoas que eram especiais para ela, como sua "Grand-Mère", a Duquesa, a quem amava como uma mãe. Voltando suas atenções para a celebração, Lilliana logo notou uma presença familiar. Era o seu primo, Izak de Garza e Viana, Marquês de Póvoa de Lanhoso, que se aproximava.

Sendo cinco anos mais jovem, a condessa sentia até certo ponto que Izak era como um irmão mais novo. E o fato de ter um irmãozinho tão excelente era um orgulho para si. Izak era um exemplo de homem, ainda que contasse apenas dez anos de idade. Enquanto em Portugal alguns nobres eram vulgares, pavoneando-se e exibindo-se nas cortes de forma tola, com trombeteiros, aduladores, croquetes e brasões, vangloriando-se de vitórias políticas conquistadas através de meios obscuros e comportando-se como plebeus embriagados, o jovem marquês era um exemplo de inteligência, humildade e sobriedade.

"Meu querido primo Izak, por favor, fique. Eu não gostaria de vê-lo em outro lugar que não fosse com a nossa família." - disse ela, fazendo uma reverência.
_________________

[celsorjr]

No alvorecer, quando os sinos da Basílica de Santa Luzia ecoavam sobre os telhados de pedra, chegou, com passo nobre e silencioso, Dom Celso Pacheco, mui estimado Barão de São Lourenço. Trazia à destra a sua dileta esposa, Dona Mafiosa Pacheco, dama de elegância rara e firme espírito, com quem caminhava de mãos entrelaçadas, sinal de respeito mútuo e união honrada.

Ambos, trajados com vestes de linho fino e brocados discretos, adentraram o sagrado templo com a cabeça baixa, em reverência ao Altíssimo e aos santos que ali repousam. As suas pisadas não ecoaram mais alto que o sussurro das preces murmuradas por fiéis já presentes.

Ao levantar os olhos, Dom Celso avistou, não sem alegria contida, os rostos familiares dos seus amigos e conterrâneos do Condado de Lisboa, homens e mulheres de fé e lealdade. Com passo calmo, conduziu sua senhora até ao banco junto deles, onde se sentaram, em silêncio respeitoso, aguardando o início da cerimónia com o coração firme e espírito recolhido.

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At dawn, when the bells of the Basilica of Santa Luzia echoed over the stone roofs, Dom Celso Pacheco, the much-esteemed Baron of São Lourenço, arrived with noble and silent steps. He was carrying on his right hand his beloved wife, Dona Mafiosa Pacheco, a lady of rare elegance and firm spirit, with whom he walked hand in hand, a sign of mutual respect and honorable union.
Both, dressed in fine linen and discreet brocade, entered the sacred temple with their heads bowed, in reverence to the Almighty and the saints who rest there. Their footsteps did not echo louder than the whisper of the prayers murmured by the faithful already present.
When he looked up, Dom Celso saw, not without contained joy, the familiar faces of his friends and fellow countrymen from the County of Lisbon, men and women of faith and loyalty. With a calm step, he led his lady to the bench next to them, where they sat in respectful silence, awaiting the beginning of the ceremony with firm hearts and collected spirits.

[Kalixtus]

Les collines du Vatican étaient une œuvre d’art vivante, d’une architecture parfaite et, plus encore, un lieu de nature vibrante dans ses jardins étendus et ses parcs paysagers, souvent soustraits au regard du public, privilège de la Curie interne ou du Pape lui-même.
Des lieux de retraite et de communication directe avec soi-même, avec Dieu, avec les autres, avec le Tout.
Le Tout qui compte.

Il y avait un petit jardin, non loin de la puissante basilique.
Un lieu qui ressemblait à une arrière-cour et qu’on aurait facilement pu ignorer.
Quelques arbres laissaient pendre leurs branches par-dessus la petite oasis et ombrageaient une partie du jardin, sous lesquelles les premières fleurs délicates dressaient leur tête vers le soleil majestueux.
Leur vie dépendait, comme toute chose, de ce qui se tenait dans l’azur du ciel.
L’eau qui tombe des nuages gonflés et humecte la terre, revigore les racines, ou les rayons du soleil, qui, dans une omnipotence étincelante, étaient le symbole de l’éternel lui-même.
Un symbole qui brûlait concrètement, expérimentalement, réellement.
Les deux éléments étaient mortels ou vivifiants en soi.
L’eau et la lumière s’unissent pour faire jaillir la vie de la terre.

Les pas de Kalixtus étaient silencieux alors qu’il traversait le retrait sacré de cet espace encadré de murs et d’arcades.
L’ombre de la basilique tombait sur la verdure dans la lumière du soleil couchant de Rome.
Ses pensées se tissaient en un réseau qui coulait comme des gouttes de pluie sur la vitre.
Des chemins qui, suivant une voie secrète et mystérieuse du chaos, correspondaient néanmoins à un ordre supérieur.

Celui qui cherche Dieu, Kalixtus le savait, n’a pas besoin de scruter les voûtes sombres du Vatican, ni de feuilleter les parchemins poussiéreux des siècles passés.
Dieu n’était pas gravé dans la pierre, ni enchaîné dans des mots, mais il était l’incarnation de la liberté, de la vitalité.
Il était ici, dans l’ombre du dôme, dans le visage de la nature, de la vie, dans la lumière — mais aussi dans l’obscurité.

À mesure que le crépuscule tombait et que les lampes s’allumaient, le cardinal s’assit sous les arbres et ses mains effleuraient doucement les délicates fleurs d’une plante violette, qui dirigeait toute son énergie, toute sa conscience vers l’appel, dans une beauté parfaite, adressée à une abeille bourdonnante passant par hasard.
Un appel qui dit — me voici, je t’ai cherché tout ce temps.
Viens.

Cet appel n’était-il pas aussi l’appel de Dieu ?
Dieu n’était-il pas la beauté, n’était-il pas celui qui appelle les hommes à lui, les nourrit de nectar, les guide et les rassasie ?
On pouvait trouver Dieu ici.
Même dans les ténèbres.

Il se leva, et les larges robes de soie rouge foncé s’envolèrent lorsqu’il traversa l’herbe, passa entre les colonnes des arcades et entra dans la basilique par une petite porte discrète.
La maison de Dieu, le bastion de l’Église, l’ancre même de l’humanité.
Ici, leurs prières s’élevaient vers lui, vers LUI.
Ils devenaient dignes de LUI et imploraient SA grâce, SA faveur, SON amour.

Kalixtus alluma une bougie et la déposa parmi les centaines d’autres au sanctuaire de saint Jean.
Il regarda dans ses yeux pleins de bonté, qui semblaient se poser sur lui.
Le mettre à l’épreuve, le défier.
Être digne de lui était une mission de toute une vie à laquelle Kalixtus s’était soumis.
Il préservait l’héritage même après tous ces siècles, était un paladin de la foi, un gardien, un mystique, un mentor – mais aussi nu, démuni, et vide.
Chaque souffle emplissait ses poumons, chaque pensée se perdait dans le réseau des chemins d’eau qui formaient des ruisseaux, des rivières, et des océans.
C’était le cycle éternel, l’ordonnancement divin dans le mouvement des éléments.

Le cardinal souriait, plus encore, il avait conscience que cette nuit encore, la roue continuait de tourner.
Que les cycles se poursuivaient, inéluctables, implacables.
Un ordre à l’image du Tout-Puissant.
L’obscurité s’efface lorsque nous allumons la lumière en nous.

Il se signa et se prépara pour la cérémonie, puis sortit par le portail ouvert de la basilique sur la place.
Il vit que toute la place s’était déjà remplie de monde, et Kalixtus descendit le chemin menant à l’obélisque.
Passant devant le peuple, les âmes, ceux dont le destin reposait dans les mains de Dieu, et dont les espoirs, dont les pensées influenceraient la vie de tous de mille façons.

Dieu était ici aussi.
Il était parmi eux.
Dans le rire.
Dans les larmes.
Dans l’émerveillement.
Leurs visages passaient dans la conscience de Kalixtus, devenaient des sillons d’eau sur une vitre sous la pluie.

Tout était lié.



The Vatican hills were a living work of art, with perfect architecture, and more than that, a place of vibrant nature in its expansive gardens and landscaped parks, often kept away from the public eye, a privilege of the inner Curia or the Pope himself.
Places of retreat and direct communication with oneself, with God, with others, with the Whole.
The Whole that matters.

There was a small garden, not far from the mighty basilica.
A place that resembled a backyard and could easily be overlooked.
A few trees hung their branches over the small oasis, casting shade on part of the garden, beneath which the first delicate flowers stretched their heads toward the majestic sun.
Their life, like all things, depended on what stood in the blue of the sky.
The water that fell from swollen clouds, moistening the earth, revitalizing the roots, or the rays of the sun, which, in their shimmering omnipotence, were the symbol of the eternal itself.
A symbol that burned tangibly, experientially, truly.
Both elements were either deadly or life-giving.
Water and light unite to bring life from the earth.

Kalixtus's steps were silent as he walked through the sacred seclusion of this space framed by walls and arcades.
The shadow of the basilica fell on the greenery in the light of the setting Roman sun.
His thoughts wove together into a network that flowed like raindrops on a windowpane.
Paths that, following a secret, mysterious route of chaos, nonetheless corresponded to a higher order.

He who seeks God, Kalixtus knew, does not need to gaze into the dark vaults of the Vatican, nor pore over the dusty parchments of the past centuries.
God was not carved in stone, nor bound in words, but He was the incarnation of freedom, of vitality.
He was here, in the shadow of the dome, in the face of nature, of life, in the light — but also in the dark.

As twilight descended and the lamps were lit, the cardinal sat under the trees, his hands gently brushing the delicate flowers of a violet plant, which directed all its energy, all its consciousness, toward calling a bee passing by in perfect beauty.
A call that said — here I am, I have searched for you all this time.
Come.

Was this call not also the call of God?
Was not God beauty, was He not the caller who beckons people to Him, feeds them with nectar, guides them, and nourishes them?
God could be found here.
Even in the darkness.

He rose, and the wide dark red silk robes billowed as he walked across the grass, through the columns of the arcades, and into the basilica through a small inconspicuous door.
The house of God, the stronghold of the Church, the very anchor of humanity.
Here, their prayers ascended to Him, to HIM.
They became worthy of Him and implored His grace, His favor, His love.

Kalixtus lit a candle and placed it among the hundreds of others at the shrine of Saint John.
He looked into His kind eyes, which seemed to look down upon him.
To test him, to challenge him.
Being worthy of Him was a lifelong task to which Kalixtus had submitted.
He preserved the legacy even after all these centuries, was a paladin of the faith, a guardian, a mystic, a mentor — yet also naked, helpless, and empty.
Each breath filled his lungs, each thought lost itself in the network of water paths that formed streams, rivers, and oceans.
This was the eternal cycle, the divine providence in the movement of the elements.

The cardinal smiled, more so, he was aware that tonight, once again, the wheel continued to turn.
That the cycles went on, inescapable, relentless.
An order in the image of the Almighty.
Darkness passes when we light the light within us.

He made the sign of the cross and prepared himself for the ceremony, then stepped out through the open portal of the basilica onto the square.
He saw that the whole square had already filled with people, and Kalixtus walked the path down to the obelisk.
Passing the people, the souls, those whose fate rested in God’s hands, and whose hopes, whose thoughts would influence the life of all in myriad ways.

God was here too.
He was among them.
In the laughter.
In the tears.
In the awe.
Their faces passed through Kalixtus's awareness, becoming streams of water on a windowpane in the rain.

Everything was connected.

_________________

[Adelene]

Un silence. D’abord.

Il s’était glissé entre Uriel et le cardinal comme un souffle discret, mais dense, presque tendre. Adelène, toujours appuyé contre lui, ne répondit pas immédiatement. Il n’en avait ni la force, ni l’orgueil. Ses yeux, embués, distinguaient mal ce qui l’entourait, et son esprit vacillait comme une flamme menacée par le vent. Il ferma les paupières un instant et se laissa aller à ce contact rare, cette chaleur humaine qu’il n’avait plus cherchée depuis si longtemps et qu’il n’avait peut-être jamais osé désirer.

Vous êtes revenu ? murmura-t-il enfin, d’une voix rauque, étranglée par la fatigue et quelque chose d'autre, plus chimique.

Le poids de son corps s’était alourdi contre celui d’Uriel, comme s’il avait deviné, sans certitude, que c’était bien lui.

Je suis fatigué, mon ami... souffla-t-il, hagard. Je suis fatigué...

Mais déjà la foule s’était resserrée autour d’eux, dense, bruissante, importune. Des paroles flottaient à la surface du monde comme autant de cailloux jetés à la hâte sur une eau trouble. Des messages, des noms, des saluts, des murmures sans importance qui cognaient contre la conscience vacillante du cardinal.

Et soudain, il le vit.

Kalixtus.

Ou du moins, il crut le voir. Auréolé d’une lumière presque irréelle, ses cheveux blancs flottaient autour de son visage paisible, et il semblait marcher non pas sur le sol, mais dans l’air même, porté par une force douce et indéchiffrable. Un instant, tout le bruit s’effaça. Adelène le contempla comme on contemple une apparition. Une douleur sourde lui traversa la poitrine. Il aurait donné sa vie, à cet instant, pour goûter ne serait-ce qu’un éclat de la paix qui semblait émaner de ce visage merveilleux.

Il desserra lentement l’étreinte d’Uriel, presque à regret, comme un condamné relâche une dernière main avant l’abîme. Et, chancelant, il fit un pas en avant. Puis un autre.

Son corps lui obéissait à peine. Il se frayait un chemin maladroit parmi les silhouettes indistinctes. Il bouscula quelques fidèles, trébucha une première fois, se rattrapa à une main tendue. Une seconde chute manqua de l’emporter, mais il se cramponna à un bras, à une épaule, sans même regarder à qui ils appartenaient. Il avançait, attiré comme un papillon vers une flamme, sans savoir si c’était la lumière ou la cendre qu’il allait trouver au bout.




___



Silence. At first.

It had slipped between Uriel and the cardinal like a discreet but dense, almost tender breath. Adelene, still leaning against him, didn't answer immediately. He had neither the strength nor the pride to do so. His eyes were foggy, and it was hard to make out what was around him, and his mind flickered like a flame threatened by the wind. He closed his eyelids for a moment and let himself feel this rare contact, this human warmth that he had not sought for so long and had perhaps never dared to desire.

You've come back? he murmured at last, in a hoarse voice choked with fatigue and something else, something more chemical.

The weight of his body had become heavier against Uriel's, as if he had guessed, without certainty, that it was really him.

I'm tired, my friend... he breathed, haggard. I'm tired...

But already the crowd had closed in around them, dense, rustling, intrusive. Words floated on the surface of the world like so many hastily thrown pebbles on murky water. Messages, names, greetings, unimportant whispers banging against the cardinal's wavering conscience.

And suddenly, he saw him.

Kalixtus.

Or so he thought. Shrouded in an almost unreal light, his white hair floating around his peaceful face, he seemed to be walking not on the ground, but in the air itself, carried by a gentle, indecipherable force. For a moment, all the noise died away. Adelène gazed at him as one gazes at an apparition. A dull pain crossed her chest. He would have given his life at that moment to taste even a glimmer of the peace that seemed to emanate from that marvellous face.

He slowly loosened his grip on Uriel, almost reluctantly, like a condemned man releasing a last hand before the abyss. And, staggering, he took a step forward. Then another.

His body barely obeyed him. He clumsily made his way among the indistinct silhouettes. He bumped into a few of the faithful, stumbled once, caught himself with an outstretched hand. He nearly fell a second time, but held on to an arm, a shoulder, without even looking to see who they belonged to. He moved forward, drawn like a moth to a flame, not knowing whether it was light or ash that he would find at the end.

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

[Kalixtus]

Kalixtus se tourna vers Adelene, tandis qu'illuminé derrière lui par les lumières des bougies, celles-ci se reflétaient par centaines, voire par milliers. Elles l'enveloppaient dans une lumière douce et surnaturelle, qui flattait le cardinal, l'enivrait, comme si une lueur émanait de lui, comme si c'était de l'intérieur qu'il brillait. Une force semblait rayonner de lui, jaillissant d'une source profonde et solidement ancrée.

Ses yeux, d'un bleu éclatant semblable à la mer Arctique, invitaient à s'y perdre, se concentrèrent sur le jeune cardinal. Ils le pénétraient, et il sembla un instant que le temps s'était arrêté, comme si le monde autour d'eux se déroulait dans une sphère différente. Adelene et Kalixtus – Kalixtus et Adelene.

D'autres bougies s'allumèrent et, au-dessus d'eux, des milliers d'étoiles scintillaient sur un ciel d'azur s'étendant sur Rome dans la nuit de Pâques. Les cloches de Saint-Titus commencèrent à sonner, remplissant la place de résonances puissantes, emplissant les cœurs des hommes, dont la force battante donnait naissance à la vie elle-même.

Mais ce n'était qu'un instant, un témoignage se déroulant autour d'eux, tandis que Kalixtus, avec des traits réguliers, offrait un sourire tendre et naissant, le rendant sacré et véritable. Un sourire qui savait offrir sincérité, intégrité et force. D'où ce homme tirait-il cette énergie, cette conscience qui semblait émaner de son être, sa source intérieure se dévoilant à travers chacun de ses gestes ?

Silencieux. Secrètement, pour lui et pourtant visible pour tous, un fragment du caché, du secret et de l’intime de Kalixtus se révélait. Il se dévoilait au jeune cardinal Adelene comme une fleur prête à s'épanouir dans la lumière éternelle du soleil. Était-ce un cadeau pour l'homme devant lui ? Un privilège si rare, une bienveillance si pure qu'elle était difficile à supporter, et dès qu'on en prenait conscience, on en voulait davantage.

Kalixtus brisa ce moment, tendant presque affectueusement sa main vers lui, et avec l’effleurement de ses doigts chauds sur la peau du jeune homme, il lui transmit l'énergie infinie qui le caractérisait. Il lui offrit du soutien, de la force et un précieux instant de puissance intérieure, qu'il allait traverser comme une lumière dorée. Il souriait toujours, son blanc cheveux flottant dans le vent doux, et, pendant un moment, le cardinal inclina légèrement la tête, comme s'il lui disait : « Fais-moi confiance ! »

Un geste plus fort que la tempête, plus puissant que le feu, plus profond que la terre elle-même. Voilà le chemin de l'eau.

Kalixtus sourit à nouveau, ferma brièvement les paupières avant de les rouvrir pour le regarder : « Suis-moi ! »



Kalixtus turned to Adelene, as behind him the lights of candles reflected in the hundreds and hundreds. They surrounded him in a tender, otherworldly light, flattering the cardinal, filling him, as if he himself were shining from within. A force seemed to emanate from him, bubbling up from a deep, deeply rooted source.

His eyes, glowing like the Arctic sea in a blue that invited one to sink into it, focused on the young cardinal. They penetrated him, and it felt as if time itself had stopped, as though the world around them were unfolding in a different sphere. Adelene and Kalixtus – Kalixtus and Adelene.

More candles were lit, and above them, thousands of stars glittered over a dark blue sky extending over Rome on this Easter night. The bells of St. Titus began to ring, filling the square with powerful resonance, filling the hearts of the people, whose pulsing strength gave birth to life itself.

But this was only a moment, a testimony unfolding around them, as Kalixtus, with even features, offered a tender, emerging smile that made him appear sacred and true. A smile that knew how to give sincerity, integrity, and strength. Where did this man draw his energy from, where did all this awareness come from, the source of his innermost essence, which revealed itself in all his traits?

Silent. Secretly, for himself, yet visible to all, a piece of Kalixtus's hidden, secret, and intimate inner self was revealed. It revealed itself to the young cardinal Adelene like a blossom, ready to unfold in the light of the eternal sun. Was this a gift to the young man before him? Such a rare privilege, such sincere goodwill that it was hard to bear, and once recognized, it led to a desire for more.

Kalixtus broke this moment by almost lovingly extending his hand towards him, and with the breath of his warm fingers touching the young man’s skin, he transferred the inexhaustible energy that defined him. He gave him support, strength, and a precious moment of inner power that would flood him like golden light. He smiled still, his white hair flowing in the gentle wind, and for a moment, the cardinal seemed to tilt his head slightly, as if to say: "Trust me!"

A gesture stronger than the storm, more powerful than fire, deeper than the earth itself. This was the path of water.

Kalixtus smiled again and briefly closed his eyelids before opening them again and looking at him: "Follow me!"

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[Seppel]

Watching what was happening, Joseph was quite surprised. He had expected something else. Why was the young cardinal swaying as he made his way forwards? Why did he have such a glazed look on his face?

He instinctively tried to support him with his hand as he passed him. But he continued to stagger towards Cardinal Kalixtus.

What was happening here? Was this part of the official ceremony? The young bishop should probably familiarise himself more intensively with Roman customs.
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