There was only one oil lamp in the hallway below the chapel, its yellow light reflecting off the damp stone walls and thickening the shadows in every corner. Maria led Ren down the narrow stairs to the old archive room—a room that had not been used since the old war. In her hand, she held the iron key that Father Gideon had just given her to "check damaged manuscripts." But as soon as the wooden door was locked behind them, the sounds of the outside world disappeared, replaced by a silence filled only with their breathing.
The room was small, just big enough for a single fragile bookcase and a rickety wooden table. A thin sliver of moon cut through the tall window, illuminating a pile of dusty parchments. Maria stood in the middle, her thin prayer robe billowing lightly. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears; fear and longing fought fiercely.
Ren closed the distance, his steps silent. "You still have time before dawn mass," he whispered, his voice dripping like dark honey. "Why choose a hidden place?"
Maria swallowed, looking down. "Because… there's no one here to disturb you. I… need to talk without other ears."
Ren touched her chin, lifting it slowly until their eyes met. "Tell me," he said softly.
Maria opened her mouth, but the words were lost; only a nervous breath escaped. In her chest, a flash of guilt still lingered—but the warm embers of last night's kiss demanded more. Ren waited without prodding, his thumb stroking Maria's cheek patiently, calming her trembling.
Finally Maria said softly, "I fear sin… but I fear losing you more." Her voice was broken, but honest. "If this is wrong, teach me the right way… with you."
Ren breathed a sigh of relief, then leaned in slightly so that his whisper curled directly into Maria's ear. "Then, listen to the promise, and feel… only as far as you allow." He waited; Maria nodded once, uncertain but aware. The agreement was enough.
Ren pressed his forehead to hers, letting out a long breath. "First promise," he whispered, "I will not take anything you do not give me." His fingers trailed down Maria's arm, slowly descending until their fingers intertwined. Maria trembled, but did not pull her hand away.
"The second promise," his voice was more intimate, "I will keep your tears—as my own prayer." He guided Maria's hand to his chest, above the strong beat. The priest felt the heat beneath the maid's cloth, more real than any prayer he had ever whispered.
Ren slowly released her, bringing his own hand to Maria's shoulder. He swept the thin robe aside, revealing the pale line of her shoulder in the moonlight. His touch was light, a finger tracing the curve of her collarbone. Maria swallowed again; fear—yes, but there was a greater gleam of desire, shining in his brown eyes.
Ren bent down, his lips kissing the crook of her neck; only briefly, but Maria gasped, inhaling sharply as if under magic. "The third promise," he whispered against the warm skin, "every touch of this—to remind you, you are alive… not just a sacred symbol."
Ren's fingers moved now along Maria's back, tracing her shoulder blades and then down to her lower back—where he knew the trembling was hidden. When his palm pressed gently there, Maria blinked, a small sigh escaping between lips moistened with suspense. But she did not back down. Her hands moved instead, reaching for Ren's waist, her soft fingers gripping the fabric. She looked up, eyes glassy, lips trembling.
"Ren..." she whispered, more needy than rejecting. "Don't... go."
Ren answered by kissing Maria's forehead—hot, full of promise. Their lips pressed together for a few seconds, flowing with calm. Maria closed her eyes, tears dripping again, but her smile was born between sobs. She didn't run; she stood in that embrace, her prayer robe pressed to Ren's chest, trembling against trembling.
The moonlight shifted, making their shadows unite on the stone floor: one figure, two beats. Ren resisted the urge to take her further; the first promise demanded patience. He only hugged, letting his hands stroke Maria's back rhythmically—erasing fear, instilling a sense of security.
Behind the door, distant footsteps echoed—the night guard changed patrol. Maria flinched, but Ren reassured her with a whisper, "It's not their time yet." Maria nodded, believing.
They leaned together for a few minutes, breathing together. When Maria finally released the hug, her face was wet but peaceful. Her robe was tangled around her shoulders, strands of hair sticking to her cheeks. Ren smoothed it out slowly, his fingers brushing strands of hair behind her ear. Maria took her hand, kissing the back of it—a reverse gesture of prayer.
Ren took a breath, holding back his agitation. "Dawn is almost here," he said hoarsely. "I'll go first."
Maria tightened her grip—reluctant, but resigned. "Meet me… after mass," she asked.
Ren nodded. "Promise." He met Maria's eyes once more, then turned, opening the archive door. Before his shadow disappeared into the dark hallway, Maria called softly, "Ren…"
He turned his head.
"Thank you," she said, her voice still shaky but steady. "For making me feel… loved, not worshipped."
Ren smiled softly, closing the door behind him. Maria leaned against the wooden table, touching her own lips—still warm from the kiss on her forehead—and realized that her fears were not gone… but they no longer held her captive.
At the end of the hall, Hiro waited behind a stone archway—the patrol letter clutched in his hand. He watched Ren emerge from the secret archives, his cloak still half open, his face calm. The hero's eyes hardened; tomorrow, he would summon the entire group—a meeting that could change the team's dynamics forever.