The Weight of New Bonds

[Nora Saint-Clair]

Seraphis sat cross-legged, her back a perfect line of discipline. Between her and Nora sat a single, thick beeswax candle. Its flame was a steady, golden teardrop, surprisingly resilient against the draft that prowled the floor.

"The candle flame is a tutor, Nora," Seraphis said, her voice soft but carrying that rhythmic, hypnotic quality she used during lessons. "But the Sacred Flame within is the master. It is the engine of your transformation. Without a connection to that inner heat, you are merely a cold statue playing at being alive."

Nora adjusted her position, her knees protesting against the hard floor. "And how do I find a flame in a place this cold, Veilwarden?"

"By realizing the cold is an illusion of the flesh," Seraphis replied, her eyes remaining closed. "Focus on the candle. Don't look at the wax or the wick. Look at the blue heart of the fire. That is the point of purest energy. Now, close your eyes and find that same blue heart within your own spirit."

Nora sighed internally, the skepticism a familiar, sour taste in the back of her throat. It was all so theatrical: the darkness, the single light, the flowery metaphors. To her, power wasn't a flame; it was a resource, a tension that she could pull upon if she focused her mind just right. It was mechanical, like a piston.

But she closed her eyes. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She followed the breath control techniques they’d practiced, slowing her heart rate until the thrumming of her pulse was the only sound in the silence.

"Visualize your fears," Seraphis whispered. "They are the dross. The impurities in the metal. Feel them as a weight in your chest."

Nora didn't have to visualize much. The idea of her family's disappointment, the constant, low-grade terror that Claude would be discovered, the crushing weight of the lies she told every hour; they were right there, resting behind her ribs like jagged stones.

"Now," Seraphis continued, "ignite the inner flame. Let the heat of your connection to the Ascendant Flame wash over those fears. Feel them melting, transforming from heavy stones into the very fuel that sustains your light."

Nora focused on that internal pressure. Instead of fighting the anxiety, she tried a different approach. One that felt less like "faith" and more like a decision. She gathered the tension, the raw nervous energy that usually kept her on edge, and forced it into a single point of focus. A sudden, strange warmth blossomed inside.

It wasn't the divine touch Seraphis spoke of, but it was undeniable. The tension in her limbs loosened. The jagged stones of her fear didn't vanish, but the sharp edges seemed to soften, the energy shifting from a paralyzing weight into a steady, vibrating hum of readiness. It was… calming. A quiet, clinical stillness settled over her mind, pushing back the frantic static of her double life.

It’s just a feedback loop, Nora told herself, even as she leaned into the sensation. I’m using visualization to trigger a physiological response. It’s practical, not freaking holy.

"You are glowing, Nora. Actually glowing." Seraphis whispered, and Nora snapped her eyes open.

The room was still dark, but her skin felt tingly, a faint prickle of static electricity dancing along her forearms. The candle had burned down significantly, a pool of melted wax spilling over the side like a frozen tear.

"I... I feel the warmth," Nora said, her voice sounding distant to her own ears.

"That is the connection," Seraphis said. As she rose to her feet, she helped Nora do the same, and smiled.

Back in her room, Nora sat at her desk, the leather-bound journal open before her. The Moscow wind rattled the windowpane, a reminder of the bitter world outside, but the warmth in her chest lingered, a stubborn ember of the day’s exercise. She picked up her pen, her mind already translating her pragmatic experience into the "holy" prose Seraphis expected.

Journal entry:

Today’s meditation on the Sacred Flame Within moved beyond the theoretical. I have often viewed my fears as enemies to be conquered or walls to be scaled. Maybe I have been hoarding them. By accepting those fears, they seemed to transform into power? 

When I focused on the candle, I found a corresponding point of light within myself. Bringing my doubts into that light was not an easy process, but the resulting stillness was a clarity I haven't known since before my journey began. I am learning that transformation isn't about discarding who I was, but about refining myself.


Nora closed the book, her expression going flat as she stared at the cover. It was a good entry. It hit all the right notes of "spiritual growth" and "surrender."

She leaned back, rubbing her tired eyes. The ritual was nonsense, the terminology was a joke, and the Brotherhood was a cult. But she had to admit that her hands were steady, and she had felt something.