(Six days before the Pope's death)
Cardinal Fonseca sat alone in his chamber within the Vatican. Under the flickering light of a candle, he was carefully illustrating the pages of an ancient handwritten Bible. Gold-leaf crosses, delicate lines, and sacred symbols came to life under the tip of his fine brush. It was one of the few earthly pleasures he allowed himself while walking the path of God. A man who had renounced worldly indulgence, Fonseca found peace in this humble, holy craft.
Just then, a knock came at the door. Fonseca raised his head.
A young cleric entered, breathing slightly irregularly.
"Cardinal Fonseca," he said. "His Holiness summons you."
Fonseca was surprised. At this hour? The Pope never met anyone at night. Rising from his chair with concern, he muttered,
"This is unusual…"
He quickly dressed in formal yet modest attire appropriate for an audience with the Pope. Draping a deep crimson cloak with golden embroidery over his shoulders, he left his room.
The echo of his footsteps along the long stone corridors of the Vatican filled him with an unknown weight. The closer he climbed to the upper levels, the more uneasy he felt. At last, he reached the private office of the Pope. Taking a deep breath, he knocked and entered.
The Pope was seated in his grand chair, waiting.
"You've come, Fonseca?" he asked in a weary voice.
"I have, Your Holiness," Fonseca replied.
The Pope turned to the young cleric standing beside him.
"Leave us."
The young man bowed and quietly exited. The door closed behind him, leaving the Pope and Fonseca alone. The silence inside the sacred chamber felt heavier than ever. The Pope raised a hand, inviting Fonseca closer. He stepped forward slowly.
The old man's face was pale, with dark circles under his eyes. He seemed deep in thought.
Fonseca's voice was respectful, tinged with concern.
"Your Holiness… are you well? You never summon anyone at this hour. Is something troubling you?"
The Pope lowered his head slightly. His expression resembled that of a man trying to confess something he couldn't find the words for.
"Forgive me for calling you so late, Fonseca," he said. "But… this is important."
Fonseca waited silently.
The Pope turned his eyes to the window and began to speak.
"Lately, I've been feeling strange. As if time and space blur together. I forget where I am, what time it is. There's a weight inside me… as though someone—or something—has latched onto my soul."
Fonseca frowned.
"It happens most… when Cardinal Leonardo is nearby. Whenever he is near, this heaviness overtakes me. And this feeling… it began with his arrival."
Fonseca froze for a moment. Then he asked, cautiously but directly:
"Your Holiness… are you suggesting that Leonardo may be harming you? Or your health?"
The Pope closed his eyes. He paused, thinking deeply, then gave a slight nod.
"I'm not certain. But I suspect it. Leonardo's rise was… odd. He climbed from priest to cardinal in just five years. Shortly after the former Pope elevated him—he died suddenly. When I took office, I assigned someone to investigate Leonardo's past. But… there was nothing. No records. No trace…"
His voice weakened, his gaze drifted into space.
"And my health… it's failing fast. I feel it—this isn't natural."
Fonseca drew a deep breath, unease growing in his chest. He sensed where this conversation was heading, but still wasn't ready for it.
"What would you have me do, Your Holiness?" he asked.
The Pope placed his hands on his knees. It was as if he had rehearsed this answer for days. At last, he spoke:
"I believe… my time is short, Fonseca. If something happens to me… I ask that you be my successor."
Fonseca was stunned into silence. Sorrow and disbelief filled his face. The Pope's trust placed a heavy burden on him. But the thought of his death—it pained him deeply.
"No, Your Holiness…" he said with a trembling voice. "You are still strong. You have much life left. This thought… it is far too soon."
The Pope offered a faint smile. Then suddenly, his eyes clouded, and he looked around as if lost.
"Why… why are you here, Fonseca?" he asked. "I was just… in bed, wasn't I? This… this is my office?"
Fonseca's heart sank. The Pope was drifting—losing track of time and space. This was the clearest sign that his fears were real.
Fonseca gently took the Pope by the arm.
"I've come to take you to your bed, Your Holiness," he whispered.
The Pope leaned on him like a child. Fonseca supported him tenderly, guiding him to his chamber and laying him down with care. He pulled the blanket over him.
The Pope turned slightly and whispered,
"Thank you… my dear son."
That word—son—pierced deep into Fonseca's heart. His soul ached. Yet in his eyes, a spark of determination ignited. He knelt, bowed his head, and whispered:
"I will carry out your will… Father. Now rest. I am here."
—
The first light of dawn barely illuminated the grand stone walls of the Vatican Palace. Cardinal Fonseca, his head bowed, walked the quiet corridors in his simple robes. The sun had just risen over the horizon. The only sound was the echo of his footsteps, and the chill of night still lingered.
But his mind could not stray from the conversation of the night before. The Pope's faltering mind, his weakness… the way he had called him "son."
Silently, he prayed:
"Lord, please protect the Holy Father. Restore his health. Deliver him from this darkness…"
Just as he turned the corner leading to the cardinal's quarters, he spotted a young cleric standing at his door. The boy's robe was perfectly folded, his posture formal. Fonseca did not slow his stride.
"What is it, my child? Why do you wait here?" he asked.
The cleric bowed respectfully.
"Your Eminence, I come bearing an order from the Papal Office. His Holiness requests your presence in Bologna. You are to resolve a dispute between two local lords."
Fonseca's face showed no emotion, but his pupils narrowed slightly. He gave a slight nod.
"I understand… and I shall obey," he said curtly. "You may go."
The cleric departed quietly. Fonseca opened the door to his office and stepped inside. Once the door closed, the calm on his face vanished. A shadow of red flickered in his eyes, his lips tensed. He closed his eyes, suppressing his fury.
"This… this cannot be the Pope's will. This order… comes from another hand."
But he took a deep breath. To defy the command would weaken his standing in the Vatican. Not yet… it wasn't time.
He gripped the edge of his desk, bowed his head, and silently prayed:
"Lord… protect the Holy Father until I return…"
With a deep sigh, Fonseca began to pack his belongings. His eyes fell upon the simple crucifix on his shelf. Despite the growing darkness in his heart, he steeled himself to fulfill his duty—and left.
—
At that very moment, in one of the uppermost private chambers of the Vatican, the young cleric who had delivered the message returned to the Papal Office. He knocked. A voice inside permitted him to enter. He stepped in.
The Pope was seated in his chair, hands folded in prayer, his head bowed.
The cleric gave a slight bow.
"I delivered your command, Your Holiness. Cardinal Fonseca accepted."
The Pope gave a slow nod.
"Good… you may go."
The cleric exited quietly, the door closing behind him.
Silence ruled for a while. Then the Pope looked carefully around the room. As if someone unseen were present, he turned his head and whispered into the void:
"I've done as you asked… Leonardo."
From the shadows in the corner of the room, a figure stirred. A silhouette emerged from the dimness—tall, robed, standing still.
Leonardo had arrived.
"Well done… Your Holiness," he hissed with a voice like a serpent.
A glint of greed shone in his eyes. A thin, wicked smile curved on his lips. His mouth twitched like a predator catching the scent of prey.
His appearance was still fitting of a cardinal—but the energy within his body carried a dark secret. The light in his eyes no longer belonged to anything human. It was as if something else… ruled him from within.
"Sending Fonseca away… an excellent move. Fewer eyes. Fewer questions."
Leonardo stepped forward. His voice was soft, yet laced with menace.
"Power… prefers silence. Now… we must prepare for the final act, mustn't we… Your Holiness?"
The Pope lowered his head. He gave no reply.
Because the man seated on that throne was no longer God's representative.
He was merely an old soul… standing against the darkness.