The Omen of the Storm

Thunder roared on the horizon, its echoes reverberating through the darkened skies like the drums of an inevitable omen. Dense, heavy clouds gathered over the Eternal City, obscuring the light of the moon and stars. The oppressive atmosphere bore down on the Vatican, as if an unseen entity had cast its shadow upon that sacred ground. 

Pope Adrian watched the storm take form from the window of his private chamber. His fingers slowly traced the pages of an ancient book, its ancestral writings glowing gold under the dim lighting of the room. But no matter how much he tried to focus, something unsettled him. 

It was a cold, hollow sensation. A deep unease gnawing at his soul. 

He couldn't quite explain why, but… tonight, more than ever, it felt as if God had averted His gaze. 

The silence was broken by a calm voice, though it carried an underlying weight.