When the light in the room grew stronger, he thought one of the younger priests had come to tell him to go to bed. But on a new moon's night, sleep had never come easy. The dark night sky unsettled him. Even as a young boy, he was scared of the dark spot, where the moon usually was. He looked up from his book to complain about the intruder, when he realized that no one was there.
He blinked at the candle. Was the room really less dim now? Maybe he made that up, it was late, after all. So he reverted to his book.
A few moments later the light seemed to grow brighter once more. This time the flame flickered, casting strange shadows on the walls. He looked around the room, then back at the open pages. It was almost like the eyes of the drawing on the left page were glowing. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened again, nothing had changed, the candle was still giving its unusual strong light, flickering randomly.
Maybe there was a draft. That would explain it. He took up his candle to check on all windows and doors. Maybe another priest could not sleep as well and was walking around, forgetting to close a door. As he left his study room, the hallway was only lit by his own candle. All doors seemed to be closed tight, as they were supposed to. He walked back into the other direction, towards the yard that led to the temple. Maybe someone went for a late night prayer and forgot to close the door properly. The closer he came, the more his candle flickered and became brighter still. Yet that door seemed shut tight as well. He sighed and was just about to return to his rooms, when he caught a glimpse of the temple through the small window in the door.
Through the cracks in the temple's walls, he could see more light than usual shining on such a dark night. They had never been able to fix the cracks, not here, not in this city, in this exile. It was a wonder the temple was still standing at all. First they tried to burn it down, but fire had no effect. No wood had been used to build it, only stones from his home, transported to this place so so many years ago. So long before this had become such a desperate place.
He opened the heavy door with some effort, reminding him of his disappearing strength. He used to be so much stronger, but he had become weaker with the years, now he could not even walk stairs without help. Out in the yard, there was no breeze, the air was standing still, but his candle kept on flickering. The only light was that of this candle and from inside the temple. Despite being in the middle of the night at this time of year, it was warm in the yard. He didn't think much of it though, had it been different he would have complained about forgetting his coat in his bedroom.
The temple's door was even heavier and he had to put down the candle to open it. His old bones crunched as much as the steel door. When he entered, his eyes immediately fixated on the big open fireplace in the middle of the temple's octagonal interior. The flames were not as low as usual. He looked back at the candlestick in his hand and realized its flame was higher and brighter as well. How could this be? There was no breeze and the cracks in the walls would admit any wind. He put the candlestick down in the niche next to the door he entered through. He didn't need it in the lit temple to take a closer look at the fireplace.
The main chamber of the temple was about 40 feet in diameter. The fireplace itself was a 6 feet wide hole in the middle of it, a grate covering its mouth. The flames were usually not even a foot high above the grate, flaring up randomly but calmly. Tonight was different. There were more flames than usual and some of them as high as 4 feet. The priest stared at them for some minutes, standing still and breathing low. He remembered when he was a child and the flames in his hometown's temple always were as high as 6 feet. The thought of his mother brought tears to his eyes, how she held him so he wouldn't be scared of the flames and of the men in the dark robes, chanting and praying. He has been one of them most of his life now, only the fears were different ones now. The hair on his arms stood up as he kept staring into the flames.
His eyes fixated on a spark that suddenly sprung from the flames. It flew up from the grate and moved towards the open ceiling in swirling motions.
Then he understood.
And almost inaudibly he muttered: "A spark in the night. Go, fly and let them know."
That night was the first new moon's night in many decades he fell asleep. With a smile on his face. He knew that things would change again, for the better. That his faith was not for nothing.
The same smile still on his face he lay in his bed until the other priests found him on the next day. When they went to clean up his study, the book he had been reading lay still open on his desk. On the left page was a beautiful drawing of Fyarma, the Fire Goddess, holding her half human daughter in her arms for the last time before releasing her to grow up in the human world. When the younger priest closed the book, to put it back on its shelf, it was almost like the drawing flickered.
And maybe logical mistakes. Or just mistakes in general.
Which is also why I enabled critique 
eh… even tho I know I have taken critique badly before, I am trying to better myself. As long as "you" don't sound too descending, I should be fine tho 
It's personal, I hate being talked down to. I am sure you can understand 
Vision
Originality
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