A boy swaggered forward with the irrepressible confidence of a six-year-old who had turned mischief into high art, his dark hair deliberately tousled and his clothes bearing the creative stains of a boy who found adventure in every puddle and mudhole. His green eyes sparkled with barely contained energy and unrepentant glee.
"Jasper Thornfield," Sheriff Shepherd announced with weary familiarity. "Son of tavern keeper Willem Thornfield. Repeatedly found in... compromising situations. Father hopes temple structure might redirect his energies."
Jasper's grin could have powered the temple's candles. "Da says I'm too much trouble for one tavern! I taught all the chickens to dance, and I made Mrs. Baker's cat purple with berry juice, and I only almost burned down the stable that one time!"
The Head Priestess's eyes narrowed with something that might have been amusement. "This one will require... creative supervision."
Cathie bit back a laugh at the child's unrepentant pride in his misdeeds. "Jasper, why did you do all those things?"
"'Cause it was fun!" he declared with six-year-old logic. "'Cause the chickens looked sad, and the cat was boring brown, and fire is really pretty when it dances!" His eyes sparkled with memories of glorious chaos.
His handler pressed a small brass compass into Jasper's grubby palm with what might have been admiration. "Every good explorer needs to know which way is north, lad. Try exploring in directions that help people instead of scaring chickens." He chuckled despite himself as he delivered his salute, shaking his head with bemused affection as he departed.
The Head Priestess's lips curved in what might have been amusement as she watched the mischievous child. "This one's chaos needs direction—he could be dangerous if left unguided," she mused, selecting a priestess whose eyes held the controlled spark of someone who understood rebellion. "Sister, teach him that true adventure lies in helping others. Channel his fire toward worthy causes." The chosen priestess bowed her head and gestured for Jasper to follow, leading the bouncing boy toward whatever controlled adventures awaited.
A boy hung back until he was the only child remaining, his azure eyes—bright as summer sky yet haunted by shadows no child should bear—now brimming with tears he was desperately trying not to shed. At six, he possessed a quiet dignity unusual in one so young, his small frame somehow carrying burdens that belonged to adults.
He looked shocked and in pain Cathie moved toward boy Cathie knelt down and took Jim's hand. He stared at her with those haunting blue eyes, what is your name he stay silent but one droop of tears feel from his right blue eyes Cathie catch kid hand harder and look to his blue eyes and give him huge very tide huge even Cathie huge breast could not easy the pain kid was feeling Cathie turn her head around and look to Sheriff Friedbert Shepherd said his name is jim he was like that when we found him his family was killed all of them he was soul survival of his family poor kid Many kill happen in last weeks i believe scout busy investigating it
The graying handler approached with the heavy step of a man carrying too much sorrow. He pressed a small iron horseshoe into Jim's trembling hands. "This came from your papa's forge, little one. He made me promise to give it to you—said it would bring you luck and help you remember that love makes people strong." He straightened slowly, his salute laden with regret and respect for the parents who had tried so desperately to save their child, then departed with the measured pace of duty's bitter end.
Cathie's heart clenched. She had already felt a connection to this boy, and now she knew his name and the name of his lost family.
asking a silent question, but instead, looking for a promise. "Jim," Cathie whispered, "I will take care of you." He squeezed her hand in return.
The Head Priestess regarded the heartbroken boy with something approaching true compassion. "This one carries the greatest burden—he knows he was loved and fought for," she said quietly, her eyes finding a serene priestess whose very presence radiated peace. "Sister Grace, take him. He needs to learn that love sometimes requires sacrifice, and that he was worth every risk his parents took." The chosen priestess bowed her head and waited patiently until Jim was ready, then gently guided him toward whatever sanctuary the temple's quiet chambers might offer.
As the last six-year-old disappeared into the temple's depths, the ten handlers had already departed—some with crisp military precision, others with reluctant backward glances, each carrying their own burden of small lives entrusted and then surrendered. The temple doors had closed behind them with finality, sealing away the echoes of childhood laughter and tears.
In the sudden silence, Cathie and the Head Priestess stood surrounded by lingering traces—Marina's confusion, Toby's grief, Seraphina's otherworldly songs, Jim's quiet courage, and all the others whose small voices would soon be shaped into something else entirely. Ten six-year-olds had entered these sacred walls, but what would emerge remained written in shadows and candlelight, in ancient stones that held too many secrets to count.