The chamber was cold.
Not cold because of the air, but because of the eyes watching Malrik from the shadows of the marble hall.
Six priests sat in a half-circle, their robes trimmed with gold and silver. Behind them, towering statues of gods loomed, their stony faces forever frozen in judgment.
Malrik bowed deeply, his old back stiff.
"I have returned from my mission."
The eldest of the priests, a man with a voice like gravel, gestured.
"Speak, Malrik. Tell us why the gods stirred you from your post and dragged you to a forgotten village."
Malrik's fingers curled inside his sleeves.
"…Because there is a boy. A boy with… the miracle."
Murmurs rippled across the chamber.
The sharp-eyed priestess in the center leaned forward.
"Elaborate."
Malrik nodded slowly.
"He revives the dead."
The words hit like a thunderclap. Some priests gasped. One scoffed. Another immediately whispered a prayer under his breath.
The youngest priest spat.
"Blasphemy! Lies! The gift of resurrection belongs only to the divine. Are you telling us a child wields the power of a god?"
Malrik's gaze did not waver.
"I saw it with my own eyes. The boy, Ark, brought back a villager slain by the false priest-bandit. It was not healing. It was not illusion. It was life returned."
---
The head priest narrowed his eyes.
"And what of this child's character?"
Malrik hesitated. The memory of Ark's wide grin, his endless pushups, his stubbornness, his fear, and his raw innocence all tangled together.
"…He is… unpolished. A fool in some ways. But strong-willed. Honest. He carries the burden without realizing its weight."
The younger priest slammed his fist on the table.
"Then he is dangerous! A tool too sharp will cut its wielder. This 'Ark' must be seized by the Church immediately, before others take interest."
Another priest spoke, his tone colder.
"You mean the Hounds."
The chamber fell silent.
Malrik's jaw tightened. "…They already know. They shadow us. They want him, though their purpose is unclear."
The sharp-eyed priestess leaned back, folding her hands.
"The Hounds take what they desire—whether relic, secret, or person. They are neither ally nor enemy. They are… inevitability. If they seek the boy, then time is short."
---
Malrik bowed lower, his voice steady.
"I have brought Ark and his companion here, as ordered. But I will not allow him to become a pawn in politics. He is a child. If the Church means to bind him in chains of 'divine duty,' then you will have to chain me first."
The hall bristled. Some priests whispered curses at his insolence.
The head priest finally raised a hand for silence.
"…You have grown bold, Malrik. Perhaps age has loosened your tongue."
Malrik raised his eyes, unflinching.
"Or perhaps seeing a boy forced to carry the weight of life and death has made me remember why I serve."
---
The head priest exhaled slowly.
"Very well. We will meet the boy ourselves. Then, and only then, will the Church decide his fate."
Malrik straightened, hiding the tension in his shoulders.
"…As you wish."
But deep down, he knew.
This was not just about gods or miracles.
This was the beginning of a struggle for who Ark would belong to—himself, the Church, or the Hounds.
And Malrik silently prayed the boy's resolve was stronger than anyone guessed.