"It is so hard nowadays to stay alone…"
The young priest's voice echoed as a whisper lost in a cathedral of ghosts. His words lingered in the air, swallowed by the emptiness around him. He knelt in the center of a vast hall—an abandoned sanctuary where rows of pews stretched into shadow and where silence felt heavier than stone. The hall was made for worship, yet it held no god, no statue, no altar—nothing but a hollow pedestal where faith should have been.
The priest wore robes of black and white, colors that clashed like war and peace. The cloth clung to him like a second skin, fitting a slender frame hardened by suffering. His head was bowed, forehead pressed to the cold marble floor. We still could not see his face; only the way his back trembled as if each breath was a battle of its own.
Before him, where an idol should have been, there was only space—a gaping void like the eye of an unseen thing. The hall felt like it stared back.
His fingers curled into fists. A single tear fell to the floor, striking the stone like a raindrop on a grave.
Another tear followed.
Then another.
Water dripped freely from his eyes, falling like broken prayers.
Slowly, the priest rose to his feet. His movements were neither slow nor fast—just inevitable, like a man who has lived too long in the shadow of despair. As he lifted his head, the strands of his dark hair shifted, revealing his face.
His eyes.
They were not human eyes.
They were like windows into an abyss—bottomless, starless, consuming everything. Eyes that had seen far too much for someone so young.
Felix.
That was his name now.
And as the world trembled silently around him, memories surged through those abyss-like eyes, dragging him backward into the past…
A Memory of Light
Warm sunlight.
Birdsong.
Laughter.
A village came into view—not through distance, but through memory. Houses made of wood and clay lined a narrow road paved with cobblestone. The sky was bright, impossibly blue. Children ran between market stalls, vendors shouted prices, and ovens filled the air with the scent of baked bread.
A small boy wandered the road—barefoot, hungry, forgotten. His hair was messy, his clothes torn, and he refused to cling to his frail body. His ribs showed like a map of suffering. Yet his eyes… those were curious, searching, hopeful.
A stall keeper noticed him.
"Hey, kid!" the man called, waving a ripe red tomato. "You want some? Best in all of Saini Town!"
The boy stepped closer, blinking with hunger and interest. But before he could speak, the man's smile faltered.
"You got any coin for it…?"
His voice turned unsure.
The boy reached into his pocket, hoping, begging reality to be kinder just once.
The fabric tore.
His hand came up empty.
The stall keeper sighed, not cruel—just realistic.
The boy backed away.
He continued down the street until something caught his eye—an antique shop, its window filled with relics and mysteries. He pressed his face to the glass like a child staring at a dream.
Inside, objects lay on display:
Old books, rusted blades, pendants engraved with forgotten runes.
But one thing sharpened his focus like a blade to the heart.
A ring.
Silver, delicate.
A sun symbol engraved at its center, like a promise of warmth he had never known.
He pointed at it with trembling fingers.
The shopkeeper—a gentle-looking woman—tilted her head.
"Hey kid… do you even have money?"
He froze.
Checked his pockets again.
The same hole stared back at him.
He ran.
Ran until his lungs burned.
Ran until his legs shook.
He found himself at a pond—its water calm, reflecting the sky like a piece of heaven fallen to earth. The boy looked down and saw himself.
A ghostly child stared back.
Skin pale enough to show bone.
Clothes ripped to threads.
Eyes too old for his age.
He raised his hand to the reflection and watched the skeleton-like fingers tremble.
"…who am I?"
No answer came. Not even the wind.
Another memory.
Stone steps leading to a temple-like structure. Moss crept between the cracks, and old banners fluttered like dying breaths. Children played outside—four of them, laughing, chasing each other with sticks like future warriors.
He hid behind a bush, watching.
A woman noticed him.
Her scream tore the peace in half.
"H-HIM! OVER THERE!"
Her face turned white as if she had seen a demon. The children froze. Fear spread like wildfire.
Then footsteps. An old man rushed out, dressed in priestly robes. His voice was stern, but something gentle edged beneath it.
"Who is there?" the priest asked.
The boy stepped out, trembling. Hunger and exhaustion made his knees wobble.
The old man approached. His expression did not twist with disgust or fear—only understanding.
"How many days has it been since you ate?" he asked softly.
The boy's lips parted, but he couldn't speak. He didn't know. He had lost count.
"Come," the priest said, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. "Let's talk after food."
He was taken inside.
A table waited for him—filled with dishes like something from a dream: bread, roasted meat, fruits, soup, cheese. The smell alone felt like enough to heal.
He ate slowly at first.
Then faster.
Then, desperately, like hunger itself was trying to escape him.
When he was done, the priest led him to a quiet sanctuary identical to the one in the present—but not broken. Not abandoned.
"This," the priest said, "is a temple for a god no one knows."
The boy blinked. Confused.
"I know what you're wondering." The old man smiled. "Why worship something unknown, right?"
The priest exhaled, like the weight of years pressed on his ribs.
"Because the unknown is the most dangerous force in existence, child. Better to kneel before the unknown than to suffer when it stands before you."
The boy didn't understand, not yet.
"Do you have a name?" the priest asked.
The child shook his head.
"Well then…" the priest smiled. "From today onward, you do. Your name is Felix. And this—" he gestured around, "—is your family."
"Felix"
"Felix"
The boy tested the word as it might break in his mouth.
"Felix…"
The priest nodded.
"You can call me Lucas."
For the first time in his life, Felix smiled.
Years later.
Felix, now older, walked the same village path in a priest's robes. His black hair caught the sunlight, and his eyes—though still dark—held warmth instead of hunger.
He passed the same antique shop.
The same ring waited, as if time itself had held it for him.
"How much for the ring?" Felix asked.
"Three Judi," the woman replied.
Felix reached into his pocket and pulled out three coins engraved with flower symbols. He placed them gently on the counter.
He wore the ring.
Not as a trophy—
But a promise to a child he used to be.
At the pond, he saw his reflection again.
The starving ghost was gone.
In its place stood Felix—
a young priest, alive, hopeful.
He turned, and the four children from before—now siblings in faith—called out to him.
He laughed.
He ran to them.
He belonged.
The memory cracked into light and vanished.
Back to the Present
Felix's eyes opened.
The sanctuary was empty again.
He stood alone.
He turned toward the side exit—hand reaching for the door.
BOOM.
A sound like the sky itself had been ripped open.
The earth shook.
Dust rained from the ceiling.
Felix froze, breath caught in his throat.
He rushed toward the main entrance and threw the doors open—
And choked.
Smoke burned his lungs.
His throat felt like it had been filled with poison.
He coughed violently, vision blurring.
The village below was burning.
Flames rose like walls of hellfire, swallowing homes, shops, memories. Heat rolled toward the sanctuary like a storm of death.
Through the smoke… a figure emerged.
A silhouette larger than a house.
Two horns curved like the crescent of a nightmare.
Its body was rock and magma, cracks glowing with molten fire.
It held a sword so massive, one swing could carve a mountain.
It took a step.
The ground trembled.
Felix stumbled back—
—and pain exploded through his chest.
He looked down.
The tip of a longsword pierced through his ribs—driven from behind.
Blood spilled like a dark flower blooming.
He hadn't even heard the attacker.
Hadn't sensed them.
Hadn't seen their face.
His knees buckled.
The world tilted.
"…who?" he whispered.
There was no answer.
His vision blurred.
He collapsed to the cold floor—where he once prayed for hope.
His final breath trembled.
"Thank you… old man Lucas… for giving me a chance to live…"
His eyes closed.
Darkness took him.