The boy knelt in fervent devotion, time slipping away as he whispered prayers that filled the vast, quiet hall.
Each word tumbled from his pink lips like the sweetest of honey, a sound that resonated beyond the marble walls and soared high into the unseen realm above.
For hours, Alastor's posture did not waver, his eyes closed tightly, lashes damp with tears of boundless love and longing.
Above, the God of Light lounged in his resplendent domain, the golden liquid in his glass forgotten as he gazed down into the water mirror.
He shook the wine glass in his hand, and the golden nectar swirled slightly, exuding a rich and sweet smell, which would normally attract the God of Light to slowly sip and savour it, but today he has no interest in it.
The god's eyes, deep and molten gold, watched with an intensity that seemed to strip the temple of its silence.
His usual stoic expression had softened into something unrecognizable, a subtle tilt of his lips betraying a hint of wonder.
His fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest of his throne, a gesture that went unnoticed as his gaze remained fixed on the boy below.
When Alastor finally ended his prayer, the hall seemed to exhale with him.
He opened his deep blue eyes, raw with emotion, and rose on trembling legs. Stepping slowly, he approached the statue, eyes filled with reverence as he kissed the cold, marble instep. But even this was not enough.
He stayed there, laying against the statue as if it were the real presence of the God he so adored.
The dampness of his lashes shimmered as new tears welled up, glistening like dewdrops under a pale dawn.
The God of Light shifted, placing his half-full glass aside as a rare expression of longing crossed his celestial features. His fingers, delicate yet charged with immeasurable power, reached out, and the rippling surface of the water mirror seemed to respond to his touch.
A beam of radiant, golden energy, pure and potent, leaped from his fingertip and flowed through the mirror, travelling across realms to touch the young man's brow.
Alastor gasped, feeling a sudden warmth bloom at the center of his forehead. The sensation spread swiftly, washing over his skin and seeping into his bones, melting away exhaustion and suffusing him with light.
His heart raced as the divine power coursed through him, a gift so profound he could barely hold back a cry of ecstasy. His knees buckled, and he almost sank back down but held himself upright, awestruck.
"Father," he whispered hoarsely, eyes wide with both shock and joy. Unable to contain the wave of devotion that surged within him, he knelt once more, wrapping his arms around the statue's ankle as if it were the true, warm limb of the divine.
He pressed his damp cheek against the marble, the coolness contrasting with the heat that burned in his chest.
Two perfect tears slid down, clinging to his jaw before dropping soundlessly to the ground. His voice trembled as he spoke, "Father, did you hear my prayer? Do you know how deeply I love you? Father, my soul, my entire being—it's yours. Please, take it."
The temple was silent except for the soft rustle of robes and the quiet murmur of the wind slipping through high windows.
The light from the morning sun spilled across the floor, touching the boy's form and making his tear-streaked face glow like an angel's.
A soft knock at the door followed by a hesitant voice broke the stillness. "Sir Priest, the Bishop requests your presence in the council hall to discuss the second prince's baptism."
Alastor didn't move, his embrace around the statue growing tighter. The warmth in his body flared again, and he felt as if he had been pulled into an endless tide, carried higher and higher. His soul seemed to hover between worlds, suspended by the overwhelming presence of divine love.
In the heavens, the God of Light's smile deepened, a flicker of mirth lighting his golden eyes. He leaned forward, stretching out his arm again, unable to resist the urge that pulled at his heart.
This time, the energy that flowed was even more brilliant, cascading down like a golden waterfall. It embraced the boy, lifting him up and setting his heart racing as if caught in the arms of the divine itself.
The power swept through Alastor like a storm—at once fierce and tender. His body quivered, senses overwhelmed by the love and blessings pouring into him.
The world spun, and he felt weightless, like a feather caught in the wind, buffeted by waves of bliss. The sensation twisted through him, making him tremble, lost in the embrace of a power so profound it stole his breath and left him breathless.
When he finally calm down, the room felt different, as though infused with a sacred glow.
His heartbeat slowed, the last echo of divine touch leaving him flushed and warm. And in the silence, the young priest stayed, eyes closed and a soft smile on his lips, savoring the moment he could almost swear he had been held by the Father himself.
A purer and more powerful force than before swept in like a tide, tossing the young man's soul high and catching it gently, suddenly to the left and then to the right, making him dizzy and confused, unable to restrain himself.
He was intoxicated with the love and gifts of the Father.
He parted his lips slightly, releasing a sound so soft it was almost swallowed by the vast silence of the hall.
His fair skin, already pale as the moon, took on a faint blush that deepened with each heartbeat, giving him a look both fragile and irresistible.
The gentle flush spread across his cheeks, catching the light and casting an alluring glow over his delicate features. His blue eyes, still heavy from the divine touch, shimmered with an emotion he could not contain.
The God of Light's fingers, which had been pressed against the surface of the water mirror, paused mid-motion.
The reflection of the young man's flushed face and half-lidded eyes seemed to blaze in his mind, more vivid than anything the god had witnessed in centuries.
He hesitated before slowly pulling his hand back, feeling a strange, warm sensation lingering on his skin as if it had actually touched the boy.
He glanced at his own fingertips, as if expecting them to still hold the phantom warmth. The soft heat dissolved into the cool air, but the feeling refused to fade.
His golden eyes darkened, the usual light within them dimmed as shadows crept at the edges, tainting their glow with spots of black that pulsed and expanded. His serene expression wavered, and for the first time in a millennium, uncertainty clouded his features.
Meanwhile, the young priest remained kneeling, lost in his moment of divine connection, oblivious to the world outside the holy silence.
The maids had returned to the council room after their attempts to call him went unanswered, leaving only echoes in the grand hall. The bishop, growing concerned by the priest's absence, sent the vice bishop to find him.
The gentle murmur of approaching footsteps stirred Alastor from his deep thoughts. He rose slowly, feeling the lingering warmth seep through his veins, a gift he did not understand but cherished deeply.
A tear slipped down his cheek, glistening like a fallen star, before he wiped it away and straightened his robe.
When the God of Light finally got rid of the weird feeling and looked over, there was no longer that slender and lovely figure in the hall, the faint joy dissipated like the wind, and the newly stretched eyebrows were as usual.
The brief, rare softness had vanished, replaced by a frown that carved sharp, tense lines into his flawless face.
Even the sacred, eternal halls above the Nine Heavens felt colder now, as if some unspoken wish had been snatched away.