He froze for a second; he didn't even feel it real. It was like his brain couldn't process? The message he was about to send? It felt so goddamn irrelevant now. The guilt hit him like a fucking brick. He never got to make it right; he never got to say he was sorry. He never knew if he could help him if things could have been different.
"Hey guys, Hey guys." He greeted flipping on the live stream. He was getting ready for church, yeah. He was late as hell, but there wasn't an ounce of urgency in his movement. "So today's a big day, first time back at church in well, a long time." Sad really, "kind of nervous, but hey, you got to have some balance in life, right?" The truth is, he didn't give a damn about balance. He just needs to feel something.
He paused, scanning the flood of comments popping up on the screen.
"I know, I know, y'all are probably saying, 'Finally!' But seriously, who knew getting dressed up for church would be this... complicated?" He chuckled, adjusting his collar like it actually mattered. "Anyway, I'll keep you posted on how it goes. But before I head out—don't forget! Tomorrow's the meet-and-greet! Come by, say hi, and maybe snap a selfie or two. You know the drill. I can't wait to see all your faces. And, hey, don't forget the gifts, okay?"
He ended the stream with a grin, but the smile faded as he muttered, "Shit, I'm way past late."
He threw on his jacket and sprinted out the door. The day was too perfect—sunlight spilling over the street like it had somewhere better to be. "Good morning, neighbors!" I called out, waving.
"Good afternoon, Siako!" they called back, all smiles. "Such a good young man," someone added. He couldn't help but smile too, even though he knew they had no idea what was happening in his head.
As he wandered down the street, it hit him. He had no clue where the church was. It had been so long since he'd been there. He'd completely lost any sense of direction, but he kept walking, not really caring where he ended up. On the other hand, Rhyfel knew exactly what he was going.
For him, the walk to church wasn't long. Pass the bakery a left at the playground. nod to the guy sitting outside Mr. Reid's barbershop. Then just keep walking until you hear the choir. That's when you know you're wearing close.The sound of the choir calling on God's name—"Yahweh"—harmonious and powerful, like they were pulling the Holy Ghost down into the room with them.
But then there was her voice, Isabella, with a voice like no other; it cuts through all the others, clear as the Sunday afternoon bell. Her notes moved through the air like sunlight breaking through dark clouds, warm and inviting. She was like a siren, calling people in without them even knowing. I couldn't help but wonder where all that beauty came from, what pain, what joy, and what hope was behind them songs she sang
They left behind the vibrant light in South America to find new opportunities. Her mom, a devoted bishop, brought up Isabella to believe in God like she believes every breath she takes. Her daddy, a successful accountant, made sure they had Their heads on straight; together, they were the perfect family
"Issabella, great singing out there," one of the older choir members said to me.
"Thank you," she replied, not like I didn't already know that.
Today's service ended on a blast. But it took a turn. Everyone between sixteen and eighteen was invited to stay back for a quick meeting of prayer service They walked to the altar as the church became empty, leaving only them, the pastor, the bishop, and four other members of the church: two elders, a decon, and a ward. Their presence added a sense of gravitas to the gathering; each of them embodied the values that shaped the community.
Siako, on the other hand, spotted a crowd spilling out of a building with a cross on top. Well, I guess he's here. pushing past the familiar faces. Being the prince of the town wasn't always all it was crapped up to be. Everyone knew him for better or worse. He pulled out his phone tapped into his live stream and spoke. The atmosphere shift siakos excitement brought a chilling layer to the meeting. Blending the wisdom of tradition with the vibrancy of modern faith. Well, that's what the watching eye thought.
The pastor and his entourage stood before them at the altar. Their eyes were cold and solemn. "It's that time again," he Declared The words sent a chill down Rhyfel's spine after he said that.
But Isabel, she thought to herself. It was time to get out of this hellhole year. They did this thing where they select one teen to go overseas to do this ministering. The best Teen gets to go on this trip.The other becomes a mere altar of boy or girl. To Isabel, this was an honor of a duty.Something anyone should be glad to accept.
But Rhyfel, though, after his father said that, knew this was no prayer meeting. The one lucky teen selected to send overseas to "minister" over the unsaved and spread th gospel. They never to be seen again.
Well, they hear of their so-called victories and accomplishments; they see their work in the church as it grows. New bonds found with congregations across the seas. But that was no ministry. It was a witch hunt.
For sure. Rhyfel thought he would be next. He was of age, and who knows how that man despises him? He stood in the back of the church, trying to blend into the shadows, his heart hammering against his chest. as his father's voice echoed through the hall. A canvas of false revenance that he had grown to despise
"This is our sacred duty." He intoned his eyes scanning in the congregation. Finally, settling on Rhyfel with a flick of something dark and sincere. "A duty we carry out to protect our faith, to spread the word and to vanquish the evil that lurks in foreign lands. One of you has been chosen."
The air in the room thickens as if everyone has forgotten how to breathe. The other teens shifted nervously, whispering prayers under their breath. Rhyfel stood still, knowing in his bones that this time there was no amount of whispering or pleading that would save him.
So he tookked a few moments of silence, followed agonizingly. Long as his father let the tension build, he could feel his satisfaction in draining it out, feeding off the fair in the room. Rahyfels stomach twisted in knots as his eyes found his father's again. And then at the toll of a debt bell, he said it,
"Isabel."
Siako now sat beside Isabel. To him, she seemed radiant, like the kind of presence you couldn't ignore—almost healing just by being beside her—but her purity was what hit him the hardest. It made him question everything about his own life. Her energy shattered something in him that I didn't even know was still whole. She reminded him of her smile and her laugh, for it was like seeing a ghost, and he wasn't sure whether he wanted to run or stay. Flight took over; he left the church. His mind still reeling.
Rhyfel, though his heart skipped then sank. what? The word rattled around his mind, clattering like an empty cup. Isabel? he felt the burn of anger twist around him sharper than the Sting of his father's hand ever was. He's not even good enough to be sent across the world to do their bidding. Not even for this, the thing no one survived he wasn't worthy.
There was always someone better, always someone brighter. He thought he'd feel relief, thought he'd be grateful that it wasn't him, but no, instead it felt like he was invisible again. overlooked, not even worth the sacrifice.
frustrated and angry. He stormed out of the church hall, not caring about the consequences of his action. He needed to get away from his father, from all of it. The judgment, the expectation, a constant suffocation. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. He had to be free, if only for one night maybe for the rest of his life. He didn't know where he was going, but he just needed to run.
His feet pounded against the pavement. As he tore down the dark street, heart racing, lungs burning and out of nowhere, a hand climbed over his arm, yanking him off the street and into the shadows.
Before he could scream before he could even react. He was pulled into an alley. The darkness swallowed him whole, standing before him, barely illuminated by the flickering street lights was a boy. Pale skin almost ghostly in the dim light, curly black hair, framing his face like an unruly halo. His piercing blue eyes locked onto Ryfel's, so clear and intense it felt like they were cutting straight through him. He stood there in nothing but his underwear—barefoot, unbothered by the cold night air.
Rhyfel's heart pounded harder, not from the fear of being grabbed but from something else—something strange. He couldn't place it. I couldnt place it. There was something so familiar about him. Like I'd seen him before
Rhyfel froze, his mind racing as he stared at him, trying to piece together the puzzle. Those blue eyes, that curly hair, blood everywhere—he's seen him before, but where? Then it hit him, like a punch to the gut.
"Wait... I know you," Rhyfel whispered, his voice trembling. "You're Liam Pierce." Ah, now he's our problem.
Liam didn't react; he just stood there, watching Rhyfel with that same eerie calm, like he was waiting for something.
"You're supposed to be dead," he muttered, more to himself than to him. The words felt heavy, like saying them out loud might make it real. But Liam—or whatever this was—just smiled, a slow, haunting smile that sent a chill down his spine.
"I am," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.