The notes resonate with divine purity, the lyrics sacred in their depth, sung with angelic voices. The people, lost in this world, seem to be transported as though they are listening from heaven itself.
My thoughts bash them, but the guilt resurfaces. I try to open my heart and mind, yet I fail to see it, fail to see what they believe in, as it's not in front of me.
"Am I evil for not believing?"
I smiled. I'm too young to be thinking about this, but I can't help it—I'm easily influenced by others. Still, I know what I want to hear and what I don't.
What is my sister doing? She sat up straight in the pew, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her gaze was fixed on the altar, where Father Francis stood, her lips moving soundlessly as she silently followed the words she knew by heart.
The spell-like quality of the hymns was difficult to ignore, subtly pulling at the edges of my consciousness, it's like it's been designed to coax devotion from even the most skeptical.
But still, I sat there silently, watching my family. My mother, as always, appeared calm and composed, her face impassive as she observed the service.
I knew she was here out of duty, not devotion. She had likely long since learned to keep her doubts to herself.
The congregation, their heads lowered and eyes shut, are swept up by the angelic singing. I can't help but feel like an outsider.
Was it the spell at play, or was it simply genuine belief?
But as the final notes of the hymn faded, Father Francis composed himself, ready to address the congregation again.
"Dear brothers and sisters in Światło's domain."
Father Francis held up a book, the Luminary Codex, its dark leather cover worn and decorated with detailed gold embossing of the Światło symbol at its center. This was the Book of Visions, the public edition available to the general populace.
"Today, we come together to celebrate the blessings and splendor that Światło has bestowed upon us."
I knew it would be the same as every Sunday—repetitive and, frankly, pointless.
The priest begins the sermon by reading passages from the Book of Visions of the Luminary Codex.
"In the Book of Visions, transcribed by the prophet Adam, the first to receive divine revelations, Światło, the Almighty, didst descend from the heavens to offer His guidance unto mankind. With great solemnity, Światło bade us to preserve the purity of our souls, that we might walk in His eternal light."
"The Light doth urge us to humble ourselves before it, for pride is a grievous peril to the soul. We must ever recall that our strength doth not spring from within, but from Światło, the divine source of all power. It is through the surrender of our will to the divine that we are uplifted and made strong, made worthy of His grace."
To receive grace, I must hand over my will. Do I submit blindly, without reason or any emotional affection? If I lack those things, what am I surrendering my soul for?
What kind of purity are they talking about? Uncle Leon often shared stories of the Luminary Codex's history—one built upon conquest and bloodshed, where purity was forged from impurity.
Father Francis cleared his throat preparing to read the next passage.
"To walk in the Light, one must faithfully adhere to the sacred teachings of the Church and heed the counsel of our venerable priests. The Light doth speak through them, and it is by their divine wisdom that we are guided upon the true path to salvation. To disobey their guidance is to turn away from the Light itself, and to risk losing the grace that it bestows."
I refuse to blindly follow someone else's interpretation of divine will, If only I could see, hear, smell, or taste the true message of God—something direct, untainted by human hands—then perhaps I wouldn't be so skeptical. But until then, I will never accept another's word without question, especially when it comes from a human.
The priest started to cough; he seemed pale and sick. Did the weather get to him? But he's truly devout if he still wants to continue the sermon, which is respectable.
"Pray forgive me, let us proceed, dear brothers and sisters," the priest remarked with solemnity.
"The pursuit of wealth and worldly pleasure doth cloud the soul, leading the heart astray. Those who seek riches may find themselves perilously distant from the Light. We are called to live in modesty, dedicating our days to service and unwavering devotion to Światło. It is only through simplicity that we may preserve the purity of our hearts and remain steadfast in His grace."
I recognize the importance of modesty and simplicity, yet I struggle to understand those who advocate for poverty while enjoying a life of comfort themselves.
I glance at my mother—she seems uninterested, though there's a guarded look about her. I'm not sure how to describe it. On the other hand, Lyn'chael is listening intently, her attention fully on the service. I was about to ask if we could leave, but seeing how much Lyn'chael is enjoying it, I'll manage for now.
As I turn my attention back to the priest, I notice he appears paler and weaker than before, and the congregation shifts uneasily, murmuring in concern for his health. A choir member steps forward, offering assistance, asking gently if he wishes to continue. But, with quiet resolve, the priest declined, determined to press on.
"Forgive me, people of Aspen," he said, his voice clear despite his condition. "But as your priest, I will not let my illness stand in the way of delivering the messages of God."
The congregation was moved by his resilience. Despite his age, his devotion was unwavering. How does such faith develop? Is it driven by fear of the unknown, or is it born from a pure and sincere heart?
Father Francis proceeded with the sermon.
"Światło illuminate all of creation, and we, in our humble station, are called to reflect that divine love in our lives. It is our duty to show compassion unto one another, to aid those in need, and to extend kindness to all with a generous heart."
Kindness is a virtue anyone can practice, with or without the promise of salvation.
"The Light flows through our deeds, and by them, we draw others nearer to salvation."
This idea of salvation through some divine force... I'm overthinking it. I just want this to end.
"Brothers and sisters, let us rise, unite our hands, and lift our voices in song, offering this hymn in praise of the Almighty," the priest instructed.
The entire congregation complied, and the choir began to sing the familiar hymn.
To my left is my mother; to my right, a man I don't recognize.
Dressed in a brown tunic with a monocle, he seemed like an educated man, maybe even a scholar. He also had the Book of Visions with him, indicating his devotion to the teachings.
"Sorry," I said.
"It's fine, I don't mind." The man replied, his tone friendly.
We held hands as the hymn continued, but something caught my eye—his hand had a tattoo, a bleeding eye right in the center. It was unsettling but strangely intriguing.
I glanced at my sister. She was truly immersed in the service, and I was surprised by how much she seemed to enjoy it. My mother, however, didn't even attempt to sing along. I tried "singing," but no sound came out of my mouth.
The mass went on as usual. After a few more minutes, it finally ended with the priest thanking everyone and then sprinkling holy water on the congregation. My mother and I tried to avoid it, though we couldn't help but laugh as we asked Lyn'chael to shield us. She didn't quite get it.
Amid the ending mass, the man with the bleeding palm tattoo remarked to me, "May God's wings and eyes be with you."
What does he mean by that?
"I-I appreciate it," I said back. He simply smiled and left with the Book of Visions in his hands. His words caught me off guard, but I didn't think much of it.
"That was amazing!" Lyn'chael exclaimed as we walked away from the church, blending in with the other attendees.
"Glad you enjoyed it," Mom said, giving her a gentle pat on the head.
I was relieved to stretch my legs; sitting for too long always leaves me feeling stiff. Our feet sank into the carpet of fallen leaves, and the earthy scent of damp soil filled our nostrils. It felt good to finally breathe fresh air, free from the lingering incense of the bronze burners.
It looked like the birds were migrating this fall. I wondered what it would be like to fly, to have wings that lifted you from the earth and took you to the heavens.
"Mom, can we visit Uncle Leon's again?" I asked, eager to spend time with the other children.
Lyn'chael's wide smile seemed to agree.
After a moment's thought, Mom nodded. "Why not?"
We both cheered, excited by the idea.
"But where are you going, Mom?" Lyn'chael asked, tilting her head.
"I'm going to see your father."
"Did something happen, Mom?" I asked, concern sipping into my voice.
"It's nothing serious," she reassured us.
"Okay!" we both replied in unison.
"Make sure you look after your sister, okay? We'll be back to pick you up soon."
"I will, Mom," I promised.
"Good," she said with a smile, before turning and walking away, leaving us to watch her go.
Lyn'chael and I walked toward Uncle Leon's house, her humming a hymn as she moved, we ascended the same weathered stairs, the ones covered with mold.
"Be careful!" I called out.
"I'm fine! Thank you!" she replied.
I felt uneasy, something was bothering me. Maybe it was the mass—I'd been resisting it for so long that now I had a slight headache.
As we walked, my thoughts drifted to the man with the bleeding eye tattoo. Come to think of it, the Światian faith strictly opposed tattoos. So why was he here, taking part in something so at odds with their beliefs? Then again, I didn't know him—this was the first time I'd ever seen him in the village.
Not long after, we arrived at Uncle Leon's cozy wooden house. We stepped inside, greeted by the warm, rustic atmosphere. The walls and ceiling were made of natural wood logs, and the furniture—simple and inviting—featured a worn sofa, a few pillows, and old family photos on the walls, inviting us to relax.
My attention always gravitates to the rifle hanging on the wall, next to the family photos of Uncle Leon with his late wife.
Uncle Leon hasn't remarried since her passing. He still holds a deep love for her. They never had children together, so he chose to adopt instead.
There are only two children here today, making a total of four of us. I spent some time earlier playing chess with the others, though I lost horribly.
The boy, about my age, with snow-white skin and hair, is Hakon. He's from the Shiva Continent and doesn't speak his native language. An orphan, Uncle Leon adopted him. With him is Elin, a girl with short hair and fair skin from the Aldun Continent, who was also taken in by Uncle Leon.
"Someone's waiting for the two of you," Hakon said while playing chess with Elin.
Then, Lyn'chael suddenly shouted, "YOU'RE BACK!"
As I turned my gaze, I realized why. It was Aki Corvane—short black hair and a boyish demeanor. She was our friend who had gone to Dagon four years ago to study. Now that I thought about it, what exactly had she been studying in Dagon?
Lyn'chael rushed over to hug Aki, as they hadn't seen each other in years. Hakon and Elin simply watched, not wanting to interrupt the reunion. Then, Aki turned to me, and our eyes met.
She spoke.
"Wanna see some sorcery, Kai'len?"
Chapter End.