《The nature of legacy》 Departures ¡°The scriptures tell us there are only two sins: Death and Failure,¡± Ciril spoke to the crowd as his hand lingered on the closed casket. ¡°And thus today, we once again mourn a man who has sinned twice. He who has not broken virtue for almost five decades now lies here.¡± The audience was quiet in their ebony attires and uniforms. Some were holding back tears. The rest¡­ could no longer muster them. Most of those were the soldiers. Former comrades in arms. Ciril saw how it weighed them down. Lost souls he could only try to help - and often not succeed. At least the family and other friends seemed better off. They were grieving and that was good. Pain meant they cared. The widow, a short woman, stood in place, a red tint fighting the verge of another downpour within her eyes. The son, one moment blank, the next trembling - fist clenched throughout in his uniform¡¯s sleeve. For all of them, Ciril went on. ¡°George was a man of deed. Yet beneath the craggy shell of a soldier rested a gentle soul. One which would lift everyone it touched. He was a wonderful husband and a great father. He loved to surprise people with his cooking, always so unexpected from an officer of the army, though adored among friends and comrades. And although his life had been cut short, it was lived in full every moment along the way. Tallast.¡± He spoke for a while longer, recounting the life he had never known - just factoids memorized from a sheet of paper. Then he beckoned everyone to approach. First distant friends and the soldiers. The civilians brought flowers, laying them in front of the casket. The soldiers had their own traditions, laying down empty bullet shells - one from everyone, then one more for each time a soldier thought the departed had saved their lives. Most did not lay down more than a singular piece, though Ciril spotted as much as five from one man as he silently stood by the procession. Then last came the close family to say goodbye; to receive Ciril¡¯s condolences and blessings. A distant aunt. Two brothers and a sister, a group of nephews. Then the widow, silent and nigh catatonic. And finally, a son. So young but already scarred by the War. The uniform was clean, yet Ciril could imagine the washed bloodstains. ¡°But Father, my pa was no sinner,¡± the boy choked slightly on the words as he spoke. His eyes were still slightly red from tears long shed dry. ¡°He was a hero. H-he saved me. When the wall broke, he held them back alone so I could get away!¡± ¡°What is your name, son?¡± Ciril gently put his hand beneath the boy¡¯s elbow. He wished he had the time to memorize it beforehand. ¡°Richard.¡± ¡°Then tell me Richard, why could one not be both a hero and a sinner?¡± ¡°What?¡± the boy¡¯s eyes widened in surprise at just the suggestion. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Exactly what I say,¡± Ciril nodded. ¡°The scriptures do not lie, the two sins are true. Yet they do not forbid a sinner from being a hero.¡± ¡°Is that really possible?¡± the boy, albeit still weighted by grief, suddenly seemed lighter. Lifted up by that spark of hope. ¡°Look here,¡± Ciril stepped further back into the chapel and Richard followed. There, at the far end of the alcove on the wall hung a few dozen items. Small trinkets, most framed. From them, Ciril picked a ring encased behind glass and took it off the wall. ¡°Do you know the legend of Bartholomew the Radiant?¡± the priest asked as he looked at the ring. ¡°The Hero of the 12th wall?¡± Richard said it as a question though his tone was confident. ¡°Indeed,¡± Ciril nodded. ¡°They say it would have crumbled years sooner had he not been there. A single man, saving thousands. A Hero beyond dispute! A relic of him immortalized here, in my hands. Do you see now?¡± ¡°No¡­ I don¡¯t, Father,¡± the young soldier took a few seconds to think on it but in the end shook his head. ¡°In the end, the 12th wall has fallen,¡± Ciril sighed. ¡°It was this very chapel that his rites were carried out. The scriptures are clear: There are two sins and Bartholomew had committed both. I was here that day as a young acolyte - in this very alcove - and struggled against it just as you do now. Until I reached the obvious conclusion: A sinner can be a Hero. Your father¡¯s deeds are not diminished by his failures!¡± ¡°I see¡­¡± the boy nodded, thoughtful. ¡°Thank you, Father.¡± ¡°Think nothing of it,¡± Ciril patted the boy beneath the elbow again. The chapel had cleared out by that point but out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed a flash of familiar auburn hair by the entrance. ¡°It is the least I can do. Keep your faith and remain strong. By the grace of the Three, may the Bastion-Immutable bless you.¡± ¡°Thank you twice over for your blessing,¡± Richard bowed and left shortly after. Ciril did not look at his back. Instead, he gathered the incense burners - almost sputtering out at that point - and headed into the small room at the back end of his alcove. He did not close the door behind him as he began emptying and refilling the small metal vessels with practiced motions. Most of them would still be hot which was why he had a basin of water to cool them before throwing out the residue. ¡°Giving out hope to dead men again?¡± a woman¡¯s voice spoke from behind him. ¡°As much as they are willing to receive from me,¡± he agreed. If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. ¡°You even gave him the whole Radiant speech,¡± she commented drily. ¡°You rarely bother.¡± ¡°On the day I have seen Bartholomew receive his rites I have taken an oath on the Three:¡± Ciril remained completely calm, not a ripple or shake going through his hands still working the incense. ¡°That one day, when the sin of death claims me, I will have left the world a more hopeful place than it had been. Just as the Radiant left his ring, that shall be my legacy. If I think that is what a lost child needs, that is what I will say.¡± ¡°I am sure the privileged brat just needed a good talking to before he returns to cry inside his ancestral mansions and waits for his uncle up in command to distribute his award for heroism,¡± she scoffed. ¡°You seem to be in an unusually venomous mood even for yourself, Rebecca¡± Ciril turned towards her. Rebecca was mostly average-looking in facial features and figure, if muscular. Somewhere just south of 30. Her most defying trait was that striking auburn hair which she allowed to flow loose when away from the front. Her uniform was well-kept and displayed her markings as a sergeant. She stared at him for a few seconds. ¡°Yes, sorry,¡± she let out a deep, weary sigh. ¡°My captain is dead.¡± ¡°You were stationed at one of the breached sections,¡± Ciril immediately concluded. ¡°Got two new scars to prove it,¡± she nodded. ¡°And thrice as many dead friends.¡± ¡°Have you come to see witness their rites?¡± Ciril asked. ¡°I am not sure who would be in charge. Things have been chaotic.¡± ¡°Hah,¡± Rebecca chuckled. ¡°Hahahahaa¡­,¡± then she laughed hysterically for several seconds. ¡°Did I say something wrong?¡± Ciril raised an eyebrow when she was done, slightly confused. He put the incense aside for the moment. ¡°Captain wasn¡¯t exactly of the kind that could afford your so-called ¡®Rights¡¯,¡± she grimaced and it was so pained it stung Ciril as well. ¡°The last few of us gave them a soldier¡¯s goodbye.¡± ¡°You could have come to me,¡± he sighed again and shook his head. Then he put three fingers to the forehead. ¡°I could have arranged it. For him and for your friends. Nonetheless, by the Three, I wish the poor sinners a peaceful journey.¡± ¡°Keep your blessings for something more useful,¡± she said, though did not move away. ¡°Like bullets.¡± ¡°Do you have some on you?¡± he understood it for the request it was and turned around to quickly rummage through the tools. ¡°Long ready,¡± she said, handing him a few large rifle shells while he found a brush and a small vessel. Then he sat down in the only chair, placing the munition on a pile to his left. ¡°Do you¡­¡± he started to say as he turned around only to find out Rebecca was already handling him her knife. ¡°Thank you,¡± he nodded, then with a practiced motion pricked the top of his left ring finger, drawing a bit of blood into the vessel. Then began painting the bullets, drawing three dots in a triangle onto each. ¡°Can I stay overnight?¡± Rebecca asked as Ciril got to work. ¡°You should find an apartment,¡± he advised. ¡°I am never in town for long anyway,¡± she rolled her eyes. ¡°It¡¯s not about staying under your own roof. It¡¯s about having your own roof to stay under,¡± Ciril sighed. ¡°Be my guest, though I will be likely working until dawn. You know where the keys are.¡± ¡°That much work?¡± she frowned. ¡°Funerals cannot be hurried¡­ and the 11th Wall has just fallen,¡± he lightly shrugged. ¡°Can you check if the casket got lowered properly? The old machinery has been cranky lately.¡± ¡°Sure,¡± she skipped out of the small chamber, leaving Ciril to his painting. After half the shells he had to redraw some more blood, doing so just as Rebecca returned. ¡°Can¡¯t see it anymore, so I assume that¡¯s how it¡¯s supposed to be.¡± ¡°Yes, thank you,¡± he hummed. ¡°When are you leaving?¡± ¡°Tomorrow,¡± she replied. ¡°Already?¡± Ciril paused his work, turning to her. ¡°You were just put on leave.¡± ¡°The higher-ups want the companies that got chewed to bits rearranged quickly,¡± she shrugged. ¡°Orders are orders.¡± ¡°I may have some choice words to give your commanding officers,¡± Ciril frowned but returned to work. ¡°Just don¡¯t mention me by name, please.¡± ¡°I am not a moron.¡± ¡°Wouldn¡¯t have guessed.¡± ¡°Weak, even for you.¡± ¡°I guess I am too hung up on gallows humor,¡± she sighed. ¡°Still weak,¡± Ciril smiled as he finished painting the last bullets. Then he stood up, gathering them all into a water-tight brass box. He walked over to the water basin, submerging the container. ¡°Pray with me,¡± he said. ¡°You know I am not much into it,¡± Rebecca shuffled, a bit uncomfortable. ¡°They are your bullets,¡± Ciril insisted. ¡°Pray with me and the Three will ensure the blessing rings true. You need not speak, sincere desire in silence will be enough.¡± ¡°Fine,¡± she sighed, then approached, clasping her hands together as her eyelids shut. ¡°Hear me, Three,¡± Ciril mirrored her, voicing the words he knew like his clutched hands towards the basin. ¡°Hear your devoted, hear the muttering of meagre desires. May your blessings pass onto these arms of a lamb. For though she may be undevout in spirit, her acts speak of piety few could match. May the Architect-Impeccable bless them so they never fail to protect his wonders. May the Philosopher-Insatiable bless them so they always find their target. May the Bastion-Immutable bless them so they cannot be stopped. Tallast.¡± ¡°Tallast,¡± Rebecca repeated with a mutter as Ciril withdrew the box from the water, emptying it into her already outstretched palm. ¡°Goodbye again if we don¡¯t see each other tomorrow.¡± ¡°The Three be with you,¡± he said towards her departing back. Then she was gone and he returned to preparing the incense with a bit of hurry. By the time he was done and bringing the burners back to the alcove he was happy to find one of the younger acolytes halfway done with clearing out the flowers. Ciril voiced his approval and a thanks as he went around putting the incense where it belonged and lighting them. They would last for three or four more ceremonies before he had to change them again. By the time that was done, the flowers - and empty shells - had been stacked onto a cart and brought out. Ciril had a few minutes to read up on the next departed, remembering details to add to his repetitive speech while also making sure the next coffin was brought up without an issue. He had meant it when he said the machinery needed replacement. Not long later a few early guests began to enter his alcove. They needed Closure. Hope. Perhaps even counsel. Ciril was there to provide. Pilgrims The church of Saint Maya was a wonderful sight from the town''s uphill. Even after all these years, Ciril still felt it stir something in him. A triangle of stained glass above its gates, statues of the Three, then the bell tower, the tower just about level with the rest of the settlement that was otherwise above. A tribute to the Architect-Impeccable for all it was just a humble church beneath the artistry. Beautiful in both heart and sight. Even from as far away as Ciril stood. ¡°Father, something on your mind?¡± an old woman called from behind, having Ciril turn. ¡°Nothing, Magdalene, just pondering the wonder,¡± Ciril smiled at her, turning. ¡°The cart is ready,¡± she pointed at the hand-driven carriage, not more than 30 steps away. Next to it stood the woman¡¯s grand nephew, having finished loading. ¡°I am sorry about the delay.¡± ¡°I might be a man of the cloth but I am not of hurry,¡± Ciril smiled, turning back, then walking to the shop alongside her. ¡°It¡¯s a lot more than you usually get, Father,¡± the woman noted. ¡°Yes, it is quite the occasion,¡± Ciril nodded. ¡°Pilgrims will be arriving in the afternoon. I have been charged by the head priest with hosting them. There are said to be many wise men among them, which I am eager to meet.¡± ¡°Still, just vegetables for guests?¡± Magdalene frowned. ¡°I would have bought at least meat.¡± ¡°They are pilgrims, Magdalene, not merchants,¡± Ciril chuckled. ¡°To offer too rich a fare would be an insult to their humility.¡± ¡°You can do a lot more travelling on a full stomach,¡± she scoffed. ¡°They shouldn¡¯t be picky.¡± ¡°It is tradition to serve simple soup,¡± Ciril shook his head. ¡°I suppose,¡± she sighed as they arrived by the loaded cart. Plenty of legumes almost overflowing from it. ¡°I could bring it for you, Father,¡± the young man offered as they approached. ¡°Help your grandaunt instead, lad,¡± Ciril just smiled. ¡°I am barely over thirty! I am still quite spry. Good day to you both, Tallast!¡± ¡°Tallast.¡± ¡°Tallast,¡± they both echoed back as Ciril began to push the cart down the way. It was heavy, but that was what the wheels were for on a paved road. All the way from the market to the church. By the time he returned, there were acolytes already waiting on him, taking his load off as he had to catch his breath, then sat in their mess hall which lied right beyond the chapel itself. It was still a long way from town with a cart. One of the young clerks-in-training suggested perhaps they could start going to the market instead of him. ¡°I need my fresh air,¡± Ciril shook his head. ¡°A bit of exercise does me good.¡± The young boys took off to the kitchen with zest. The clergymen were expected to take care of themselves, though such duties were usually relegated to the younger among them. Youngest in this place. Saint Maya¡¯s church rarely hosted any acolytes younger than the middle teens. At least not anymore. Ciril had been less than that when he first came here but times changed. The priest did not intrude on the kitchen, instead heading to his room to pass the time. He was in the middle of a book. A re-read of The Radiant, Life and Two Sins. It was his second favorite - after the holy Tome of the Three itself. He had first read it after attending the Hero¡¯s last rites. It was¡­ nostalgic, and reminded him of purpose. Of deeper thoughts than those of just a man. Their guests would be coming later in the day. Some were wise wanderers¡­ many would be lost souls. Undoubtedly, others had tried to help the latter before but that did not mean Ciril could not try his own rhetoric. And what could be better inspiration than that which inspired him? And surely he had much to learn from the sages among them. But to learn it was best for the mind to be ready. Open to that new knowledge. This did that quite well for Ciril. It was not a day of sermon, neither did Ciril hold confessions nor any other duties. The preparations were in truth not difficult and were mostly distributed to the youths - leading them was more a position of honor than effort. Though he had gone to ensure nothing was out of place as the time approached. Eventually, one of the acolytes not assigned to any duty rushed in from the outside, crying about the pilgrims finally arriving. Ciril as well as the others quickly left the mess hall, walking through the chapel and then outside to greet them. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The pilgrims were travelers without a real leader, though there were those who still took charge of their travels. Ciril greeted the three men: A fellow priest, a former bankrupt merchant, and a retired soldier. Of course, he had only found that much after introductions. For all they spoke for the pilgrimage there was not much to talk about. Their stop by the church was agreed to in advance, their travel companions already erecting humble tents on the clearing in front of the place of worship. The acolytes brought out the large pots of soup when the camp making was somewhat done, which the clergy and pilgrims shared as late lunch; according to their verve, a great improvement from travel rations. For all Ciril was in ¡®charge¡¯ of hosting them, there were no actual duties involved. The pilgrims looked after themselves. Soon enough the travelers began to share their stories with the clergy and the many townsfolk who had followed the siren¡¯s call of a tale from afar. ¡°Father, I am happy to see you again,¡± not even half an hour later, a young man approached Ciril from within the crowd. The priest paused for a second looking over their face. At a visage from a year ago. Changed greatly, but for the better. ¡°Richard!¡± Recognition struck him. ¡°I could scarcely recognize you! A pilgrim? Quite surprising.¡± ¡°After my father passed I decided to look inwards more,¡± the former soldier nodded. ¡°I will go back to the front eventually¡­ my pa deserves that much. But I wanted to think more before I do.¡± ¡°I am just glad you are doing better, young man,¡± Ciril smiled, then pressed the once-rifleman¡¯s elbow. ¡°That is all I can ask for.¡± ¡°Thank you, Father,¡± Richard nodded. ¡°There was actually something else I wanted to see you about. I spoke with an old sage and mentioned what you told me last year at the funeral. He wanted to talk with you.¡± ¡°A sage, you say?¡± Ciril smiled. It was said there were such among the travelers. ¡°He is with among the pilgrims I presume?¡± ¡°Everyone looks to him for wisdom,¡± Richard nodded. ¡°An old philosopher like him knows many things.¡± ¡°Then I will see him,¡± Ciril nodded. The word philosopher was not used lightly. Invoking likeness to the Philosopher-Insatiable was usually reserved for only the most learned of wisemen. Ciril would certainly want to meet one such. ¡°Come with me, Father,¡± Richard nodded. ¡°He usually stays aside in towns but I know where his tent will be.¡± And follow Ciril did. Among the tents, away from the circles of storytellers hogging most of the attention. Along the way he spotted the other kind of pilgrim: The quiet majority which did not care for the interest of outsiders. Some glanced that the two men travelling among them, most just ignored the duo completely. Ciril noted among them those who looked lost - in need of a guiding light out of the darkness the human mind could malform into. The aforementioned philosopher was hosted at the very edge of the camp, watching as a few younger men erected his own tent. For indeed the man was downright ancient, decrepit and wrinkled. But unlike many others, the age had not decayed this man¡¯s mind. ¡°Young Richard,¡± the man nodded, turning towards the newcomers. ¡°And I presume the sagacious friar.¡± ¡°The pleasure is mine, sage. My name is Ciril,¡± the priest nodded. ¡°May I know yours?¡± ¡°My own I have long foresworn, Father,¡± the sage smiled lightly. ¡°But many know me as Vanum.¡± ¡°This is the first time I meet someone taking a different name by choice,¡± Ciril paused. ¡°In the days bygone it was once prevalent,¡± the sage shook his head. ¡°Alas, times shift. Eras bleed out. Few wished to embrace a second self once a wall has first fallen, far fewer live still.¡± ¡°You remember the start of the War?¡± Ciril gaped. That couldn¡¯t be. ¡°Nay, merely when a war claimed the ¡®the¡¯ before it,¡± Vanum shook his head. ¡°I was a young fool in pursuit of the Philosopher¡¯s immaculity then.¡± ¡°Are you not anymore?¡± the priest raised an eyebrow at the implication. ¡°Well, I am hardly young now, am I?¡± the philosopher laughed. ¡°I have grasped a few crumpets of wisdom as well, I suppose. And yours has fascinated me.¡± ¡°Mine?¡± Ciril asked. ¡°I scarcely have done much worthy of a philosopher.¡± ¡°Even a jester may unravel a truth, friar,¡± Vanum smiled. ¡°And you are more. All may behold which of the Three you align with the most.¡± ¡°Then what have I said which deserves such praise?¡± ¡°It is a fascinating ideal: That a hero may be a sinner. That sin does not diminish a deed,¡± Vanum said. ¡°It befits the Church of today.¡± ¡°I thought it only natural,¡± Ciril explained. ¡°Heroes die but they remain Heroes. Why would that be different than ever.¡± ¡°Once upon a time Heroes would not die, Ciril,¡± the philosopher shook his head. ¡°A Hero would wage war until the very day they broke. Then, through the grace of the Three they would depart without death.¡± ¡°That sounds like a euphemism,¡± Ciril frowned. ¡°A roundabout way to deny the second sin.¡± ¡°Ah, but it is not such, friar,¡± Vanum shook his head. ¡°You see, no one would see a carcass. And without witness nor proof, they vanished without sin. Unfailed, deathless. A relic and a legend the only proof they have ever been.¡± ¡°It is¡­ difficult to believe such was ever the case,¡± Ciril frowned. ¡°History summarized,¡± the pilgrim laughed at that. ¡°But we still try and tell it, for all it is often forgot. You should take part as well.¡± ¡°I can share wisdom with those who seek it with me,¡± Ciril nodded. ¡°No, you misunderstand,¡± the philosopher shook his head. ¡°For all the thoughts I have accrued, they will vanish with my sin of death. Perhaps that in itself will be a failure. What I advice is that you inflict your words onto page. Only then may they last.¡± Pages Ciril hummed softly as he unpacked the box in the early morning light. The sun was still dim and a chill permeated the air even inside his little office - a privilege to have one as part of his chambers in the church¡¯s limited space. It had arrived the night prior, though only made its way to the church in the early morning. He caressed the hardcover with a smile. ¡°Didn¡¯t you finish the book last month?¡± Rebecca¡¯s tired voice yawned from behind him. ¡°Yes,¡± Ciril nodded. The temptation to turn was there, though he kept unpacking instead. There was more than one of the softcover scripts. ¡°I had it printed.¡± ¡°Really?¡± Rebecca asked doubtfully. ¡°Isn¡¯t that stupidly expensive?¡± ¡°The printing house gave me a discount, and the church subsidizes such endeavors. I could pay for the rest,¡± Ciril smiled. ¡°Most had been sent to the capital, though I wanted a few dozen here. ¡°It could have been spent much better,¡± she scoffed as she shuffled around behind him. ¡°You could have spent it on a gift.¡± ¡°Like what?¡± ¡°A ring?¡± she suggested ¡°The last time I bought you a wristband you mocked me for a week straight,¡± Ciril rolled his eyes as he finally turned. She was already clothed at that point, wearing her uniform. ¡°As if I didn¡¯t know better than to get you jewelry.¡± ¡°I never said I wouldn¡¯t laugh at you about it,¡± she grinned. ¡°Anyway, I have to drop by the town. I got the longer leave on condition I would help recruit.¡± ¡°Of course, ¡®Captain¡¯,¡± Ciril made sure to give an exaggerated salute. ¡°Oh, shush,¡± she she scoffed. ¡°I will be back in time for the party.¡± ¡°See you then,¡± Ciril nodded, returning to carefully handling the books as Rebecca left. It had taken him two years to write it. What had been an assay at first had expanded into a more comprehensive delve into the philosophy surrounding his interpretation of heroism and sin. Dissecting quotes of the cannon or speaking of other philosophers and clergy men who had arrived at neighboring conclusions. The old pilgrim philosopher had certainly been right when he had said Ciril¡¯s reading was novel. Most of the texts he had found on the topic seemingly ignored the dichotomy between heroism and the sins of failure and death - or outright disputed it. The closest he had seen were those claiming that as Heroes were no mere men the standard should not apply. An unsatisfactory idea to the families of the lesser fallen who wished to hear of the great deeds rather than realities of War. It was a good thing that the prints had arrived when they did, too, for today was quite the conspicuous date for Ciril personally. He had long planned to introduce the book to his fellows in cloth on the occasion, then dismissed them when it seemed the text would not arrive on time. Suddenly, those plans were back on the table. That meant a slight adjustment. He went downstairs to the mess hall, finding out he was the second among the priests to wake - the three acolytes eating an early breakfast notwithstanding. He could not see the first, of course, because they were dutybound to the confession booth. That could never be unmanned for long once the sun rose even if it scarcely saw use so early. The duty to the faithful was not to fall to the wayside. The day was special, for it was Ciril¡¯s thirty-third birthday. An important date for any faithful of the Three. So conspicuous that a celebration of sorts had been arranged. A small gathering of the clergy and the few townsfolk Ciril was acquainted with. As others began to wake up Ciril spoke to them of the book delivery, quickly building the foundation to merge the two celebrations into one of both feat and time. Those plans were disrupted by an unexpected arrival an hour before noon. The first sign of them was the acolytes spotting a metal box making their way downhill from the town proper. That in itself was enough for everyone to go look. Ciril had known of the large machines deployed in the War and he had heard of ¡®cars¡¯ starting to be used by civilians, though it was his first time seeing one. It was not completely dissimilar from a carriage in structure, except that at the front rather than horses it was pulled by an extended rectangle as it rolled downhill. Everyone was guessing at who it could possibly be. For all their town was not completely rural such machines had not spread to it before. But who from outside the settlement would have business at Saint Mayas? The acolytes suggested anything from tax collectors to rich merchants coming to confess how they gathered the capital for their latest wonder, no matter how far-fetched some of those ideas were. Ciril guessed military men, here to arrange the funeral rites of someone important in the hometown they had not seen in decades. When the car stopped at the end of the paved road just by their church they were all proven wrong. The head priest was perhaps the first to catch a glance of the vehicle''s occupants for he had become too stunned to so much as mutter even before the two men stepped out. One was seemingly just a driver - dressed politely and professionally though of not much interest beyond the implied wealth they represented. What baffled everyone was the other occupant, stepping out of the back seat. It was an older man, visible by his slight wrinkles and blotches of white rash over some of their skin. That in itself would not be worth mentioning except for their clothes. They adorned a crimson raiment with smidges of gold, hinting at iconography. ¡°Cardinal,¡± someone put voice to what they had all been thinking. A real higher up arriving unannounced in their little chapel. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Brothers,¡± the man in question smiled as they stepped out of the vehicle, approaching the flabbergasted gathering. ¡°I apologize for arriving at such short notice. Alas, I am afraid I would not make it on time had I dallied until tomorrow.¡± ¡°Your eminence!¡± their high priest was the first to recover, or at least the first who dared speak. ¡°What may have brought you to our humble cloister?¡± ¡°Many a thing,¡± the man, for all he wore his robe of office, did not seem keen on suffocating them with that rank. ¡°But let us talk inside. The journey has tired me.¡± And inside they went, past the sermon hall into their communal hideaway beyond. The cardinal did not mind the hard wooden benches or at least pretended well not to, accepting their humble tea and simple fare. The conversation began slowly, the local clergy hesitant on how to broach any subject with the newcomer, though eventually the question of why was asked. ¡°I have heard that one of you would celebrate their thirty-third year since birth on this day,¡± he nodded, a smile still on his lips. ¡°That would be me, your eminence,¡± Ciril admitted while everyone glanced at him with surprise. Thirty-three was, obviously, a conspicuous number, yet not nearly enough to garner the attention of the man before them. ¡°Even for such an occasion, we have scarcely expected important guests. We would have prepared to be better hosts.¡± ¡°No need to be so nervous, I am here on my own accord and time,¡± the cardinal shook his head. ¡°As for why, it is of course your philosophical piece!¡± ¡°Has it garnered your eminence¡¯s attention,¡± Ciril asked, feeling a flutter of fireflies in his stomach. ¡°More than mine,¡± the cardinal nodded. ¡°It has caused quite a stir in the Holy see. Why, the pontiffs themselves might be inclined to read and ponder it!" ¡°Surely you jest?¡± Ciril paused. ¡°No need to diminish your efforts,¡± the cardinal shook his head. ¡°Of course the philosophers among us have taken interest. Your arguments elegantly bypass a deadlock our philosophically inclined brothers have been arguing over for years. A breath of fresh air, enough so that many among my peers have already read it in the past week since the prints'' delivery.¡± ¡°I am overjoyed my philosophy has stirred so many hearts,¡± Ciril said after a moment, feeling overwhelmed. ¡°I would not have expected such interested. Or the visit, your eminence.¡± ¡°When I found out that it would your thirty-third today I could not help but come and visit,¡± the cardinal smiled. ¡°Please, call me Jonathan, Ciril.¡± ¡°It would be my pleasure, Jonathan,¡± Ciril carefully nodded. ¡°Now, I am sure you have a celebration planned which I would hate to disturb,¡± the cardinal stood up. ¡°Just a humble gathering,¡± Ciril shook his head. ¡°Either way, I am unfortunately ever busy in my service to the Three, therefore I can hardly afford to remain,¡± the man shook his head, then reached into his robes. ¡°Though I would have one quick request. If you would be willing to give me an autograph...¡± ¡°Of course I would,¡± Ciril immediately nodded. Soon enough the cardinal left, quite happy with obtaining what he had come for. Everyone else''s tongues finally untied when the man was gone and the next few hours were shadowed by discussion of what had just transpired. It was rare for someone like that to visit their small church after all. Ciril could not remember it ever happening before. But eventually thoughts returned to Ciril''s birthday. A few hours after lunch visitors began to arrive. ¡°We might be a tad early,¡± Magdalene, the elderly shopkeep, had dragged her grand nephew along. The lad carried a basket of peeled and precut carrots, making for a good snack to bite into. ¡°No such thing,¡± Ciril welcomed them both with a hug. ¡°Now you cannot miss the excitement." A few more citizens arrived, people Ciril was familiar and friendly enough with for them to make the journey. Rebecca arrived among the last few, bringing along an unexpected guest. ¡°Richard!¡± Ciril exclaimed. The lad had once again changed in the two years since they had last met. The soldier turned pilgrim once again adorned their uniform. ¡°I had not know you had returned to the front.¡± ¡°I have not quite yet, Father,¡± Richard hugged Ciril back. ¡°I perhaps would have already but when I was making the decision I had heard it would be such an important day for you soon. After a talk with my uncle we agreed I could help with recruitment for a while so that I wouldn¡¯t miss it.¡± ¡°I am glad to see you lad,¡± Ciril nodded with a smile. ¡°You have come a long way.¡± Then there was merriment. Snacks and conversations, as well as a few birthday gifts Ciril enjoyed. Although the clergy were forbidden from drinking - lest it dull the wit for philosophy in them - the atmosphere more than made up for it. Ciril had also used the opportunity to give a copy of his book to anyone willing. Of course, philosophy was not the reading for everyone but Magdalene and a few other had taken him up on the offer while the clergy would have it available in the church¡¯s humble library closet. By the evening the gathering had dispersed and Ciril found himself more alone with Rebecca. He had not spoken much to the other townsfolk of the cardinal¡¯s visit, so he finally mentioned the details she had been curiously demanding all day long. ¡°A cardinal wanted you to sign the book?¡± the military woman asked, incredulous. ¡°Apparently it had gained quick popularity among the Holy See¡¯s clergymen,¡± Ciril hummed. ¡°Now I also want one,¡± she smiled. ¡°You rarely ever read,¡± Ciril pointed out. ¡°I might start,¡± she shrugged. ¡°Worst case scenario, I will sell it to another cardinal. They are probably rich.¡± ¡°Well, I do have extra copies,¡± Ciril relented, grabbing one and signing it with care near the bottom of the soft cover. ¡°You could make it a bit more personal,¡± she complained. ¡°Maybe write ¡®with an eternal dedication to the greatest beauty ever witnessed¡¯.¡± ¡°What a mouthful,¡± Ciril rolled his eyes, then looked down. After a moment he decided to draw a little heart beneath the autograph. ¡°Aww, how sweet,¡± Rebecca chuckled. ¡°Also very anatomically inaccurate. Hearts are actually closer to an oval flesh chunk than a proper shape. And most I have seen had holes in them.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think those were supposed to be there,¡± Ciril pointed out, unsure what else to say. ¡°Now you are the expert?¡± she teased. ¡°How much longer will you be able to stay?¡± he changed topic to something grim rather than morbid. ¡°A few more days,¡± she shrugged. ¡°The brass wants their recruits. I am actually a pretty good figurehead." "Then we should make them something worth remembering." Ascension Just before Ciril¡¯s thirty-fifth birthday, the head priest of the church of Saint Maya had died. A sudden lung illness felled the senior priest in just a few short weeks, leaving an empty spot in everyone¡¯s heart and at the church''s leadership. Ciril held the man¡¯s rites and mourned with everyone, then things resumed to normal while they waited to find out for who would replace them. The response from the Holy See was both surprising and exhilarating for Ciril. After a week of awaiting a decision he was chosen for the position from among all his brothers in cloth. That in itself was not too unexpected - Ciril was not the most senior but he was liked and his book had earned him passing favor in high places. What did baffle him was that his title would be more than merely a head priest. The Church¡¯s leadership had decided that the town near their congregation had grown enough over the past years that it warranted a greater appointment. Therefore, Ciril was going to become a bishop! When Rebecca returned to town for his birthday he opened the subject with excitement. ¡°I have quite the news!¡± he announced after the greetings ¡°So do I,¡± she nodded with a smile. ¡°But you should start.¡± ¡°By the wisdom of the Holy See, I am to be a bishop of the Church,¡± he announced ¡°Really? That is amazing,¡± Rebecca seemed quite startled by the announcement. ¡°I thought this church did not have one?¡± ¡°Yes, we have just been promoted, or perhaps soon to be,¡± Ciril nodded. ¡°It has to be Jonathan¡¯s hand. The cardinal who came for my thirty-third if you remember. We have kept correspondence since. I have gone through the letters yesterday. In hindsight, he had been subtly hinting this was a possibility.¡± ¡°I am so happy for you,¡± Rebecca smiled, then paused, the grin turning ever so slightly crooked. ¡°But won¡¯t they¡­ you know?¡± ¡°What?¡± Ciril raised an eyebrow. ¡°Care about¡­ me?¡± ¡°Oh!¡± he exclaimed. ¡°Worry not. The rule is against marriage as a priest should truly dedicated themselves only to the Three. I have gently prodded Jonathan when the topic came up and no one but the strictest purists will care about an infecund personal bond.¡± Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°I see,¡± she paused. ¡°That is certainly a relief. I would hate to drag you down.¡± ¡°You never would,¡± Ciril smiled. ¡°You also had news?" ¡°Mine seem almost meager in comparison,¡± she shook her head regaining her composure. ¡°As it happens I am also being promoted.¡± ¡°So not just a captain anymore, huh?¡± Ciril grinned. ¡°Well, for a while still,¡± she smiled back. ¡°The next time we meet I shall be Lieutenant Colonel¡­ though it comes with a downside.¡± ¡°The responsibility?¡± Ciril guessed. ¡°That too, but not what I mind,¡± she shook her head. ¡°I will be much busier after that. Especially in the nearby future when I need to prove my worth.¡± ¡°Don¡¯t worry yourself over me, Rebecca,¡± Ciril reassured. ¡°I know you care about your career. Go establish yourself and prove to everyone that no one honors the Bastion-Immutable as you do.¡± ¡°Thank you,¡± she nodded, a hint of a smile passing to her lips. ¡°You better properly send me on my way.¡±
The ceremony was wonderful. Half a year after the announcement Jonathan once again came down to town, this time with full official flare as to raise Ciril to the office. And more than just the cardinal had arrived. A gaggle of important people and their tag-alongs were present as well. All in all, Ciril thought he would remember those days for years to come as he sat in his new robes, wearing in the new honors and authority. His only regret was that Rebecca could not make it.
After that Ciril became busier. Months quickly passed as he threw himself into his work with renewed vigor. The Church of Saint Maya had found itself seeing many new guests, seeking rites and ordainment Ciril as a bishop could now provide. And it was true that their town had grown. The church that had once been a good distance away from it was suddenly at the edge. The way it was looking their downhill clearing may one day be very much within the boundaries. Ciril felt he was doing more than ever. Helping people on almost daily basis. Guiding lost souls through sermons or more personal speech. Some even arrived to ask him about philosophy, often times scholars and wise men, stirring his pride. The town grew, people prospered. Things were great. His only real worry remained that Rebecca still refused to reply to any of his letters with anything more than vague reassurance and apologies. Keeper Ciril left the church in a grim mood. He trod over the clearing and the paved stairs leading uphill, closer to town than the congregation itself was¡­ Well, nowadays the town was almost around Saint Maya¡¯s church. Not ten minutes later he was at the back entrance to the funeral house - he would have gotten there sooner but he was pushing forty and was no longer so spry. The door opened and he walked the familiar hallways. He had been there countless times, performing rites for the departed as the clergy ought to before the morticians or their workers inhumed them. It felt different when it was more personal. He quickly arrived at one of the three alcoves that operated at the time - there had been three though one was undergoing renovation. On the wall were the relics of heroes, including that ring of the Radiant Ciril would usually glance at. He did not that time. Instead, he stared at the open casket. Magdalene looked a bit pale and thinner than Ciril remembered. Otherwise, she could not be told apart from when she had lived besides the lack of breath. Ciril had also not clearly really known her. He never knew she had a sister who still lived. Neither had he known the old shopkeeper liked to crochet, not until the family had submitted it to be fit into his rehearsed speech. He reminisced of the many memories he had of the woman. He had known her since he was a wee lad, an acolyte looking for a bargain on something to bite into, meeting a kindly old shopkeeper. But not a single one of that was deep. It did not stung nearly as much as Ciril thought it should have. He thought she had earned the pain and grief he was simply not experiencing. After staring at her for too long Ciril went to check on the supplies in the adjacent room. As always, they had not been touched so he prepared the incense and put the burners across the room, ready to be lit when the time came. ¡°The scriptures tell us there are only two sins¡­¡± his speech was nearly the same as always. Small alterations, changes dependent on the person. He mentioned briefly how he had known her himself when praising every virtue conceivable as to not stain a single memory, but it was barely different from reading a script. Ciril felt guilty about that but could not help it. When it was done, he comforted her weeping grand nephew - she and the lad had been close - then it was over. Ciril wondered if there should have been more. By then he realized he was more worried about Rebecca¡¯s recent silence than the boy.
A year later when Ciril walked by where Magdalene¡¯s shop used to stand there was a flower shop there. When he asked about the grand-nephew the new owners said that their predecessor sold the property after being conscripted for the War. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. Ciril never heard about the boy again.
It was well after his forty-seventh birthday that a reply of sorts from Rebecca finally arrived. He had been speaking with cardinal Jonathan often at the time, planning for the possibility he may yet ascent above the rank of a bishop. Nay, it had seemed almost as a foregone conclusion. A position overseeing the distribution of philosophy had would be freed by the previous holder ascending to crimson cloth - it seemed many favored an outsider like him, barely in touch with the stale politics that were inevitable at the Church''s seat of power. Ciril stared at the coffin, unable to understand. The casket was, as happened to often be the case with soldiers, closed. He was not sure that the lips speaking the words he had spoken a thousand times before were his. Not certain it was his sight that stared at the soldiers coming to say goodbye to their comrade, filling the cloister nigh to the brim. When he spoke of the departed¡¯s past it was perhaps the first time he spoke truthfully and from the heart. By the time it was over he had shed tears, yet still had a memory of attempting to offer guidance the best he could. Before the sun set he was standing alone, watching the patch of dirt below a tombstone, reading Captain Rebecca Halloway. On it lay few flowers but a mound of metal shells the soldiers had left. In his hand Ciril grasped the one thing dedicated to him in her will: A cheap armband. A silly gift she had relentlessly mocked him for buying, almost fifteen years prior to that day. Suddenly the seat by the Holy See felt so very distant and meaningless. Jonathan visited Ciril once in those days. The bishop did not remember what words they had each said but knew that in the aftermath he was soon no longer in the running for that auspicious honor of adding an ''arch'' before his title. Following that, Ciril withdrew from more than just ambition. He kept to his duty at Saint Maya¡¯s church yet they felt¡­ hollow. Even his prayers themselves felt as if they had been stripped of something fundamental.
By the time Ciril spoke with Jonathan again half a year had passed. Someone else had taken that position, though when the old cardinal came he brought with him another bishop. A younger man in his thirties by the name of Janus, apparently a prodigy. Despite all of Ciril¡¯s grimness, the two bishops made quick friends, through their mutual comprehensive interest in philosophy and alike preference for books. By the time the two left and Ciril returned to his automaton self... but he felt at least a little better for the first time in a while.
Time withered away. Months. Then years. Ciril never reignited his ambition. He scarcely noticed that he performed the priestly duties less and less. One day he realized he could not remember the last time he had held the confession booth and that it had been months since he had last held a sermon. That lost souls had become so startingly infrequent among those he spoke to. Cardinal Jonathan too passed one day, Ciril dragging himself to the funeral - a grand ceremony worthy of the man. There he met Janus again, an Archbishop already by then. They reconnected again and Ciril found that Janus was positioned to succeed their mutual friend''s rank. He congratulated him and they would keep up correspondence afterwards. Janus'' ceremonial ascension a few months afterward was the last time Ciril ever left his home town.
When the 10th wall fell a few more years later, and the casket arrived for Richard - the boy he had helped all those ages ago - Ciril no longer felt anything at the news. He carried the rites as he always had. As he would keep doing in the future. Mechanically, repetitively. Hollow. He never visited the grave for all it was just a ten minute walk away. Stairway Ciril was sixty years old when his health failed him. After performing the funeral rites one evening - he had been forced to join due to the 9th wall falling making the clergy overly busy - he tripped over the step when leaving. It did not take long for him to be found and brought to a hospital where he found he had fractured his left ankle and wrist in a clumsy fall. After that he was consigned to a bed to recover. Yet by the time his leg was healed two months later, everything else began to fail. Janus paid him several visits during those times, both during recovery and afterwards. He was there when Ciril first coughed out blood along the phlegm and was kind enough to drive his older fried to the hospital. There he was diagnosed with lung cancer. A disease with few survivors and no cure, prognosis of one to five years. When he first heard the news Ciril could scarcely gather disappointment anymore. ¡°It seems the Three plan to meet me sooner rather than later,¡± he told Janus in the waiting room afterwards. ¡°You will get worse,¡± The cardinal was so very grim. ¡°Require constant attention.¡± ¡°Perhaps,¡± Ciril nodded. The doctor had explained as much. ¡°And yet I have spent my whole life within the walls of that church. It would dishonor it to die anywhere else.¡± And so changes happened. Ciril would have been fine curling up and succumbing to the sin within the familiar walls of his chambers. Janus decided it would be quickly renovated with medical equipment, a nurse hired just to care for the elderly bishop. Ciril never lost his rank, nor technically his leadership. And yet before he knew it the church was no longer run by him. Soon enough even major decisions passed without his knowledge and - frankly - care. For all he noticed his voice begin to rasp he lived as comfortably as someone sick could. Plentiful medicine and personal attention he had never noticed he had started to lack. He thought that perhaps his last few years would pass calmly, with no further upsets. It was not to be.
¡°I have some unfortunate news,¡± Janus came to tell him one day. The cardinal was busy with his service to the Three thought tried to visit at least once a week. Usually ¡°Good to see you as well,¡± Ciril grumbled. ¡°I have not seen you in half a month yet those are your first words.¡± ¡°Events at the Holy See have been particularly demanding: A new pontiff for the Philosopher-Unsatiable has risen to the triumvirate,¡± Janus explained. ¡°They are rather¡­ radical.¡± ¡°I have been too detached from such politics to know what that means,¡± Ciril said. ¡°They have rashly decided for many reforms against the recommendation of all advisors,¡± Janus continued. ¡°And they have stripped many titles of their importance. Removed them from the list that the Church endorses along the scriptures themselves.¡± ¡°Including my book,¡± Ciril understood. His mark on the world. ¡°Yes,¡± Janus confirmed grimly. ¡°I have tried to reason with them the best I could. But they are adamant that some text are simply ¡®out of sync with the times¡¯.¡± ¡°So it is just gone,¡± Ciril smiled bitterly. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original. ¡°It''s not like the book is banned,¡± Janus tried to soften to blow. ¡°It is merely that it is no longer officially recommended. Many of my peers have been attempting for a reversion though it seems unlikely.¡± ¡°I see, thank you for telling me,¡± Ciril said. He did not talk again for the rest of the day.
Less than a year later Ciril was visited by a stranger. One so insistent on meeting him the clergy that operated the church¡¯s operation were unable to refute her. Not that Ciril would deny it. Every visitor was welcome, they were already plenty scarce. ¡°You are Ciril,¡± the young woman assessed - whereabout of twenty-five years of age. She wore a soldier¡¯s uniform along her auburn hair, features so familiar Ciril felt a long-forgotten agonizing ache in his chest. ¡°That would be me,¡± Ciril nodded. ¡°You have insisted so strongly to meet me. What may the matter be?¡± ¡°Perhaps I should have come a long time ago,¡± she shook her head. ¡°I just never quite had the courage, father.¡± ¡°There is no shame in fear,¡± Ciril assured. ¡°What is your name, child.¡± ¡°Cirila,¡± she grunted with a stare. ¡°What a coincidence,¡± Ciril mused. ¡°Not as such,¡± she spat with hostility the old priest had not realized. ¡°Or have you perhaps gone blind in your age?¡± ¡°Blind to what?¡± Ciril questioned with surprise. ¡°You want me to say it, don¡¯t you?¡± she looked away, a shiver passing through you. ¡°I am not going to. It hurts too much to mutter, much less admit.¡± ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Ciril asked, confused, yet disturbed by the young woman¡¯s apparent distress. ¡°Needless to say, I despise you Ciril,¡± she said, poison in those words. ¡°I considered when coming here whether to end it. Perhaps with a pillow, smothering would be difficult to prove. Or perhaps with a bullet, just to be sure. But then I heard of your disease and thought that perhaps that is a crueler end than any I could offer.¡± ¡°Surely such hostility is unwarranted,¡± Ciril paused. ¡°For all I have my flaws I have never wronged anyone as a man of cloth.¡± ¡°You say that with such conviction that I think you believe that,¡± she scoffed. ¡°On behalf of my mother, I disagree.¡± ¡°I am not aware who your mother might be,¡± Ciril carefully replied. ¡°But I assure if y ¡°Why, pray tell, would intentions matter?¡± she inclined her head, eyes still burning. ¡°Perhaps they do not matter to you,¡± Ciril denied. ¡°But I can see your hate is true. If I had truly wronged your mother in such a way I am willing to make amends. Tell me the nature of what I had done and perhaps some of it ¡°I will never forgive you,¡± ¡°Forgiveness is not necessary for repentance,¡± Ciril smiled sadly as he spoke. ¡°Faith does not guarantee reward, yet still we pray.¡± ¡°There is nothing you can do anyway,¡± Cirila shook her head then stood up. ¡°Nothing I would want you to. I am probably going to regret ever meeting you anyway, I already am. But not going would have been worse.¡± ¡°Will you really not tell me at least who you are?¡± Ciril asked ¡°No, you are not worth that pain,¡± she shook her head again, then paused. ¡°But perhaps this will. A piece of inheritance I never wanted nor understood.¡± She took out a book from an inner pocket, then placed it on the table before leaving. It was a piece yellow with age, a few drops of blood had stained the soft cover and wetness had most likely eroded the contents that had not been preserved. It was an antique after all, made with a printing press before those had become obsolete and their ink smudged when not properly preserved. From the very first edition of that book that had laid claim to some fame. Ciril stared at the title. So very familiar. And the name of the author below was his own. That would have been fine. That would not have cut. What had was that below that the book was signed. A signature from almost thirty years ago. And right under that he saw the blurred outline of a little heart he had once drawn. ¡°Cirila!¡± he yelled. His daughter was long gone. Hope His newfound daughter never replied to any of his letters. Not when he sent them by the dozens. Not when he misused his still unstripped station to find where exactly they should be sent. Not when he asked others to inquire on his behalf. For months he tried, desperately. Over and over and over without so much as an acknowledgment of his efforts. When Cirila finally gave him a response of sorts six months after their encounter, she did so in much the same way her mother had. Even the casket was also closed, as was often the case with victims to the War. The funeral had been the last day Ciril could remember walking on his own two feet. Afterwards, he lied down and his body refused to stand again. The nurse would come to check on him more and more often as his health worsened, until eventually she stayed at the church all day long, becoming one of the last people he talked to. The younger priests, for all Ciril had helped raise most of them, scarcely visited their dying bishop anymore. She often asked him about his past. About stories of the past. Ciril was as old as the girl¡¯s late parents and they formed a connection of sorts. Desperate for company, he never refuted her curiosity. One day a topic came to the ring, framed and pinned to the wall just so that Ciril could look at it with a slight tilt of his head. ¡°I had asked for it to be brought here from the funeral house uphill,¡± Ciril explained. ¡°It is important to me.¡± ¡°Why is that?¡± ¡°It is a genuine relic,¡± Ciril smiled fondly, glancing at the ring. ¡°It had once belonged to Bartholomew the Radiant! Sounds familiar?¡± This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. ¡°Cannot say I have heard of them,¡± his nurse shook her head. ¡°He was the Hero of the 12th wall,¡± Ciril explained. ¡°Buried here when I was just a young acolyte. Seeing that ceremony had changed the course of my life.¡± ¡°A hero, huh,¡± she raised her eyebrow doubtfully. ¡°There was a time when any soldier knew that name,¡± Ciril rolled his eyes. ¡°So, what Heroes do the young keep to nowadays? I cannot say I have kept up.¡± ¡°What a silly question,¡± she chuckled. ¡°What could possibly be silly about it?¡± Ciril was confused. ¡°I don¡¯t think we can really afford fairy tales in this day and age, is all,¡± she shrugged. ¡°I haven¡¯t heard anyone speaking of ¡®heroes¡¯ since I was a child.¡± ¡°That cannot be right,¡± Ciril paused. It couldn¡¯t be. ¡°Heroes are important. It is them who have held up the walls as long as they had stood.¡± ¡°I suppose,¡± she said, slowly. Disagreeing but unwilling to argue. Thinking the whole line of conversation was silly. Ciril was quiet after that, thinking. For all he had grown old and pained, he had always been inclined for deeper thoughts. He had just forgotten it when drowning. That day he remembered and realized what he had missed. How could the young not believe in Heroes? The great men and women who held the War¡¯s front, tooth and nail. Who carried the very weight of the walls on their back. No, it could not be. Ciril refused to accept it. Not just because of one account. It couldn¡¯t be. And se he snapped. He dragged his battered body downstairs despite every protest and ache. There he grabbed every young enough person he could see and demanded an answer to a question. Soldiers, acolytes, merchants, laborers. Whoever he could find at the church. First he spoke hopefully, certain his conclusion had to have been wrong. Then with desperation, praying to the Three that this was some terrible coincidence. By the time his body collapsed from the strain - beyond the ability of willpower to overcome - the conclusion was beyond denial. Not a single one believed anymore. And without hope, what did they have left? Peace Ciril lay on his deathbed, unable to move. His neck felt filled with lead, mind misty as a swamp after rain. He stared as his shivered hand that refused to even twitch, a tube biting into it, prolonging his last moments. ¡°What happened to you, Ciril?¡± cardinal Janus questioned. He was somewhere in the room, Ciril could not tell even in which direction. ¡°You know, I had a daughter,¡± Ciril said. ¡°Really?¡± his friend said with surprise. ¡°You have never mentioned her.¡± ¡°I never knew, until less than a year ago,¡± Ciril nodded... tried to nod. His neck would not move. ¡°She told me she despised me on our first meeting. The second time I saw her was a funeral.¡± ¡°That is¡­ unfortunate,¡± the cardinal paused. ¡°It does not explain your behavior. The nurse says you had gone rabid yesterday. Worsened you state so much even the doctor could not help you. Now, your one sin approaches.¡± ¡°Were you aware, that the young generation no longer believes in Heroes?¡± Ciril asked. His throat hurt, more than usual. His voice was hoarse. ¡°It is not a¡­ hopeful time,¡± Janus frowned. ¡°The War takes great toll on all of us.¡± ¡°When I was their age it was not a speculation,¡± Ciril tried and failed to shake his head. ¡°It was a fact. That Heroes lived and committed great deeds. No one would doubt it.¡± ¡°It was a different time,¡± the cardinal conceded. ¡°Now I wonder whether it had been a lie, meant to give us that false hope I have always lived in,¡± Ciril sighed. ¡°That maybe they would make the tomorrow great once again. But what do the young have now? They don¡¯t believe that there will be a savior. That better should be a promise, not a naive dream.¡± ¡°The Chruch does what it can,¡± Janus nodded. ¡°Perhaps, if even that,¡± Ciril smiled bitterly. ¡°But certainly not enough. Each year less faithful come to the church. I have scarcely noticed it since it was so gradual. But now I see it with clarity. The faith in the Three wanes as they themselves fail. When the 1st wall falls, will even they remain?¡± Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. ¡°What you say borders on blasphemy,¡± the cardinal warned, though there was little heat in it. ¡°When I am judged it will not be on the last moments,¡± Ciril laughed, which turned into a coughing fit. He had to swallow bloody phlegm by the time it left. Then he spoke again "When I am gone what will remain of me? What about when you leave as well? Just a flowerless grave and a book no one reads. Not even a memory." ¡°Your prognosis is not looking good,¡± Janus said after a moment of silence, changing the topic rather than engaging with it. ¡°How long,¡± Ciril asked. ¡°The doctor believes there is a good chance you won¡¯t wake tomorrow,¡± the cardinal slowly admitted. Ciril would have nodded if he could. ¡°I came to give the parting rites.¡± ¡°I see, thank you,¡± the dying bishop still appreciated the gesture. It was usually far beneath someone of Janus status to offer such. ¡°Then tell me your secrets and regrets,¡± Janus nodded. ¡°I shall bear them with all their weight. They shall remain only between us and the Three before you face your one sin. Tallast.¡± And so Ciril spoke. Seconds turned to minutes, then to hours. Janus attentively listed to every word, never interrupting as Ciril¡¯s throat grew sore, as the dull ache in his head became a full migraine. As the old priest stopped seeing through one of his already murky eyes and ants began to crawl through his right leg. Year by year, moment by moment, Ciril relayed every regret, little or large. All he had ever kept to himself so that by the time he was done there would be nothing left to burden him when he met the Three. ¡°And¡­¡± and eventually, there was just a last regret to share. Ciril hesitated for the first time. ¡°What is it?¡± the cardinal encouraged. ¡°Do you see the ring framed on the wall?¡± Ciril asked, unable to look at it himself. He felt it then, strength leaving him. As the last strings of grief holding him back resolved. There was no fear to admit to. For all Ciril was regretful he was not afraid. Just disappointed. ¡°Yes, is it a memento?¡± Janus asked. ¡°A relic,¡± Ciril said. ¡°Important to me. It had once belonged to Bartholomew the Radiant. Does that sound familiar?¡± ¡°I cannot say it does,¡± ¡°The Hero of the Twelfth wall,¡± the priest explained again. Each word he felt himself withering. ¡°I had been an acolyte when he had been put to rest, just uphill. There young Ciril took an oath, between himself and the Three... I had sworn then that I would leave this world a better place than I had found it.¡± There was a pause. The bishop would have stared his friend into the eyes if he could find them... ¡°Not one sin, Janus,¡± the dying man spoke, the wheezing speech as bitter as truth often is. His lungs burned with every breath of air passing through. That was fine. He had only a final word left to say. ¡°Two.¡± Then Ciril closed his eyes and passed.