The faint scent of disinfectant lingered in the tiled bathroom, mingling with the harsher tang of bleach. Harsh fluorescent light reflected off the wet floor where a young man knelt by the far stall, scrubbing the grout with slow, deliberate strokes. His shirt clung to his back with sweat, but his eyes stayed on the tiles—focused, careful, as if each pass of the brush mattered more than his aching arms.
The door creaked open. Footsteps—steady, heavy—echoed across the floor before stopping a few feet away.
"Son," a deep voice said, warm yet puzzled.
The young man didn't look up.
"Why are you scrubbing the bathroom floor? I pay people to do that."
Without pausing, the young man replied, his voice low but steady.
"Father… since I was a child, I was prideful. Always at the top of my class. Stronger than most… faster than most. But somewhere along the way, life changed. I'm now homeless and jobless. Still, I never complained. I just… tried my best.
"Today I went by family—just to shower. I got cursed at, yelled at. And to be honest… that broke me. I only wanted to be clean. I never asked for money, never asked for food. Just the chance to wash off the dirt."
He stopped scrubbing for the first time, staring at the soapy foam by the drain.
"When the curses hit my ear… I didn't know what to say. What made it worse was that it came from my younger brother. I've done more for him than I could ever count. In that moment… I bowed my head in defeat and walked away. Somehow… I ended up here.
"For the past four weeks, I've been coming here to shower… and to hear the sermon. I'm not a religious man, Father. But today… I wanted to give back. I figured… if I'm using the church's showers, the least I can do is clean the bathroom."
The priest studied him—a tall man in his mid-forties, broad-shouldered beneath his black clerical shirt. His posture was ramrod straight, a soldier's discipline hiding beneath a shepherd's patience. His eyes were steady, the kind that could pierce lies without cruelty.
Then it came.
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⚜ TEMPLAR DECREE ⚜
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1st Templar Recruit Found
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The words weren't spoken aloud, but they resonated in the priest's mind—etched in gold upon unseen parchment, thrumming with power. The hum stirred deep in his bones, a call he hadn't heard in decades.
Father Gabriel Moretti's jaw tightened for just a heartbeat before he smoothed his expression into a calm smile.
"Son," he said quietly, "when you're finished here… come to my office. There's something important we need to discuss."
Outside, the church bells began to ring.