The bells of the Temple of Compassion tolled, each peal deep and heavy, rattling the bones of the city. Kael stood in the crowd, clutching his mother's hand. He was only twelve, but even he could feel it—the air was wrong. Too still. Too sharp.
"Mama," he whispered, tugging her sleeve, "why are the bells so heavy today?"
His mother's smile was soft but strained. "Because the saint is stirring. We should be glad. It means Compassion is near."
Kael frowned. "But… saints aren't supposed to wake up angry, right?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she squeezed his hand tighter and led him through the winding
Later, as incense smoke curled through the square, Kael sat beneath the shadow of a marble statue, waiting. His mother was inside, preparing for her baptism.
A boy dropped onto the step beside him. "Hey. You waiting too?"
Kael blinked. "Oh—Damien. Yeah."
"Figures." Damien leaned back, folding his arms. "Do you know why they do baptisms?"
Kael shook his head. "Mama just said it was important. She never told me why. She said… I wouldn't understand."
Damien's eyes gleamed. "Then listen. I'll tell you something most grown-ups won't. A long time ago, the world was broken. People killed, starved, ruined everything. But then ten gods came down from the ashes of that world. They gave us gifts—Imagination, Wisdom, Strength, Pride, Progress, Compassion, Creation, Pleasure, Magic, and Kindness. To guide us, they chose saints—humans like us, but stronger. When those saints turned twenty-one, their souls opened, and they touched their first amora. That's how the world learned power again."
Kael's mouth hung open. "And… if we're baptized, we'll get chosen too?"
Damien shrugged. "Maybe. If the gods like you."
Kael's fists clenched around his knees. "Then I'll make them like me. I'll become strong. Strong enough that… no one will ever leave me again."
Damien raised a brow. "Leave you?"
Before Kael could answer, a scream tore through the cathedral.
streets toward the cathedral.
The ground shook. Light seared through stained glass as the Saintess of Compassion erupted in fire and fury. The air itself wailed with her wrath.
"Run!" Damien shouted, dragging Kael behind the oak at the edge of the courtyard.
Stone crumbled. Flames rained. Inside, worshippers cried out as the saint's power lashed wild, mercy twisted into madness.
Kael's mother stumbled into the open, coughing, her dress torn and bloodied. She saw him, tried to run, and then—
The collapsing arch struck her down.
Kael screamed, bolting to her side. "Mama! Mama!" He clawed at the rubble, his hands bleeding, until he found her pale arm. She squeezed his hand weakly, her lips trembling.
"Shhh, my child… don't cry. Compassion… will answer… just pray…"
Tears blurred Kael's eyes. "No! I don't want Compassion—I just want you! Don't leave me, Mama, please!"
Her fingers brushed his cheek, one last time. "All will be well…"
And then her body dissolved into motes of light, leaving behind a crystal of pure pink Kain that rolled into Kael's lap.
For a moment, there was silence. Kael stared, unblinking, clutching the gem to his chest. Then it cracked, shattering into shards of searing energy.
Kael screamed as the fragments tore into his soul. His vision split with blinding light, his body convulsing.
And in the hollow where grief should have drowned him, a voice rose. Not the voice of gods. Not the whispers of saints.
It was his own.
"If the gods will not answer, then I will."