"So this place is supposed to 'save' me? How does blindly following some god save me—let alone give me some type of rewards or power?"
A pale, calm-looking boy with snow-white, messy hair that wraps around his head like a halo and blue eyes wearing a shaggy tunic could be seen standing in front of what seemed to be a church.
The church was a circular building with stone pillars supporting the second floor, and the third floor was built on top of that. The boy looked indifferent to the place, scratching his wrist.
He wasn't frail, but he wasn't built either. After all, if you wanted to survive on the outskirts of Gallora, you were bound to gain some muscles from either working some underpaying labor job or from running and smuggling.
He looked up at the very top, noticing a rose made of stone with strange petals on it. They looked like Azalea petals that weren't fully bloomed yet. He looked back down at the entrance, hesitating a bit before finally gathering the courage to walk in.
Immediately after walking in, he saw a path of white and gold carpet with throne-like designs on it, featuring long, connected chairs on its sides, and a chandelier in the middle of the path at the top of the building. The chandelier had dozens of unlit candles on it, and at the sides were statues of golden goblets and veils. At the end of the path were twelve people in prayer.
In front of them was a statue of a young, gentle-looking man with long, flowing hair that reached his back. He looked quite feminine with soft features, but had the body of a god with slender limbs contrasted with well-developed muscles. Together, the group was facing the statue on their knees, saying something in unison.
"O God, Lord of Mercy, shine your light, and show us kindness, A Mother's Love That Cannot Be Replaced. Heed our names and take us away from flames. Dear Almighty, son of stars—show us mercy, and make our lives vast, give us strength so that we may last."
The boy frowned slightly; he didn't believe in any god. It wasn't as if any god he had ever prayed to answered his prayers, but today of all days, he decided it was time for a change.
After a while of watching the prayer, he looked around until his eyes finally landed on a nun with purple velvet, almond-shaped eyes wearing green and red robes that hid her figure from head to toe—including her hair—and the same symbol that was at the peak of the church on her chest, with the chain around her neck surrounded by what seemed to be blue daisies.
He didn't understand why, but he was always able to see an aura around certain people. Of course, it was around everyone, but only certain people seemed to have a noticeable amount. Once he approached the nun, he sat down next to her, giving her an awkward smile.
"How may I help you, young man?"
"I was actually planning on converting, and was wondering if you could help."
The nun smiled widely from ear to ear, almost like she was trying to hold back a giggle.
"Yes, I'd be happy to help. May I ask what god you're converting from?"
"I'm actually not religious."
"I see... So what's your name?"
"Gavirel."
The nun sat there as if waiting for Gavirel to say something else for what seemed like hours, making him scratch his neck nervously from her staring. After what felt like a minute, she finally put her hands up defensively, squirming in her seat.
"I-I'm sorry I was... Never mind that—just follow me."
The nun rose from her seat, her robes seeming to brush against the daisies at her feet—and then, when he blinked again, they seemed to go away, or at least surround her arm instead. The nun walked toward a door to the side of them, turning around to see if Gavirel was following her.
"Come."
She said, waiting until he stood up, following her as she opened the door, greeting them with a staircase. As they began to walk up the stairs, Gavirel couldn't help but look at her in confusion.
Gavirel wondered why she had even become a part of this religion—and his mouth began to move on its own.
"Ma'am, if I may ask, what's your name?"
"Sister Liora, but you can just call me Liora if you want."
Gavirel paused for a second, reconsidering what he was about to say at least two or three times before finally speaking.
"Liora, how is it that you can blindly follow someone—or something—you don't know?"
She looked at him, even more intrigued, now leaning in closer as if telling a secret.
"Think about a time when you were thinking, 'this is truly too kind to be true,' or something along the lines of 'this is too good, I don't deserve this.' Whenever you think of something like that—that's Seralius showing mercy upon you."
"Seralius?"
"The God of Mercy's true name. Don't worry, I don't expect you to know about that; after all, you are an atheist."
He thought to himself that she might have had a point, but at the same time, could there really be a difference between that and luck?
At the top of the stairs was nothing but a stark white room with a black pedestal in the middle of the void, a small wooden table, and a goblet with green gems on it. Liora approached the pedestal, reaching past one of her robes and pulling out a book the size of a brick, placing the book atop it.
"Have you ever prayed before, Gavirel?"
"I've tried a few times, but never to The God Of Mercy."
"What gods did you try to pray to?" As she said this, she opened the book and began to flip through its pages, each one like a new sheet of answers.
"The God Of Light and The God Of Substance."
"And what were your intentions when praying to them?"
Gavirel cleared his throat, fidgeting with his index and thumb, taking a sharp inhale from the side of his mouth.
"Uh... To ask for money."
Gavirel half expected her to laugh at him for such a selfish reason. He became almost frozen in place as she smiled—not one of pity like he would usually get, but one of forgiveness—before she flipped the page one last time, turning to it as she began to recite the verse.
"Mortal, god, or devil—all may be forgiven. As long as they have a soul, they are an ever-changing being. Selfish, weak, old—any type of sinning will not matter before me. As long as you are my child, I will grant you the love you've bestowed upon me."
Gavirel thought it sounded like any other poem. For all he cared, this 'god' could have been lying. He wanted to debate, but then remembered he was here for change—so he forced his mouth shut.
"So how is it that I'm forgiven? How will I know? And more importantly, how do I speak to him—for him to forgive me?"
Liora let out a short giggle, running her fingers through her covered hair before looking up in thought.
"It's a hard feeling to explain, but imagine your heart beating slower than usual—being shielded by something. As for your question, we're humans, so we can't regularly speak to gods—we do it through prayer. The gods answer your prayers with actions, as long as it wasn't for a bad reason."
"So what if I pray for money?"
"I'm sure, since it's your first prayer to Seralius—he'll grant it to you."
He wasn't expecting an actual answer from her, mainly because he was joking—but her answer sure did put a smile on his face.
"So how do I pray? Do I recite what I heard downstairs?"
Gavirel could have sworn he almost screamed that out, but somehow managed to hold it back—a nearly knowing smirk on his face as he did so.
"Think of it like a regular conversation with someone. Of course, what you saw downstairs really wasn't, but that's only because the chances of your prayer getting answered sooner come from giving praise to him."
He nodded, trying to process the new information. His smirk turned into a smile as she said, "sooner." Gavirel still had a lot of questions, but he figured the others could wait at least until tomorrow—if he came back. For the time being, he might as well go home and try it out.
"Thank you, ma'am. I'll make sure to do so."
With that, he nearly ran out of the room as fast as he could, his heart pumping as he made his way toward the outskirts of Gallora. The beautiful statues and golden buildings began to fade away behind him, and he finally got to the dull, run-down streets. Filled with excitement, he ran even faster—only to catch a whiff of an absolutely foul smell.
He tried to ignore it, but the more he ran, the more he was forced to breathe. He tried to run further, but only got closer to it until it was unbearable.
The rotten, leathery stench of dead bodies piled in an alley he had run by went straight to his brain, as he hunched over the nearest building he saw, beginning to retch violently. He tried his hardest not to look as he did so, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't avoid the smell.
Of course, it wasn't a rare sight; most people died from exhaustion or hunger, and the bodies had to go somewhere—even if it meant piling them in the streets. The smell would still drift away from the city.
After a while, Gavirel finally managed to get off the building, feeling as if he had just emptied his guts. He walked away from the alley, covering his nose until he thought he was far enough.
Gavirel wiped his mouth as he began to walk through the streets, navigating through the overpopulated buildings and sex workers, until he finally got to an old, stone, abandoned building.
It wasn't anything lavish in design compared to something that you might find in the main city, but it was still something. It was as small as a shack, filled with sheep and cattle. Gavirel looked around, looking for a spot big enough for him to pray, trying to navigate through all the animals and stolen goods.
Clothes, jewelry, food, wine—you name it—Gavirel had it all. Of course, selling the jewelry wasn't possible because most of them had the sigils of nobles on them, but he kept them around for the sake of the achievement.
He found a big enough space next to the fireplace and sat down in front of it, putting his hands out, thinking of what to ask for. At first, Gavirel thought of asking for his father, whoever he was, to come back—but then again, he probably abandoned him for a reason. Plus, in his condition, he wouldn't live unless his father were rich.
Only if he were rich… Then Gavirel realized—why not ask Seralius to make him rich? So he got on his knees, trying to sound as professional as possible.
"O God, Lord of Mercy, please grant me wealth."
Gavirel could feel himself physically cringing as he said that. Begging was not an easy thing. He tried to think about it, telling himself that if it was for the sake of wealth, then it wasn't so bad—but that didn't help.
He hurriedly got off his knees, shivering. This better have worked—or else he would've humiliated himself for nothing.
Gavirel looked up at the ceiling while praying, whilst the fire crackled a few times—then suddenly it stilled. It was as if the fire was holding its breath—or watching him. He froze for a moment.
He leaned in closer, looking into the fire, but then it suddenly began to crackle again. Sighing deeply, Gavirel looked around the room. Of course—it was nothing. How stupid could he be? Just fire, him, and the animals.
Shaking his head, he went back outside to grab a stack of hay, bringing it back with him into the house, feeding the animals one by one. Gavirel sold sheep and cows on the street for a bit of money, but it was only an excuse so he could say his money came from something else for taxes.
Once the animals were fed, Gavirel grabbed a rock from the corner, placing it next to the fireplace, resting his head on it, and trying to go to sleep. He tossed and turned, shutting his eyes even tighter.
Finally, he fell asleep, opening his eyes again to a beautiful expansion of flowers that went as far as the eye could see. At the end, there was a beautiful sunset coloring the sky pink and blue.
Gavirel aimlessly began to walk around, taking in the mesmerizing scene, walking around for what felt like decades, until finally he saw a throne of vines and flowers. On the throne was the same man he saw from the statue.
He could finally see that his golden-blonde hair and eyes were a mixture of the colors of the cosmos. Gavirel stood there frozen in place, too scared to even breathe—even though he wasn't facing him yet.
Before Gavirel could react, his finger lifted in less than a fraction of a second—and the next thing he knew, there was a singular thread wrapped around his neck.
Seralius plucked a sunflower from the ground, smelling it with a satisfied smile on his face before he finally faced toward Gavirel. He looked directly past him, almost like he didn't acknowledge him at all.
"Who are you?"