At the farthest edges of the Arknights world, far from the cities, far from the noise of war and science, stood an ancient church, silent, immobile, as if deliberately forgotten.
It was a Christian church, but it was not warm. The stone was cold. The air stagnant. And the large cross hanging above the altar was not a symbol of salvation… but a witness.
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House of the Lord
The bells rang only rarely. Candles were lit sparingly, as if even light itself should not be wasted. Prayers were whispered. Not because sound was forbidden, but because everyone felt that someone was listening. Not just God.
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Priestess in the Church
Priestess entered the church at the hour of dawn. Her hood low. Steps measured. She knelt before the altar, but did not look at the cross. She looked at the ground.
"O Lord… if this is a test, grant me understanding."
She did not cry. She did not beg. She asked for justification.
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The Sacred Records
In a side room, behind a wooden door opened only to priests, old records were kept. Religious texts, theological interpretations, and warnings written in shaky script. Among them, one page had never been read publicly:
"When a child is born, heaven does not answer to its name. Not every birth is a blessing, and not every blessing is salvation."
Priestess closed the record. She knew.
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The Birth
It did not happen in a hospital. Nor in a laboratory. Nor before witnesses. It happened in a side room inside the church itself. No screams. No chaotic blood. No miracle. A child was placed quietly in a wooden cradle. Eyes… open. Purple. Steady. He did not cry.
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The Baptism
A priest approached, carrying holy water. He raised his hand.
"I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit—"
He stopped. The water did not move. It did not freeze. It did not evaporate. It fell… as if it had never been sacred at all.
A heavy silence filled the church.
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The Sacred Fear
The priest stepped back. Made the sign of the cross quickly.
"This… is not natural."
Priestess did not move. She looked at the child as if staring at a living sin. Not his sin. Hers.
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The Religious Decision
That night, the church was closed. The bells did not ring. The candles were extinguished. An unwritten decree was made:
"He will live… but far from the House of the Lord."
He was not called demon. Nor angel. He was named… Trial.
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The Name
When Priestess was asked his name, she hesitated. Then she said:
"Raven."
A name without religious meaning. No saint. No martyr. No apostle. A name without protection.
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Conclusion
In that church, no child was expelled. But meaning was buried. And from that day on, prayers were no longer said with the same reassurance. Because everyone knew, even in the depths of their hearts, that something was born, unblessed by heaven. And that thing… would return one day. Not to take revenge. Nor to save. But to remind the world of what it did when it chose fear instead of mercy.