In a far, distant grassland on a bright, sunny day, birds sang, trees waved in the breeze, and flowers bloomed in vibrant colors.
A nine-year-old boy was happily playing with a torn, patched ball.
Watching the boy play sat a woman with a swollen belly, resting her hands gently on her stomach. She smiled warmly and called out,
"Elio, come here."
The boy rushed over, burying himself in his mother's embrace. "Mom, when is Papa coming home?"
As Elio looked up to see his mother's face, the harsh rays of the sun fell directly into his eyes, blinding him in a wash of white light.
"Stop it."
The voice shattered the dream like fragile glass.
The sunlight vanished, replaced by the gloomy, stone interior of a chapel. A woman stood before him, a strict study in contrasts.
Her blonde hair was tucked severely away beneath a heavy black veil. Only the stark white of her wimple framed her face, making her eyes—deep and turbulent as the ocean—pierce through the dim light.
Around her waist, a knotted cincture held a heavy wooden rosary that clicked softly against her side with every measured step.
"Vrisha, are you dreaming?"
Vrisha sat silently in a wooden chair, a group of small orphans crowded around his legs.
Looking up at the woman, his lips curved into a slow, relaxed smile.
"Hello, Sister Alice. I was just telling these children a story."
Alice moved toward him.
Tap. Tap.
She leaned down, looking directly into his empty, solar eyes. "I know exactly what kind of stories you tell."
She turned her sharp gaze toward the children. The kids immediately looked down at the floor, their jaws moving as they quietly chewed.
"It is time for lunch," Alice scolded. "What are you all doing here, and what is in your mouths?"
A few of the children pointed timidly at the man in the chair. "Sister, the brother brought us here. He gave us chocolate."
Alice turned back to Vrisha, who was completely ignoring her, staring at the ceiling. She let out a long, exhausted sigh.
"Okay, everyone, come to the dining hall now," Alice instructed.
As she turned to leave, she glanced back at Vrisha. "You may also join us."
"I have already had my share of food," Vrisha replied, his smile unwavering.
"Suit yourself. But send the remaining children to the table." As she left the room, the heavy wooden door clicked shut behind her.
"Brother, brother! Please continue the story," one of the boys begged, tugging on Vrisha's coat.
Vrisha raised a hand, gesturing for calm. "I will finish my story, but only after you have your food."
The children groaned, their faces dropping in disappointment.
Clap, clap.
Vrisha clapped his hands lightly to get their attention. "After lunch, let's all have some ice cream."
Bright laughter immediately erupted across the children's faces. They scrambled toward the door, racing for the dining hall.
All of them went, except for one small boy who remained standing silently near the chair.
Vrisha tilted his head, feigning curiosity. "What happened, Allen?"
Allen looked down, kicking his shoes against the stone floor. He was upset the story was over.
Vrisha watched him for a moment, then his devious smile returned. "Do you want to play a game? Cops and robbers?"
Allen slowly glanced up, his eyes widening.
Closing his eyes, Vrisha reached into his long, messy coat. When he brought his hand back out, Allen gasped in pure joy.
In Vrisha's hand was a heavy object. It looked like a capital 'L' made of cold, dark stone, with a little metal loop at the corner where a finger could hide.
"What toy is it?" Allen asked, fascinated.
"This toy is called a pistol," Vrisha answered nonchalantly.
Allen hesitated, reaching his small hands out. "Can I play with it?"
Vrisha let out a low laugh and handed the weapon over.
The moment Allen took it, the sheer weight of the metal tried to pull his small arm down to the floor.
It was heavier than all his schoolbooks combined, and it smelled distinctly like old coins and his dad's toolbox.
Allen lifted it with both hands, giggling, and pointed it at Vrisha's chest.
"Hands up!"
The boy's finger tightened. He was about to press the trigger.
"Wait," Vrisha stopped him softly. "Not there. You should point it here."
Vrisha reached out and gently guided the heavy steel barrel upward, pressing the cold muzzle directly against the center of his own forehead.
"Now," Vrisha whispered, his eyes completely dead.
"Press it."
Joyfully, without understanding the gravity of the metal in his hands, the boy squeezed the trigger.
Click. No sound of an explosion. No blood. Just the hollow, metallic snap of an empty chamber.
Allen burst into a fit of giggles, thinking it was the best toy ever.
"Allen! Come to the dining hall right now!" Sister Alice's voice echoed sharply from the hallway.
The joy instantly flew away from Allen's face.
Vrisha smoothly plucked the gun out of the boy's hands and made it vanish back into his coat.
"Let's play again next time."
Hearing that, Allen's face brightened once more. "Bye, brother!" he chirped, running off toward the hallway.
As soon as the boy's footsteps faded, the silence of the chapel was broken.
Ring, Ring.
Vrisha pulled a phone from his pocket and answered it, his face returning to a blank slate.
"Sir," a sterile voice spoke through the speaker.
"The boy has returned from the Pyramid. He is currently in the hospital."
Listening to the report, that terrifying, empty smile slowly crept back onto Vrisha's face. The chapel seemed to grow a few degrees colder.
"Excellent," Vrisha murmured.
"Send him flowers. I want him to know I'm thinking of him."