A pale young boy sat idly outside, his messy black hair was soaked in water, his silver eyes devoid of light. Cyrus' head faced upwards towards the sky as drops of heavy rain fell upon him. The air felt heavy. The rain fell thick and cold, uninterrupted — as though the sky above was completely smothered.
His body, once covered in dirt was now being washed clean thanks to the rain. Behind him, the sound of rain hitting stone versus wood, and the squeaking of rusted metal betrayed the church's decay. It was a skeleton on its last legs — pillars.
The pale boy got up, picked up a wooden stick that was long enough to be used as support when walking — and it's not because he had problems walking. He turned and walked straight into the almost collapsed church.
"It's almost time, I guess," the boy mumbled.
He placed his hand gently on the walls of the church, moved his hand slowly, trying to find the entrance to the church.
"Boy, were you out under the rain again?" A shaky old voice sounded as Cyrus pushed the door open.
On the other side of the door stood a man, the heavy wheeze in his lungs meant that the man could be sick or is old, probably in his seventies?... eighties? Or nineties.
The scrape of the old man's sandals and the frou-frou of heavy fabric on the skin hinted to Cyrus that the old man was probably dressed in his long buttoned down black robe reaching his ankles and a flat black sandal.
Cyrus' head turned towards where he heard the voice of the old man coming from, a blank expression plastered on his face.
"What are you doing walking around in this weather Father Viktor?" Cyrus asked, ignoring the old man's question as he walked into the church, slamming the door behind him.
"You should be on your bed, resting," Cyrus added.
"Oh, don't worry about me boy, I might be old but i still got some strength in me to bring a whole building down," the old man replied as the sound of his sandal scratched the stone floor, receding slowly, signifying that the old man was slowly moving away from Cyrus
'Oh, yeah. The old man is one of the Manifest. He sounds like he's bragging.
Curses, If i could just see his face. I'm sure he had a smug expression on his face.' Cyrus thought, a blank expression plastered on his face.
The interior of the church smelt slightly better than the exterior which smelt of damp rot and seemed to show just how much the building was close to collapsing.
The temperature shifted. The damp chill of the storm gave way to a stagnant, flickering warmth. Candles. Cyrus could feel the heat radiating from the pillars — three on each side, one at the north altar. He didn't need eyes to map this building; he had studied and memorized the structure of the church in the time that he had been there.
The smell of thick dust filled the air. It rose from the old benches that filled most of the church.
The sound of the old man's sandal scratching the floor echoed around the church. He walked slowly from the center of the west wing to the north wing of the church.
Cyrus walked slowly towards the old man, swinging his stick from side to side in order to gauge where objects were placed and not stumble into them while he walked.
'One, two, three, four, five... seventeen,' Cyrus counted the number of steps it took to get to the altar in his mind. He then stopped, knelt down right beside the old man and placed his stick by his side, lying straight, with its top facing the altar.
"Good, very good. You've gotten used to moving around the church by yourself."
He paused for a few seconds, cleared his throat then added, "I'm impressed".
"It's nothing impressive at all. I only know how to get around the church by myself, not the world, and I doubt i I will ever be able to," Cyrus replied, his pale face staring blankly.
"And why do you say that my dear child?" the old man asked. Warm breath brushed against his face. The old man was staring directly at him from the side.
"You know why" Cyrus replied quickly, his voice filled with a hint of anger.
The old man sighed. "Just because you're blind doesn't mean you will not survive in the world and in the Rift. I'd like for you to think of it as the will of God," he paused for a moment then continued. "Perhaps God did not take your sight… but spared you from the evil that others must see."
The old man's warm breath no longer brushed against his face. He was probably now facing the altar, instead of the blind boy.
"As for me, Cyrus. I have no doubt that you will survive this world. Yes, you will struggle along the way, but know that you will survive those struggles, and they will make you strong." The old man said as he got up from where he knelt down at the altar.
Cyrus clenched his jaw.
Slowly, the tension in his face eased, but there was still a worried look on his face, although faint, but still there.
'I will survive?' Cyrus thought.
'what a load of crap. In a world where one's sight is their greatest asset, I of course happened to be born blind.' Cyrus clenched his teeth.
'I can barely tell where things are, people around me keep saying that I'm a walking corpse. People my age avoid me, some find me scary because of my eyes while others simply avoid me. Even my..." Cyrus hit the ground before he could complete the sentence that formed in his mind. The sound echoed around the entire church.
'I'll die a gruesome death or eaten alive when I get transported into the realm of the Rift' He thought as he picked up his stick.
Cyrus got up from where he knelt down and turned eastward, opposite to where the old man went.
'I guess I can trust the words of the old man a little, he is a seer after all. But I can't trust them completely. It's the reason why the church is the way it is today, empty and devoid of worshippers' Cyrus thought as he walked towards the door located at the east side of the church.
'It's funny though, a priest happened to possess the blessing of a seer. What are the odds of that?' Cyrus chuckled softly, then stopped in front of the door.
"Tomorrow," he muttered, tightening his grip on the stick.
"Either I survive… or I die." Cyrus said as he exited the main church through the eastern door.
***
The next morning came. The tweeting of the birds had woken Cyrus from his deep slumber. The blind boy sat up. His hand slowly glided on his bed in search of a book — a bible. Upon immediately finding the Bible, he picked it up, held it close to his chest then he whispered a prayer, his voice low but audible.
"Our Father, who hath in heaven, hallowed be thy name... Amen" Cryus chanted.
A few minutes later, dressed in a short sleeved top and a long trouser, the blind boy picked up his wooden stick and slowly found his way to the door which in his case — is the room's exit.
Clack, Cyrus opened the wooden door, exited the room and carefully closed it, so as to not wake the old man, who could possibly still be asleep.
Cyrus slowly found his way to the main church. He entered through the eastern door, walked slowly towards the alter while also counting the number of steps it will take him to get there in his mind. He carefully placed the wooden stick down and sat on the last stairs leading to the altar.
The thought of him manifesting still weighing on his mind. He sat there in thought for minutes, random thoughts filling his head.
Thoughts like: 'how does one even get transported to the Rift?'
Another like: 'I've heard that the first transport only moved one's soul not the body, and after that their entire being, both body and soul can move from the real world to the rift realm. Although, I doubt that. Even in this world where anything is typically possible, one's soul leaving their body and vanishing to God knows where in the rift to battle monstrous creatures, just doesn't sound right.'
Cyrus also remembered the day he knew that he was chosen to manifest. The memory still fresh in his mind like it happened a few minutes ago.
Three days ago, while Cyrus was getting ready for the evening prayer along side Father Viktor, Cyrus dropped to the ground, clenching his chest tightly, grimacing in pain.
His ears were ringing so loudly that it felt like his brain could explode. Suddenly, the pain subsided, the ringing stopped and something followed. A voice almost autonomic and female-like echoed around him almost like the sound was coming from his brain, sharp and loud, but bearable.
[Rifter Cyrus, you have been chosen by the Sage Script]
[Manifestation begins in seven days]
"...us ...rus ...Cyrus!" the old man yelled. His voice muffled but slowly getting clearer and louder.
Cyrus who was once lost in thought, jumped back to reality upon hearing his name.
His face damp with cold sweat.
"Father Viktor!" Cyrus exclaimed.
"What were you thinking about so disturbingly?" the old man asked, his voice filled with worry.
"It's... it's nothing Father Viktor," the blind boy stuttered. Cold sweat still running down his face.
The old man sighed, a few scratches could be heard drawing closer to the blind boy. The feeling of a warm, rigid hand brushed upon Cryus' shoulder. The old man was right before him, his warm breath can be felt by Cyrus.
"Cyrus, you..." the old man was cut off by a sudden gentle knock on the wooden door of the church.
"Coming..." the old man's voice echoed throughout the building, assuring the person behind the door that he was on his way.
Slowly Father Viktor approached the door, before opening, he rested his hand on the metal-like nob then cleared his throat.
"May I know who knocks upon the humble sanctuary of the Lord?" the old man asked, his voice gentle and welcoming.
'Why the hell is he speaking like that?
It's weird... and... creepy' Cyrus thought.
Filled with unease, Cyrus wondered who could be on the other side of the door.
Then, another voice could be heard, a bit harsh and deep. It somewhat portrayed someone with authority and impatience... at least in the mind of Cyrus.
"We're from the government" A short pause, then the man continued, his voice still loud, and deep. "We have come for the boy who is soon to manifest."
"Damn it, they're already here" Cyrus mumbled.
The day Cyrus was chosen by the Sage Script, Father Viktor wasted no time, he called the government, alerting them that he has a boy, who will so manifest and be sent into the rift — not his exact words... but somewhere along that line.
The door clacked and a creaking sound could be heard. The door was opening.