"Our Father, who art in heaven…"
A slender boy with brown skin and chestnut hair knelt before an austere altar. Fingers interlaced, eyes closed, he was fully immersed in prayer. The chapel brought comfort, despite its significantly deteriorated condition.
"Hallowed be thy name…"
Arched windows allowed pale rays of light to pass through, slicing the suspended dust. The soft light brought comfort to the gloom cast by the single lit candle, its flame flickering weakly. He prayed for safety—an act many considered empty, and perhaps rightly so.
"Thy kingdom come…"
The world has experienced numerous catastrophes in recent years. Human wars, natural disasters, and others, less so. Many must have found themselves in the same position as him, seeking counsel, protection, a path. All had perished in the same way.
"Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven…"
Among them, the spell was the final drop. Supernatural creatures, individuals with mystical powers, capable of facing abominations head-on. Evil brought about the collapse of society, and in equal measure, champions rose from the ashes, bringing hope.
Praying for salvation had become the gesture of the weak in a society where individual power mattered more than ever. Waiting for miracles was foolish when mankind itself could perform them. Healing mortal wounds, lifting unimaginable weights, and becoming mystical beings akin to demigods, named "Saints."
"Give us this day our daily bread…"
His body swayed, nearly collapsing onto the cold stone floor before he regained his balance. His eyes snapped open in alarm, fear spiraling in his pupils. Sleep. He had been exhausted for a very long time.
"And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us."
When one stares into darkness, any solution is welcome. He did not resent God, for if he was alive and well cared for, it was because His faithful servant had taken him into her arms. Still, he knew that this was the day of his death. No one else could help him on this journey, so may some god accompany him.
He glanced at an object beside him, a small suitcase containing a few simple necessities: a bottle of water, a warm lunch tin, and some sweets.
"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil…"
Everything had been prepared so that he might enjoy a proper meal after returning from his "trial." He had seen himself in that same moment many times before. First, as a small child happily waving goodbye to "adopted" siblings, then as a youth anxiously waiting for each of them to return through that door. And now? Well…
"Amen."
At the end of his prayer, he rose carefully, picked up the suitcase, and turned toward the exit. He crossed the chapel without haste, with no need to smile or hide his growing fatigue. He was the last.
His hand rested on the doorknob, trembling, but his voice did not betray him.
"I am ready."
He said confidently. Outside, someone was waiting for him. With a click, the door opened.
Three days earlier…
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!"
The shrill, absurdly loud sound made his body leap out of bed in a single motion. Drowsiness fled him as if it owed money, and his wide eyes locked onto the culprit: a pompous bird staring at him up close, pecking him every few seconds, demanding food.
"Get out… get out! I'll feed you already, for heaven's sake."
Ruffian finally retreated, hopping off the blankets and heading toward the door, glaring at Giovanni as if the human were the one constantly in a hurry.
'That insolent bird… just wait until I buy a new lock for this door.'
His morning routine was simple, etched into his mind after years of repetition. He folded the sheets, opened the wooden window to let the sunlight in, and grabbed a clean set of clothes, heading straight to the bathroom. His reflection in the cracked surface showed a feminine yet unremarkable young man.
'Disgusting'
His brown skin appeared even more tanned from months of manual labor. His hair was short and curly, a faded shade of brown, while his eyes were a deep green. His body was the worst part, slender and short. If there was any light at the end of the tunnel, it was that he could see some progress in his muscles. Not all was lost.
He emerged from the shower a few minutes later, wearing a loose white shirt clearly meant for someone larger than him, dark brown shorts, and worn sandals on the verge of falling apart.
"Giovanni! I need help with the table, dear."
It seemed he had not been the rooster's only victim.
"I'm coming! Just let me grab something first."
He dashed back to his room, retrieving from a drawer a simple necklace bearing a small wooden cross, his personal good-luck charm. He descended the stairs at an easy pace, finding an elderly woman pacing back and forth across the kitchen.
Sister Margaret was old, but at times she seemed to have more energy than he did.
She noticed the boy instantly and hurried toward him, placing a broom and a small dustpan in his hands.
"Let's make this place shine! We're receiving half a dozen guests today, can you believe it? It's been ages since I had to prepare so many dishes."
Her mood was impeccable. Today was the sixtieth birthday of the woman who had raised him. A milestone that should not have been so special, yet somehow had become a luxury of the current times. Among the guests were neighbors and a government acquaintance of hers.
"I know, you've told me at least five times since yesterday. Age really is catching up, huh…"
He teased her with a small grin, only to earn a well-deserved smack on the back of the head. She had been bigger in the past, but her personality remained the same. With graying hair, blue eyes, and fair skin, gossip among the other adults claimed she had been a heartbreaker in her youth. Apparently not just with words, as the old woman tended toward violence. Not even her years as a nun had tamed her fiery temper.
"Watch your mouth, boy! You'll wait a few more decades before calling me decrepit."
Lacking the courage to retort again, he swept the refectory and kitchen floors without breaking a sweat.
The orphanage had grown quiet in recent years, and although Giovanni and Margaret pretended everything was normal, the weight of silence had become noticeable.
Last Christmas, Giovanni had turned sixteen, an age that had become a symbol of ill omen in that house of God.
Eight plates and cups were arranged side by side on one of the long tables, while in the kitchen, ingredients that they rarely had the luxury of enjoying were being prepared. Cheese, ham, butter, and a respectable amount of coffee.
He and Margaret were always careful with how they spent the government aid credits, but birthdays were an exception. Only after finishing his chores did he allow himself to sit down, letting out a lazy yawn.
That was the price of waking before sunrise. He might not show it, but he was just as excited for the celebration. This was his chance to finally move forward in life. All his studies with Margaret had given him a decent education, and he was old enough to attempt an internship with the government.
He anxiously watched the hours pass. The sun slowly rose on the horizon, and with half an hour left until nine in the morning, the first guest knocked incessantly at the orphanage door.
"Stop pounding on the door, Michel!"Giovanni opened it to find a slightly younger, hyperactive boy.
He wore a jumpsuit that had once been yellow, but years of paint stains had rendered it unrecognizable.
His hair was longer than Giovanni's, reaching his shoulders, a fiery red mess that clearly did not know the concept of a comb. Most striking were the safety goggles resting on his forehead, one lens cracked. Amber's eyes scanned Giovanni from head to toe, a foolish grin plastered on his face.
"How did you know it was me?! Whatever! Listen, you won't believe what I brought as a gift, it's like, totally insane. You're already excited just hearing about it, right? But I can't show you now. I mean, if you really beg, I might…"
Giovanni felt dizzy from the nonstop torrent of words pouring out of his friend. He spoke too fast, leaving little room for a reply. Giovanni gave him a light kick on the shin, snapping him out of his frenzy.
"Hey, relax! One thing at a time."
He pulled the smaller boy inside, closing the door behind them.
"Alright, spill it. What's the marvel you stole from the atelier?"
Michel, who had sulked briefly at being interrupted, quickly recovered his enthusiasm, unable to resist showing the first person he encountered. From his backpack, he revealed a… doll? Made mostly of scrap, its joints were movable, allowing for relatively complex movement of the legs, arms, and neck.
Its features were vaguely recognizable, considering how difficult such a sculpture must have been. Giovanni took it and gently moved its parts, feeling a twinge of envy at the boy's artistic talent.
"I didn't steal, dummy. I made it! My uncle finally lent me some tools, and voilà!"
The redhead's eyes sparkled, desperate for approval and praise.
"It really is amazing, I'll give you that. And let me guess… It's the Nightingale vocalist?"
Michel deftly snatched the doll back, stuffing it into his backpack in embarrassment.
"I-It is! How did you know?"
Giovanni laughed carelessly, giving his friend a playful knock on the head as he led him toward the refectory. Michel had access to certain luxuries, like a communicator, and loved listening to music and browsing the network in his free time. The famous band was one of his obsessions and usually played in the background when Giovanni visited his room.
"I'm good at guessing. Sister Margaret's waiting for us, so make sure you keep that well hidden."Normally, giving an idol doll to an elderly woman would seem exotic, but he did not doubt she was aware of the group, given their unbelievable fame.
He welcomed each of the six guests one by one: Frederic the baker, Melina the merchant, Marcus the postman, and finally Officer Omar. Strangely, one guest, the butcher Aldar, had not shown any sign of arriving, even nearly twenty minutes after the scheduled time.
Not wanting to delay the celebration any further, everyone gathered at the refectory table, giving speeches and offering their gifts to Margaret.
Giovanni took responsibility for entertaining Michel. He appreciated from his corner the peaceful, relaxed atmosphere of the moment. Deep down, he wondered what his future would be like.
Whether he would live something similar. Reaching old age, where he would celebrate his birthday surrounded by longtime friends.
At one point, Omar withdrew from the chatter and laughter, sitting down beside the delicate boy. His stature was enviable, standing a little over two meters tall. His attire was anything but ordinary, one of the so-called "memories" people spoke of. Giovanni was certain that not even the largest explosion would leave a scratch on that noble-looking suit. People like him were called "Masters."
His beard was neatly trimmed, his hair short, black, and styled in a military fashion that invoked authority and seriousness. It was all a façade, of course, as his kind brown eyes revealed rare gentleness, and his face already bore the marks of age.
"My goodness, how time flies. I remember when you were just a snot-nosed brat. Margaret told me about your interest in mentorship."
Giovanni straightened instantly, more formal than ever. Omar let out a disbelieving chuckle, surprised by the sudden change in demeanor. He stroked his beard thoughtfully, as though choosing his words carefully.
"It's not impossible. You're not awakened, but there is a place for ordinary individuals."
Nervousness built within the young man as he fought the urge to ask the officer to get straight to the point. Omar interlaced his fingers and looked Giovanni directly in the eyes, judging his conviction.
"But you must understand that what you'll see there, the horrors, the accidents, the scum of humanity, are very different from the sheltered life you've lived here."
For a moment, Giovanni's breathing grew tense. Hearing the truth, even an obvious one, was uncomfortable.
"I've been where you are. Wanting to rise in life, to give back what was given to you, and to prove your worth is a natural ambition. That's why I'll ask you directly this time, my young friend. Do you want to follow this path?"
Silence settled between them. Giovanni first glanced toward Michel, who pretended to be engrossed with a spoon while listening closely to every word. Then he looked at Margaret, laughing scandalously at corny jokes. He could not remain idle, letting opportunities pass. He could not be a coward, frozen by the fear of leaving his comfort behind. She had not raised a coward. He stood up, placing both hands on the table, a confident smile shining on his lips. He would not fear a challenge.
"I do, Officer Omar."
It was hard to tell whether pride or melancholy danced in Omar's eyes, but he replied with a laugh.
"In that case, I have a proposal."