Despite his profound astonishment at the boy before him, Mikhail did not dwell too deeply on it. In his eyes, this was merely a child who had encountered the characteristic blizzards of a Kislev winter and needed help.
Years later, when the Master of Mankind—radiating golden light like the very deity Mikhail served—descended upon Kislev to reunite with His progeny, Mikhail would finally realize what kind of existence he had taken in that day.
Fortunately, it was Mikhail who took him in, and not someone else. Mikhail dared not imagine how history might have unfolded otherwise.
Returning to the present, Mikhail harbored no further suspicion as to why this boy, calling himself Perturabo, had appeared alone at his gate. Treating him like any other traveler in distress, he led the boy to the central hall of the monastery and told him to wait there. Mikhail then went to fetch food, water, and a change of clothes to replace the bear hide—the old priest naturally assumed the boy must be freezing and famished.
"Perturabo, stay here by the fire to warm yourself. I'll get you some clothes and something to eat. You must be starving."
Mikhail spoke as he walked toward the dormitory area. This place had once been a bustling hub housing hundreds of monks and their attendants; he was certain he could find a novice's robe that would fit.
Perturabo watched in silence as the old priest departed, then turned his gaze toward the monastery's decorations.
Though the monastery had declined to the point where only a single, aging monk remained to guard its crumbling walls, it still possessed a glorious history.
Legend said that the Tsar who once ruled all of Kislev had granted this entire region to the monastery as a fief, which once supported thousands of monks and servants. Despite the subsequent wars that caused its decay and the departure of its inhabitants, the grandeur of the past remained in its legacy—from the icons found in every corner to the massive murals depicting ancient myths that stretched from the walls to the ceiling.
Perturabo stood mesmerized by these ancient murals left from a distant age. The treasures crafted by those long-dead artisans seemed to resonate with something deep within him.
Mikhail returned shortly, carrying a large loaf of bread in one hand and a water jug in the other, with a child-sized monk's robe draped over his arm. In the monastery's prime, many impoverished families had sent their children here at a young age, hoping they would find a better life as monks.
"Perturabo, I found bread, water, and this robe. It should fit you."
Father Mikhail felt a flicker of excitement. For a monk whose only social interactions involved villagers and serving God, Perturabo's arrival was like a stone skipped across a still lake, creating ripples in his quiet life.
"Mm."
Facing the enthusiastic priest, Perturabo gave a perfunctory response, his eyes never leaving the massive murals. He seemed lost in them.
"You seem very interested in the murals. It's understandable; many villagers are so awestruck by the depictions of gods and angels that it strengthens their faith."
Seeing Perturabo's captivation, Mikhail smiled and began to explain.
"This monastery was built by the direct decree of the Tsar who ruled all Kislev. The finest craftsmen and painters in the land were sent to build the greatest monastery as an offering to God. Those artisans did not disappoint him; this truly was the greatest monastery in Kislev. It is only a pity that it has fallen into such neglect."
Thinking of the glorious past, Mikhail shook his head with a touch of melancholy.
"Why? Why?"
Perturabo, who had been staring at the art, suddenly spoke. His words were a series of inquiries—or rather, interrogations.
"What?"
Mikhail looked at him with surprise. This mysterious boy had already provided enough shocks for one day.
"Why would you create such magnificent, exquisite art for a god that does not exist?"
Perturabo blinked, his gaze intensifying. It was then that Mikhail noticed something strange—the boy's eyes were violet. While not entirely unheard of among Kislevites, the hue of Perturabo's eyes felt unsettlingly unnatural.
"What are you saying, Perturabo? I don't quite understand."
Mikhail didn't react immediately to the nature of the question and asked for clarification.
"I am asking: why create all of this for a non-existent god? Why build such elaborate and beautiful structures for something that isn't there? Why offer such beautiful art to a non-existent thing?"
Seeing Mikhail's confusion, a trace of disdain flickered across Perturabo's face as he pressed the issue.
"Hahaha... Hahaha! I didn't expect it, I really didn't! Mikhail, oh Mikhail, to think you would see this day!"
To Perturabo's surprise, Mikhail burst into laughter, muttering self-mocking remarks. The boy had expected an outburst of rage, or at least indignation, but the old priest showed none of the attitudes Perturabo's "logic" suggested he should have.
"Why are you not furious? My knowledge—at least the part I was born with—suggests you should be enraged. A religious man like you should be... livid at such sacrilegious words."
For the first time, a look of bewilderment crossed Perturabo's face. He asked with genuine incredulity.
"Heh, if it were those rigid priests of the Academy, they might indeed be furious. But in you, I see a shadow of my own self. I remember making similar remarks when I was a student."
Perturabo's words halted Mikhail's slightly hysterical laughter. Forcing himself back to a state of calm, Mikhail began to explain his reaction.
"And then? What did your teachers do to you?"
Perturabo's curiosity grew, and he pressed for more.
"Heh, those old fossils were naturally livid. They punished me severely, making me recite scriptures for three days and nights without food, drink, or sleep to atone for my sins."
"But looking back, I was truly young and reckless. Now, I even find myself missing those old fossils."
Mikhail shook his head, his voice thick with a complex mixture of emotions.
Perturabo looked stunned. He could not comprehend why Mikhail would hold such a nuanced, contradictory attitude. He fell into deep thought, struggling to understand the old priest's answer through the lens of pure logic.
"By the way, Perturabo, where are your parents? Why are you here alone?"
Mikhail suddenly remembered his earlier concern. He wanted to understand this mysterious boy to determine how to proceed.
"I don't know. For as long as I can remember, I have been in the nearby forest. I saw these buildings and came to see if anyone was here. Then I found you."
Perturabo answered truthfully after a quick search of his memories.
"Interesting... Why don't you stay here at the monastery? I am all alone now, and I could use the company. What do you think?"
Mikhail thought for a moment and extended an olive branch.
"..."
"Very well, Mr. Mikhail. I am willing to stay."
After a moment of deliberation, Perturabo gave his answer.