Chapter 14: The Boy Who Called Me God

Chapter 14: The Boy Who Called Me God

The palace had not yet returned to silence.

Even after the ball ended and the music faded into memory, the echo of Sirius Farah Von Ross's name lingered like a soft thunder across the capital.

Tenth Pillar of the Empire.

The youngest Swordmaster in recorded history.

Twelve years old, with crimson eyes that held centuries and a voice that rarely spoke—but when it did, the world listened.

Nobles raised their glasses in awe. Scholars whispered of prophecy. Soldiers prayed to the stars.

But Sirius… had already left the ballroom behind.

He stood on a high balcony of the palace, his gaze tilted toward the sky. The city lights below flickered like fireflies. The stars above shimmered like scattered memories. And the moon—unchanging, watching—bathed him in silver.

He didn't care for the applause. He didn't care for the titles.

He waited.

And then he heard it.

Footsteps—soft and hesitant. Not a soldier. Not a noble. A child.

Sirius turned slightly.

A boy, younger than him by two or three years, knelt at the edge of the terrace. His brown hair was tousled, his hands trembling.

"Y-Your Grace," the boy said, bowing deeply. "Forgive me. I… I had to see you. Just once."

Sirius said nothing.

The boy looked up, eyes wide. "They said you became a Swordmaster at twelve… that your magic is already at the seventh tier. That you defeated knights blindfolded. That… you might become a god."

Still, Sirius did not speak.

The boy lowered his head again. "You saved my village two winters ago. The bandits… my sister… she still prays for you every night. Please—let me pray too. Let me worship you."

He bent fully, his forehead touching the cold marble floor.

"I offer myself to you, my lord. My god."

The silence was thick.

Then Sirius finally moved.

He stepped forward—not fast, but with a presence that made the air feel heavier. He stopped before the boy and said, softly but firmly:

"I am not a god."

The boy's head lifted slowly, confusion in his eyes.

Sirius knelt so their gazes met.

"There are no gods who bleed," he said. "And I… I have bled too much."

The boy blinked.

Sirius looked past him, toward the sky.

"If you must worship something," he said, "then worship what is eternal. What watches in silence. What listens even when you say nothing."

The boy turned to follow his gaze.

The moon shone quietly above.

"For me," Sirius said, "there is only one god. The moon."

A pause.

"The moon is still. The moon is constant. The moon… remembers."

The boy was silent for a long time. Then he asked in a hushed voice, "Can I worship the moon too?"

Sirius's eyes softened.

"If you wish to be strong—not just in body, but in silence, in patience, in truth—then yes. Start there."

The boy nodded slowly.

By dawn, rumors had already begun to spread.

A young noble knelt before the Grand Duke's son and called him a god.

The Tenth Pillar declared his only devotion—to the Moon Goddess.

Sirius Farah Von Ross, the moon's chosen…

In taverns, whispers turned into stories.

In temples, priests frowned—or watched with quiet awe.

And in the Moon Church… bells rang.

People who had never once prayed beneath the moon began to do so. Merchants donated to Moon shrines. Mothers named their children after stars. Soldiers carved crescent symbols into their swords.

In the capital alone, moonlit sermons tripled in number.

Sirius never corrected them.

He didn't need to.

That night, on the terrace of the Grand Duke's estate, he returned to his usual spot beneath the silver sky.

The moon, as always, was waiting.

He sat cross-legged, resting his chin on his hand.

"They think I worship you," he said with a faint smile. "But they'll never understand…"

He closed his eyes, and whispered:

"I love you."

The wind carried his words upward.

No one else heard.

But the moon—his moon—was always listening.