Lux in Crimson

"It's annoying,"

Kai'len, showing clear disinterest in the service, was well aware that his behavior was shunned in theocratic soil.

He feels the nerves in his skin begging him to get up and do something else. A part of him itches, and his toe won't stop moving inside his boot as he sits in the pew.

sigh

"It's not the end of the world,"

A reassurance born from self-awareness—he had no desire to drag his family name through the mud with his 'heretical' mannerisms.

Kai'len took notice of the clothing of the old priest.

"Not bad," He observed.

The priest, elevated above the congregation, signaled for the choir to end their hymn.

As the celebrant, he wore his usual attire that the congregation saw every Sunday—a flowing white robe called an alb. It was as simple as it was pristine, draping over the priest.

Above the pulpit, a domed sounding board waited to catch the celebrant's voice, redirecting it outward and filling the church's interior with passages written in the Luminary Codex, firmly placed before him.

The aged hands of the priest made contact with the dark leather coverings of the holy codex, decorated with detailed gold embossing of the Światło symbol at its center.

The Book of Visions was the first volume in the Światian Fate series, a widely owned public text. Svet's theocratic society revolved around the Holy Codex, which dictated its laws, military, and social order.

Father Fernand took a deep breath. Even after all these years, the honor of preaching never grew old.

Kai'len had read the holy codex so many times, but he couldn't remember a single word.

It is one of many codices in Eschalon, each shaping the identity of nations and cultures—some even guarding secrets forbidden to the public.

The priest begins the opening invocation.

"We gather here, in your name, this stone architecture was built to honor your pride and radiance, the faithful set aside their time of rest, to seek your holiness, in this sacred place, may your pure light touch our souls, guide us, and set us apart from the heretics."

Kai'len swallowed a gulp.

"In Światło's name, we endure." The congregation responded in unison. Alexander and Lyn'chael mouthed the words, but Ana'lyn and Kai'len remained still.

"Hear now a reading from the holy codex," the priest opened the sacred text, He cleared his throat before speaking.

"In the beginning, the Prophet Adam was the first to receive divine revelation. The almighty Światło descended from the heavens and commanded us to preserve the purity of our souls so that we may walk in His eternal light."

Glory to the light.

The priest continued, "In lux, we are protected, in lux we have power, in lux we seal, in lux we are uplifted and made worthy of His grace."

Blessed be the light.

"Hail the light, hail your families, hail the paladins, and hail the pope, for we are the children of god."

All thanks to the light.

Lyn'chael followed every word with an open heart and mind, but Kai'len could feel his eyelids fluttering, his posture starting to slump—he even began considering napping through the sermon.

(That would be a bad idea.)

There are things better kept to ourselves, as revealing them would endanger those around us. Kai'len knows that. Going against the Światian fate is heavily frowned upon.

The mass moved on as the priest encouraged everyone to reflect on their lives. Were they following the light, or had they strayed into the darkness within their hearts?

"Let us take a few moments in silence, reflecting on the Light that resides within us and all around us. In the quiet of this moment, may Światło speak to your heart," the priest commanded.

The entire congregation fell silent, each person lost in quiet reflection.

Kai'len sneaked a peek at the man beside him—a robed figure, deeply immersed in prayer. He wondered what kind of prayer the man was seeking. More than that, he found it interesting how everyone here had their own problems, each asking for a divine solution.

"Do prayers even work? Do they actually solve anything?" Kai'len questioned, his usual skepticism surfacing.

But the boy couldn't tell that his sister was praying for him, their father, and their mother in her reflection, as she, loved them all dearly.

Ana'lyn wasn't reflecting. Instead, she watched over her husband and children, ensuring they were well. Unlike her son, she felt outright disdain for the Światian fate.

Following the reflection, the service soon began with the Prayer of the Light, led by Fernand.

"Światło, You are our pride and our ego. You are the One and the First, the Beginning and the End. We lift our hearts to You in gratitude and awe."

"Światło, shine within us," the congregation followed.

"We pray for the suffering and the lost. We ask that they seek Your wisdom and find it within the pages of the Luminary Codex."

"Światło, shine within us."

"We pray for the holy nation of Svet. We pray for its eternal glory and salvation. We pray that You aid us through strife!"

"Światło, shine within us."

"We pray for the sick, the suffering, and the lost. May they find peace and hope in Your ethereal name, and may You welcome them into Your holy kingdom in heaven, in Your grace, O Almighty!"

In Światło's light, we stand.

"O Światło, we offer You the gratitude of our hearts, minds, and deeds."

The offering was about to begin—a time for the congregation to present their gifts to the church.

"Do you want to join me, Lyn'chael?" Alexander asked his daughter as he prepared to carry baskets of fruit for their offering.

"Yes, Father!" Lyn'chael responded enthusiastically.

Alexander gave Ana'lyn and Kai'len a look and smiled. "We'll be right back," he said to them.

Ana'lyn handed him the two baskets. "This isn't that heavy," she said before giving Lyn'chael the third one to carry.

"Don't trip on the way," Kai'len teased, to which Lyn'chael shot him a sharp look.

While the father and daughter made their way to the line of people at the aisle to give their offerings, Ana'lyn glanced at Kai'len, making sure he was doing fine.

"Doing well so far?" she asked.

"Yeah, Mom, I'm doing well."

A mutual understanding of their hidden views on the Światian fate passed between them—no further words needed to be said.

Kai'len adjusted his posture, knowing the mass was nearly over. He decided to endure for now. On the aisle, people stood in a straight line, holding offerings—money, fruits, clothes, and canned goods—some of which the church would give to the needy.

At the center of the aisle, Lyn'chael walked beside her father, with familiar faces following—Liam and his sister Celeste Al'wood, each carrying offerings of clothes and food.

Lyn'chael and Liam's eyes met, but the frail-hearted boy quickly looked away.

"Hey! How are you both doing today, Lyn'chael and Mister Imperia?" Celeste said cheerfully.

She had long brown hair that framed her face elegantly, with loose bangs falling over her forehead, reaching her waistline. And can you guess what she's wearing? A tren—no... she's wearing a vintage-style plaid pinafore dress over a light checkered blouse with a button-up collar and long sleeves, paired with black heels for a classic look.

Celeste doesn't like wearing trench coats; she finds them suffocating to wear.

The Imperias smiled at her greeting.

"All is well, young lady," Alexander responded.

"You look so cute! Your hair is styled so nicely!" Lyn'chael complimented.

The four of them engage in light conversation about the simple things in life, while Liam is just happy to be there. They walk slowly toward the altar, eventually presenting their offerings as the priest thanks them for their generosity.

"Father, you look pale," Alexander said to the priest, noticing his sickly appearance—his skin as white as a ghoul's.

"Don't worry, child. It's just the cold, and at my age, one must learn to endure such things," the priest said with a weary smile.

"I understand, Father. Please get some rest," Alexander replied.

"Ah, you're too kind, my boy. May the Lord bless you," the priest murmured warmly.

The father and daughter soon returned to their pews. Before they did, Liam tried to say something to Lyn'chael but hesitated. Noticing this, she asked, "Yes? What is it?"

Liam met her gaze again and finally managed to say, "You look beautiful today."

Lyn'chael let out a small blush. "Thank you! You too!"

Liam simply smiled, his thoughts racing.

"I'm beautiful???"

The two teenagers shared an awkward moment before silently deciding it was best to let it go.

The Al'woods and Imperias took their seats in the pews as the service neared its end and the moment for Holy Communion arrived.

As the church assistants moved through the congregation, incense burned in their hands, its fragrant smoke curling upward. Prayers were offered, believed to rise with the smoke to the heavens—to the domain of Światło—carrying the soothing scent of medicinal herbs.

Kai'len inhaled the herbal scent, finding it pleasant as it cleared his sinuses. Lyn'chael and Alexander, along with the others, took deep breaths of the fragrant air, while Ana'lyn remained indifferent.

As the final portion of the service began, the priest called out, "Brothers and sisters, rise, take each other's hands, and lift your voices in song, offering this hymn to the Almighty."

The congregation rose in unison as the choir began to sing the familiar hymn

To Kai'len's left was his mother; to his right, a man he didn't recognize.

The stranger, dressed in a brown robe, had round glasses and neatly styled black hair. He was slightly taller than Kai'len—and, admittedly, quite handsome for someone with the look of an educated man, perhaps a scholar. He could even be a model. In his hands, he held the Book of Visions.

He set the Book of Visions on his pew before extending his hand to join the others.

"Sorry," Kai'len murmured as they joined hands.

The man turned his head slowly. His smile was paper-thin.

"It's fine. I don't mind."

And then—

Ice.

A biting, unnatural cold spread through Kai'len's fingers, crawling up his wrist.

Ouch, ouch, ouch!

It was as if he had grasped the hand of a corpse.

Something was wrong.

The stranger's grip tightened—far too tight.

Kai'len turned to meet his gaze, expecting confusion, perhaps even an apology.

But what he saw—

Eyes, blank like a void where light had long since perished, boring into him.

"You," the man whispered.

"Yes?"

"You are dull and.... empty," his tone, melancholic.

What's that even supposed to mean?!

Kai'len stiffened. His other hand, still held by his mother, twitched. He tried to pull away, but the stranger would not release him.

A sharp sting bloomed against Kai'len's palm—his gaze flickered downward.

There, pressed against his skin, was the man's palm.

And carved into it, a crimsoned bleeding eye tattoo.

Tattoos were frowned upon in the Światian faith, yet here he was.

"Can you let go?" Kai'len politely asks.

The man didn't let go; his grip tightened. Kai'len couldn't understand why a stranger was doing this to him. Anger simmered beneath the surface, but he didn't want to cause a scene.

Ana'lyn holding kai'len's left hand, noticed. "Is something wrong?" she asked the man, her tone carried a warning.

Lyn'chael and Alexander were too immersed in the hymn, and Ana'lyn didn't want to ruin their immersion.

They locked eyes. Seeing Ana'lyn's gaze, the man didn't dare to challenge her. Kai'len, caught in the middle, felt the tension.

"My apologies," the man said, his voice softer now. "I mistook this boy for someone else."

It felt like a lie.

But Kai'len felt relieved, the sudden event made him wide awake, "It's... fine." He said.

Ana'lyn held her son's hand a little tighter. Her eyes never left the stranger.

"Let's focus on the hymn, shall we?" she said.

"Yes," the man murmured, smile returning. But it did not reach his eyes. "Let's do that."

The man then looked at the mother and son. "Once again, I apologize."

Kai'len simply gave him a nod, though he felt unsettled by him.

The man fixed his composure. Ana'lyn, noticing that everything had been resolved, composed herself as well. The man then offered his other hand to the person on his right for the singing. He calmed down and said,

"Very well, let us sing."

For these feelings are fleeting.

The symbol on his palm—a bleeding eye—burned itself into Kai'len's mind, an omen he did not yet understand.

Chapter End.