Chapter 171: The creation myth
"Then, with the blessing of the Ancient Sun God, I will take on this responsibility."
When the blue-eyed nun saw Rasen’s gesture, a slight smile appeared on her face. It was a gentle expression, but one laden with meaning.
She responded with the same gesture. Deep down, she sensed that Rasen was no ordinary young man. There was something in his gaze, something in the calm and steady expression he always maintained. He showed no fear, anxiety, or curiosity. That tranquility was too mature for his age.
"You can return to the residence. I will come for you later to tell you what your new position will be," said the blue-eyed nun in a calm voice, although deep down, she couldn’t help but feel a certain intrigue.
Kael responded with a simple smile. He didn’t say another word. It wasn’t necessary. Words were useless when the facts spoke for themselves. He turned calmly, returning to his hammock. He closed his eyes and continued sleeping.
The blue-eyed nun watched him for a moment longer. Finally, she left the stables, her footsteps echoing softly until they faded away. She returned to her assigned post, unaware that the young man she had just left sleeping would soon alter the balance of the entire city.
...
As evening fell, Kael found himself in a room lit by the dim light of candles. Before him stood the blue-eyed nun. At her side was a priest with blond hair and eyes of the same color, as pure and calm as those of a child who has not seen the sin of the world.
The blue-eyed nun was the first to speak.
"Priest Jimmy, this is the young Rasen I told you about earlier. He has been doing a great job, and by order of Cardinal Schwein, he has been assigned as the new caretaker of the children. I would like you to explain the benefits of these to him," she said, keeping a constant smile on her lips.
The priest nodded slightly. His movements were measured, each one imbued with a studied calm.
"Pleased to meet you, young Rasen. I’m Jimmy," he said in a gentle voice, bringing his hand to his chest to make the sign of the cross, then slowly turning it to form a circle.
Kael smiled.
"Likewise," he replied calmly. "So, what are these benefits they talk about?"
Priest Jimmy raised a hand, his gesture calm and fatherly.
"Calm down, follower of our Lord. Let’s take things slowly," he said, his tone so gentle that it bordered on condescension. "We’ve only just met, and already you want to rush things. Haste... is the enemy of man."
Kael, sitting cross-legged, nodded slowly. With a slight movement of his head, he indicated that she should continue, as he had no intention of interrupting.
"Due to the recent loss of Sister Mily, may the Lord have her in His holy glory, by order of Cardinal Schwein, you were chosen as the next caretaker of the children, whom you already know."
Jimmy paused briefly to catch his breath, his hands clasped together on the table. The room was silent, interrupted only by the faint creaking of the wood under the weight of time.
"Therefore, you are now responsible for caring for them," he continued. "You will be granted the following benefits: you will receive a stipend of two mana stones per week, as well as an opportunity to consecrate yourself and become a priest, which will allow you to continue climbing the hierarchy. Also, you will no longer be assigned social work, and you will have access to the library, along with the possibility of creating your dantian and learning aura cultivation."
Jimmy was silent for a moment. His breathing was slow and deliberate. Then he added, almost as if remembering something trivial:
"Oh, right, I almost forgot... As you move up, the benefits will change. That’s all. Do you understand?"
"I understand." Kael nodded, his tone calm and emotionless. He didn’t want to prolong the conversation any longer than necessary. "And when do I start?"
"You would start tomorrow. The nun... she will give you the keys and explain the rest."
Father Jimmy avoided mentioning the name of the blue-eyed nun. Kael noticed it immediately, but made no gesture. His face remained calm, indifferent.
Why get involved in something that didn’t interest him? He had nothing to gain from it. There was no point in wasting time on something that brought no benefits.
So he would simply accept the job, fulfill his role, and continue moving toward his goal.
They continued chatting for a while longer, and shortly after, Kael left the room to continue sleeping, as that was all he had been doing all these days.
...
Night.
Silence reigned over Zone 1 of the great city of San Martín. There was not a single person on the streets; the streetlights flickered dimly, and the wind barely dared to blow. It was... very strange, but at the same time, extremely peaceful.
It was unusual for this area, normally bustling even late at night, to be plunged into such absolute silence. There were no footsteps, no murmurs, no usual hubbub of the city. Everything had stopped, as if the city itself were holding its breath.
It seemed that tonight was a night of prayer. A rare event, but one that was deeply respected. The curious thing was the object of such prayers: it was said that the prayers were addressed to the Ancient Sun God. And yet, they were performed at night.
It was an intriguing contradiction. If that god represented light and heat, why did his followers gather when the world was shrouded in darkness? Why not at midday, when the sun was at its peak?
The answer lay in a very ancient myth, the creation myth, taught in the Holy Empire.
It begins like this:
When the world was covered in darkness, when nights were eternal and the sky and earth merged into a single abyss, there was no day or time. Beasts roamed freely across the face of the world, creatures without name or reason that devoured and were devoured.
In that primitive realm, only the concept of survival existed.
For countless ages, darkness reigned supreme. The oceans were seas of shadow, the mountains breathed mist, and the stars had not yet been born. It was then, in the midst of the void, that the Ancient Sun God awoke from his slumber.
The scriptures say that his awakening was preceded by a heartbeat so deep that it shook the void. With his first breath, the wind began to stir. With his first blink, the shadows receded. And when he opened his eyes fully, fire was born in the firmament.
The Ancient Sun God looked upon the world plunged into chaos, and with a fiery voice, uttered a single word. No one remembers what it was, but that word lit up the sky, split the darkness, and gave rise to the first dawn.
The fire of his spirit descended, forming the Sun, whose light struck the demons and forced them to flee underground. From that moment on, the world was divided: half for light, half for darkness.
However, night never completely disappeared. It is said that the Ancient Sun God, upon contemplating his creation, understood that without darkness, there would be no purpose for light. Thus, he decreed that day and night would alternate eternally, so that all existence would remember its origin.
And so, prayers to the Ancient Sun God are not offered under his burning gaze, but at night, when he sleeps. For only then can he clearly hear the voices of mortals, shrouded in the same darkness from which he arose.
However, this myth is full of contradictions with other stories that have been told throughout the Northern Border, for example, the story of the River of Blood, and more, but it was not the time for that.
The residence where Kael was staying for the time being was also silent.
The blue-eyed nun in charge of the place was walking down the hallways when she lifted a rug covering a wooden bridge. Before doing so, she looked around and, seeing that there was nothing suspicious, carefully opened it so as not to make any noise.
She descended some stairs carved into the stone until I found myself in a dark room. With a serene gesture that contrasted with the surroundings, she lit the candles.
The flame flickered for a moment, as if hesitating, before its glow began to devour the darkness, slowly revealing the horror contained within that place.
The vision emerged like a nightmare come true. On shelves and in small niches lay infant foreskins, pale and carefully preserved. Next to them were lined up infant eyes, glassy and fixed.
The candles that lit the room were not placed in candlesticks, but burned inside children’s skulls, hollowed out and fixed to the walls. The melted wax mixed with the bone remains, and the dancing light cast twisted shadows that contorted in a grotesque dance.
Scattered everywhere, dolls and blurred features had been made from fine children’s hair, strands that still retained their shine.
The atmosphere was saturated with other unmentionable objects: rusty instruments, jars with murky liquids and indeterminate shapes floating inside, and the remains of desecrated children’s games.
The blue-eyed nun approached a desk, took out a jar filled with blood, poured herself a glass, drank calmly, and wrote something down in an old notebook.
"Sister Mily, age 23, cause of death: suicide, following a series of encounters with Cardinal Schwein."
She then wrote the next name in the notebook: Rasen, leaving the rest blank.
"I wonder what his blood will taste like. It’s a shame I can’t kill him yet."
...
Note: I forgot to mention this earlier, but "Schwein" means pig in German.