Prejudice and Kindness

The interior of the church, though simple and dilapidated, had an unusual tranquility.

The cracks in the walls and the broken window frames seemed to block out the noise from the outside, leaving only the faint sound of the wind echoing softly around.

The few dim candles burned quietly, their light gentle and warm.

Borne leaned back against a simple wooden chair, still feeling the lingering warmth from the healing he had received.

The pain in his shoulder had significantly lessened, and Father Raphael's healing power had indeed worked, easing much of his fatigue.

Despite the doubts and unease he had experienced throughout the day, his thoughts were slowly calming at this moment.

His eyelids grew heavy and gradually closed as his breathing became deep and steady.

In his dreams, he seemed to return to Stormhaven.

Back to the day before he was conscripted.

"You're leaving tomorrow; remember to take the dried meat we've prepared at home."

"I know," Borne replied simply.

"Always drink boiled water," the old man continued, repeating advice Borne had heard many times.

In the dream, he sat at the plain wooden table in his home, where a piece of rough black bread lay.

The bread was mixed with wood shavings and some moldy grains, making it incredibly hard to swallow, and sometimes he even bit into a pebble.

The only thing on the table that could be considered a 'delicacy' was a small plate of sliced cured sausage, a few thin pieces that seemed particularly precious.

Borne's gaze shifted from the plate to his grandfather sitting opposite him.

The old man's face was weathered, and his hands, which held a piece of hard black bread, were covered in wrinkles. His eyes, though cloudy, were still warm.

His hair had receded, and what little was left was entirely gray.

His tone was full of concern, repeatedly reminding Borne.

"Remember to always obey your superiors, never get into conflicts."

"I know," Borne nodded, his voice tinged with impatience.

"If you have any disagreements with your comrades, never fight; report to your superior, understood?"

"I know, I know," Borne replied.

"And remember to wear an extra layer in winter when it's cold.

You've never liked wearing more clothes since you were young, always saying you weren't cold. Don't catch a cold again."

The old man continued to nag, repeating the same things.

"Grandpa, I remember everything; you've told me so many times already."

The old man sighed, but his eyes revealed a heavy burden.

"You are the only hope of this family. I can't afford to lose you."

The old man's voice began to choke with emotion, seeing Borne looking more and more like his father, even his temperament was exactly the same.

In the dream, Borne felt a pang of sadness, and his grandfather's voice echoed in his ears.

He didn't know when he would be able to return home.

"Grandpa..."

Borne murmured softly, a wave of indescribable sorrow and longing welling up in his heart.

He wanted to reach out and touch his grandfather's weathered hands, but his fingers only met empty air.

It was already morning when Borne woke from his dream and rubbed his eyes.

He heard the commotion outside the church and sat up, looking toward the entrance.

Outside, Father Raphael had already returned, still wearing his old white robe, his expression calm and focused.

He stood on the church steps, distributing food to the gathered beggars and the poor.

His hands gently held a worn-out basket filled with black bread, carefully handing each piece to those who came to receive it.

Borne noticed that although the food remained the same—simple black bread and a thin soup—Father Raphael's face still bore that gentle smile as before.

He gave each person who came to receive food the same attention and care, as if every one of them was a sheep he needed to tend.

His movements were calm and patient; every ladle of soup, every piece of bread seemed to carry his blessing and hope.

After distributing the food, Father Raphael stood before the church and announced that the morning Mass would begin.

The beggars and the poor gathered around; most of them had calm expressions, some even showing a hint of piety.

They stood on the church grounds, waiting for the priest's guidance.

"Please remain quiet; we are about to begin the morning prayers and Mass."

Father Raphael's voice was gentle yet firm, resonating clearly in the crisp morning air.

He clasped the diagonal cross in his hands, closed his eyes, and began to pray softly, his words carrying a calming force.

The crowd also fell silent, kneeling and bowing their heads, softly reciting the prayers along with the priest.

Borne stood at the entrance of the church, watching this scene, his heart filled with complex emotions.

Father Raphael's demeanor and actions showed a genuine concern.

Every move he made seemed to soothe these displaced, homeless souls.

His voice was steady and slow, as if each word carried some kind of power, capable of penetrating into the heart of every listener.

When the Mass ended, Father Raphael stepped down the steps and, as before, walked to each beggar, gently touching their heads.

He offered them comfort and blessings.

At that moment, the priest's gaze once again fell upon Borne.

He smiled slightly and nodded at Borne, as if inviting him to come closer.

Borne hesitated for a moment but decided to approach.

"Child, how is your shoulder feeling? Did you sleep well last night?"

"Thank you for the treatment, Father. I slept very well last night, and my wound feels much better."

"That's good. Although this place is humble, I'm glad I could provide you with a stable place to rest. Today will be the final check-up. Are you returning to the camp tomorrow?"

Borne nodded and followed Father Raphael into the church.

Just as they turned around, a commotion erupted outside the church.

Borne turned towards the noise and saw a tall, thin deacon driving away a beggar who had arrived late.

The beggar was on his knees, pleading, his hands tightly gripping the deacon's trousers as if unwilling to leave.

"Let go! Don't make a scene; today's alms are over!"

The thin deacon seemed very impatient, his tone laced with obvious disdain and irritation.

He shook his leg vigorously, trying to shake off the beggar's hands.

But the beggar refused to let go, his eyes filled with desperation and pleading, his voice hoarse as he begged, "Please, just a little more, I have nothing to eat…"

The deacon's brow furrowed even more tightly, clearly unwilling to deal with the beggar. His voice grew harsher.

"I said let go! Don't make me use force!"

At that moment, a calm and firm voice came from not far away, interrupting the deacon's scolding.

"Eugene, give him my portion of the food."

The tall, thin deacon, Eugene, hesitated for a moment and turned to look at Father Raphael, clearly displeased.

"But, Father…"

"Do it. I won't hold it against you," Father Raphael said gently, his voice still carrying his usual kindness and compassion.

Eugene reluctantly bit his lip, clearly unwilling to follow the order, but he knew he could not disobey.

He gave the beggar a fierce glare, kicked him harshly, then begrudgingly turned to fetch the food.

The beggar released Eugene's trousers but remained kneeling on the ground, muttering words of gratitude as if that simple portion of food was a great blessing to him.

Borne watched this scene, feeling a mix of confusion and complex emotions in his heart.

The contrast between Father Raphael's compassion and Deacon Eugene's coldness was striking.

Father Raphael glanced at child, smiled slightly, and continued, "Child, come, let me do the final check-up for you."