The Story Begins

"Ughh, alright, I'm calling it a night gentlemen. If I drink any more, I mm-ulerp. I might throw up. I groaned.

"Geez, Father, for a man of the robe, you sure don't practice moderation." barked one of the bar's regulars before letting out a hearty laugh.

I gave him a half-hearted smile before standing up from my bar stool. The room spun around me as I struggled to keep my balance. Maybe I had had one too many drinks tonight.

As I made my way towards the door, the regulars wished me a good night before I stepped out into the frigid air of the night. Growing up, I never wanted to be a clergyman but was forced into it as it was my father's calling.

Despite my initial reluctance, I found solace in the rituals and traditions of the church. But even after years of serving the congregation, I couldn't shake off my fondness for a night of drinking and revelry with the regulars at the bar.

I stumbled down the dark, deserted street, the crunching of snow under my boots the only sound in the silent winter night. As I reached the church door, I fished out the keys from my pocket, struggling to find the right one in my drunken stupor.

When I finally unlocked the door and stepped inside, I felt a wave of exhaustion hit me. I made my way to the confessional booth and slumped down on the cushioned seat, my eyes closing involuntarily. But as I sat there, I heard the muffled cry of an infant coming from outside my church.

I jolted awake, my mind clearing from the drunken haze. The sound was faint, but it was definitely a cry. I stumbled out of the confessional booth and reached the church entrance. As I opened the door, a gust of cold wind hit me, making me shiver. The cry grew louder, and I followed it, walking down the street in the direction of the sound.

Eventually, I came across a bundle lying in the snow. As I got closer, I realized it was a baby wrapped in a blanket. I picked up the bundle, cradling it in my arms. The cry subsided as the baby blinked up at me with a wide, innocent eye.

I looked around, but there was nobody in sight. Who could have left a baby out here in the middle of the night? And why?

The child looked no older than four weeks old, yet it already had symbols resembling that of the goddess's blessings that our people of Karthren get around the age of 15. aside from that, where his right eye should have been, it was just skin.

I didn't know what to do. I couldn't just leave the baby out here in the cold. And yet, taking it in meant taking on a huge responsibility. I was a clergyman, not a parent.

As I stood there, contemplating my options, the baby started crying again, its tiny fists balled up in frustration.

I sighed, resigning myself to the fact that I couldn't just abandon the child. I carefully wrapped it back up in the blanket and headed back towards my church.

Once inside, I set the baby down on the altar and examined it more closely. The missing eye was strange, but the symbols on the child's brow were even more puzzling.

I decided to take the baby to a trusted colleague, someone who could help me figure out what to do with it. As I left the church with the sleeping baby in my arms, I couldn't help but wonder what kind of person would abandon a child like this.

Arriving at my colleague's house, I knocked on the door, my heart racing.

When my colleague opened the door, his eyes widened at the sight of me holding a baby. "Father, what is the meaning of this?" he asked, clearly surprised.

"I found this baby abandoned outside of my church. I don't know what to do with it," I explained, handing the baby over to him.

He took the baby and examined it closely, his brow furrowed in thought. "The symbols on this baby's body...they are similar to those of the goddess's blessings, but they are different."

"What do you mean?" I asked, a sinking feeling in my stomach.

"Well, these symbols are much older, and they are not found in any of our religious texts," he replied, handing the baby back to me.

"But how could these markings be older than the goddess's blessings?" I couldn't wrap my head around something from before our creation was inscribed on a newborn's forehead.

"To be honest, I don't know, but if I had to guess, these markings may predate the upheaval."

"What is the upheaval?"

"Do you really need to know? You may find that it goes against your teachings an unrecognized history hidden by the high council."

My curiosity was piqued, but I knew that my teachings as a clergyman forbade me from delving into forbidden knowledge. However, the mystery surrounding the baby and its markings made me wonder if there was more to this situation than I originally thought.

"I see," I replied, taking the baby back into my arms. "But what should we do with the child? Can I not take it in as my own?"

My colleague shook his head. "It is not that simple, Father. This child is special, and it is clear that whoever left it outside of your church knows that. We must find out more about the markings and what they represent before we make any decisions."

I nodded, feeling a sense of responsibility weighing heavily on my shoulders. The baby's fate was now in our hands, and it was up to us to uncover the truth behind its mysterious origins.

As I left my colleague's house, baby in arms, I couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt as if I was betraying the very faith I had devoted my life to. But as I walked home, I felt that leaving a child to die was a far greater sin.

I made it back to my church and settled the baby down in a makeshift crib I had fashioned from a spare dresser drawer and some blankets. The infant looked up at me with its one good eye, and I couldn't help but feel a wave of protectiveness wash over me.