Melchizedek glared at the girl’s outstretched hand. The dark flame may no longer engulf her fair skin, but the image was burned inside his mind. It had been dark red, not the yellows and oranges of a typical flame. That dark flame told of her dark lineage. She was a Savis and it irked him that he could not tell which race she was. Nonetheless, her dark nature tainted the blessing of the flame given to her by Vatraateş, the deity of fire.

“What is a thing like you doing in a Meek village?”

Avalon’s hand dropped, but a smirk twitched upon her lips. “How do you know the village only held Meek? Maybe there were other Savis.” She wiggled her fingers at the monk, the dark red fire springing forth once more. “There’s a lot of mixed villages out there.”

Melchizedek’s jaw clenched.

The girl watched him, analyzing him as much as he was analyzing her. Her eyes shifted to where Mother Aoi tended to another young orphan’s wounds. Melchizedek noted her irises were only one color and they did not glow. She had no dramatic non-Meek traits other than her black sclera and the dark spiderweb-like markings adorning her skin. She appeared healthy, other than a few scratches and bruises. That narrowed it down to her possible race. One that Melchizedek wasn’t fond of. Not the most hated, but a terrible type of Savis, nonetheless. Then again, was there a Savis that wasn’t terrible?

“What type of deity do you guys worship?” Avalon eyed Mother Aoi’s skeletal wings.

Melchizedek did not answer.

The girl snorted. “So, you have something against Savis. It seems many people do. Or is it just—” She stopped.

He didn’t know what she was. Those furrowed brows and that dark scowl were a telling sign. Avalon planted her hands on her hips. “You don’t seem happy, monk, unlike the other people that have helped us. Everyone else has been treating me great, but you just glare at me like you want to set me on fire. I bet… I bet a Savis killed your family.”

Melchizedek stiffened. His hands clenched from within the billowing sleeves of his robe. Without a word, he turned away. However, Avalon followed, a smirk playing on her lips as she skipped beside him.

She was enjoying this.

“So, what brought you here?” Avalon questioned, walking in step beside Melchizedek. Her dark-ruby eyes raked his skinny frame hidden within the brown robe. “You’re pretty young to be a monk, aren’t ya? You’re an orphan too? You got to be. You’re so pissed off because we remind you of what happened to your village. Now you must take all of us orphan brats in and listen to our sniveling and whining for over a month.”

Melchizedek stopped in his tracks. His jaw was clenched, and his hands were balled into tight fists. Tight enough to tear his already damaged skin. “Go away.” His voice was cold and hollow as he stared ahead at the stone walls of the monastery.

“I don’t want to.”

“Get away from me, demon!” the monk spat. He spun away, striding into the dim-lit hallway.

Avalon followed, prancing beside him. Her eyes shone in delight, and she grinned from ear to ear. “I can’t believe I already hit a nerve. Gosh, when I heard we were going to a monastery, I figured there would be some Savis-hating bastards. Looks like I already found one, and I really pissed him off.”

“Stop following me.”

“But you’re supposed to show me where I’ll be staying, and I need to be cleaned up and given new clothes, too. You’re responsible for me.” She pointed to a boy around her age whom Father Bello was speaking to. The elderly high priest held a bundle of clothes in one arm while he pointed down the hallway, explaining where the boys should wash.

Melchizedek ignored Avalon. He slid open a rice-paper door, only for the girl to skip into the room before he could step onto the cold floor. He glared at the back of her head. He noted her light-tangerine hair was a wild mess while cuts and bruises decorated her body. Other than that, she seemed perfectly well. She was taking the entire ordeal as if it was nothing.

Avalon gawked at the walls. Many paintings hung throughout the passageway. Some were even directly painted onto the stone. Much of the artwork was of notable clergy who had lived in the monastery. They were recognized for the creation of the convent. Others were recognized for their exceptional faith. If the paintings were not of former clergy, they were of simple landscapes — an open field or a serene waterfall. The most common was the open sky with sun rays shining on a peaceful scene. That was what Buhayörökké was about: life energy, but a warm, peaceful liveliness.

A dark passageway caught Avalon’s eyes. She slipped away from Melchizedek. Before she could push open the heavy wooden door, a hand caught her arm. She looked up at the cinnamon-haired monk. He frowned down at her. She raised an eyebrow before attempting to free her arm from his grasp. Melchizedek held tight, even as his fragile skin tore.

“I thought you didn’t like me.” Avalon’s dark-ruby gaze drifted to Melchizedek’s hand, eyeing the bandages.

“I do not need a fire-wielding demon entering the sacred library. For all I know, you will burn down the shelves and destroy our entire collection of sacred texts,” Melchizedek grumbled as he pulled the girl down a different hallway.

“Oh, like I would do such a thing.” The girl flicked her free hand upwards, dark fire flickering to life on her palm. “Besides, this fire mutilates flesh rather than dusty old books. Though, I don’t think it would take too long to burn them. Maybe I should try it? A shelf or two? What do you say, monk? I’m sure there are some books you don’t need.” Her fire grew larger, engulfing her small hand.

“You would not dare,” Melchizedek snarled, yanking the girl away from the hallway. His tender skin protested the movement, but he merely gritted his teeth through the pain as he dragged Avalon down the passageway. After a few more turns, Melchizedek found several orphans in a small worship room.

He eyed them for a moment, mulling over what Avalon may do if he left her alone. He dismissed the thought. She had been living in the same village as them. They were used to her. He forced her to sit in the pew furthest away from the other children. “Stay put. I am going to get you new clothes. You will not wander. Stay in this exact spot.”

“Okay!” Avalon smiled innocently at him. She swung her legs and hummed a soft tune. The monk stared her down, gaze cold. She grinned back at him, a taunting glint in her dark red eyes. With an aggravated huff, the monk turned away.

As soon as Melchizedek was out of view, he clutched his burning hands close to his chest. The pain was almost unbearable. Pulling the stubborn Savis girl had torn more than a few layers of skin. He took a moment to collect himself. The pain was good, though.

Through the throng of clergy, he picked out the tall, dark-bronze-skinned form of Davian. Melchizedek stood back, jaw clenched as he glared at the scarred monk. The throbbing pain in his shoulder reminded him of what Davian had said and that he had left him with the Savis girl. It only added to his anger. Davian had torn a few layers of Melchizedek’s skin with his harsh grip, along with his trust.

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Pushing down the turmoil of emotions, Melchizedek slipped into the crowd of clergy, forcibly pushing Davian aside even as pain flared through his injured shoulder. The older monk caught his heated glare. His dark eyes trailed to the other room where Avalon was seated in the pew Melchizedek had sat her.

“I am going to kill you,” Melchizedek growled under his breath, brown eyes cold as they locked onto Davian.

Davian smiled sheepishly at him. Not ready to face another acid-filled speech, the scarred monk disappeared into the room full of children, a bundle of clothing in his hands.

Melchizedek watched Davian bend down in front of the other children. His eyes narrowed when Avalon hopped from her seat and began chatting animatedly with the other monk. With a tsk, Melchizedek entered the storage room full of clothing.

As he searched for children’s clothing, he couldn’t help but glance down at his smarting palms. Nothing blemished the bandages, but it hurt like the demonic flames of Śāśbatadekára. He was tempted to pull them off, but he heeded Mother Aoi’s words. Either way, he would have to visit her later.

Silently, he scanned the shelves for a robe that would fit the tween Savis. He also needed to find an undershirt, pants, and undergarments for her. He knelt to the lowest shelf, carefully shuffling through the robes. It took a moment before he pulled out a small, brown woolen robe. It would be baggy on the girl, but it would fit her tiny frame well enough.

He draped the robe over his arm and continued to search for a pair of pants, a shirt, and undergarments. After a few minutes, Melchizedek found the correct size of clothing. After ensuring everything was neatly put away, he returned to the Savis girl.

Melchizedek frowned when he saw Avalon peering over the altar. Davian was no longer in sight, nor were the other children. She was too close to the altar. He could not let a Savis tarnish the sacred cloth with her grubby hands. He tensed when Avalon spotted the golden tabernacle behind the altar. He would not forgive himself if she got into it. The sacred objects within it should only be touched by a trained high priestess or high priest. It was the law of the monastery. And they would surely corrode in the filthy Savis girl’s hands.

Melchizedek approached the curious girl. “What did I say?”

Avalon didn’t pull away from her inspection of the white silk embroidered with thousands of tiny gold runes. “To stay put.”

“What are you doing now?”

She didn’t answer, merely countering it with her own question. “Why are there so many runes on this thing? Are they all enchanted? Are there magic weavers here? It would be awesome to meet one of them.” She was about to press a dirty finger to a cluster of runes, but Melchizedek snatched her wrist.

“Touch nothing.”

She pushed him away, sneering. “I wasn’t doing anything.” Annoyance glinted in her eyes. She noticed the clothes the monk carried. She made a sound of disgust in the back of her throat, and her nose crinkled. “I have to wear the same itchy robes you low clergy wear? I want the white and gold silk robes that the high priestess was wearing. They look so smooth and flowy and much more comfortable than those.”

You are wearing this.” Melchizedek tossed the bundle to Avalon. Come, you need a shower. You stink.”

“Oh, wow. You actually have showers here?” Avalon rolled her eyes. “And are you sure it’s the mud making me smell? Maybe it’s the smell of rotting flesh wafting from my breath. Because, you know, all Savis eat human flesh, right?” Every word the girl uttered dripped with sarcasm.

A ragged sigh escaped Melchizedek. He had had enough of her remarks. “Only certain Savis eat flesh; for all I know, you could be one of them.”

“You know, not all Savis are bad. We can’t help that we were born the way we were. I want to live as much as the next person does. No one else around here hates Savis as much as you do.”

Melchizedek grunted. “Just get washed up. I will be waiting for you here. Do nothing stupid, Saanaora.”

“Oh, good for you. You know what type of Savis I am.” She wiggled her fingers in mock excitement as she rolled her eyes.

Melchizedek pushed her toward the washroom down the hall, nearly making Avalon stumble over her feet.

“Okay, okay. Whatever,” she muttered as she slipped through the screen labeled for females. “You better not spy on me!”

Melchizedek ignored her comment as he leaned against the wall outside the washroom. He silently prayed while waiting for the Savis girl’s reemergence from the washroom.

He did not know how long he had waited, but the sound of someone clearing their throat jolted him from praying. Sucking in a sharp breath, he let go of the red pendant he had clutched during his mutterings. Avalon eyed the necklace but said nothing, merely running a hand through her now sopping wet, shoulder-length light-tangerine hair. Her fair face was no longer smudged with dirt and blood, while the clothes Melchizedek had picked fit her well enough.

On his feet once more, Melchizedek led Avalon through a maze of twisting passageways. No words were exchanged between them this time. Since Avalon had finished cleaning up, a dark cloud had formed over Melchizedek. She enjoyed toying with him, seeing and hearing the acid in the monk’s visage. But this cloud was grim. No lightning flashed within it. Only darkness grew. She was left with her own thoughts as they walked. This allowed her to analyze the monk more and piece together the little information she had gathered from him. But, soon enough, the pair came upon a large room where the other orphans were gathered.

Melchizedek saw Davian still with the little blonde-haired girl, Maria. The young girl was grinning from ear to ear as Davian let go of her hand. She ran over to two other girls: one older than her and one younger than her. Her sisters. Davian watched, a smile lingering on his lips as Maria hugged her sisters tightly, overjoyed to see them.

After a moment of cheerful chatter with her sisters, Maria turned back to Davian and waved her goodbye. He waved back, returning her smile. When she turned back to her sisters, he strode over to Melchizedek. An eyebrow shot up in questioning when he spied the Savis girl beside him. “She’s still with you, Mel? I’m surprised.”

“Mel? That’s your name?” Avalon turned to the cinnamon-haired monk, an eyebrow raised as she grinned at him.

Melchizedek,” he snarled, sending a glare at Davian.

“Melchizedek,” Avalon repeated. “I guess that’s more fitting for a moody monk like you.” She giggled, her gaze shifting to Davian. “And you’re a lot friendlier than this grouchy sack of skin. How do you know each other? You seem like…friends?”

Before Davian could begin his story, Melchizedek slipped away. He didn’t want to hear it. Not how his village was raided, how their parents were killed, or how they, and a few others, were the only ones to survive.

Melchizedek walked through the passageways to a small garden built within the monastery. He entered it through a sliding rice paper door and was glad to see no one occupying it. No roof was built atop it, leaving the midday light to fall upon the garden.

Melchizedek brushed a hand over the flowering bushes lining the small Zen garden. Hundreds of tiny white flowers adorned the shrubs. He caressed a single, tiny five-point star blossom, savoring the sweet fragrance as he leaned into the overflowing flowers. It brought him peace for a fleeting moment.

He smiled sadly as he drew away from the flowering bush. He turned to the small wooden rake neatly placed on the wood planks bordering the shallow pit of sand. He dragged the rake through the white sand, staring at the furrows it made. After another pass through the soft white sand, serenity washed over him. He could release the block that was pushing back his thoughts and emotions. He could let his mind rest. Let the thoughts tumble and race through his mind before carelessly tossing them aside, never to be thought of again. He could let all his emotions go because no one was looking.

Those orphans reminded him so much of himself when he was a child. Little Maria brought back more memories than the Savis girl. Maria had been the same age as him when the disaster happened to his village. When his village was raided. When they took everything, including the lives of almost everyone within it. It was how Davian received his gruesome scar and why they were placed in the clergy orphanage like the children brought in today.

Avalon didn’t help the memories. She only made them worse. She was a Savis. And Savis had killed his village. But she wasn’t the worst of them. There was a race of Savis that he loathed more than any other. Those who wore the skulls of animals. Those who transformed into horrible beasts. Those who had an insatiable desire to devour flesh.

Melchizedek stopped, gripping the rake tight. He glared down at the sand. All he was trying to do was forget those memories; however, they only flooded back to him at full force. Swearing under his breath, he threw the rake. He collapsed, burying his bandaged hands through his shaggy cinnamon-colored hair. The pain flaring in his hands went unfelt as the emotions piled to the surface.

They consumed him.

Melchizedek bit back a sob, tears welling in his eyes.