~~~

In the past.

A young boy, around 10 years of age, walks up a hill. It'd been a few years since a tragedy had befallen him. It stuck with him, shaping how he viewed the world. He faulted himself for it. Everyone told him it wasn't his fault, that he was too young to blame himself like this.

He took another few slow steps.

The boy had never been up this hill before. He'd heard there was an abandoned church from his elder sister. His elder sister who was currently looking for him, as he'd run away from home. A boy his age shouldn't be wandering around places he'd never been without a parent with him. But he'd never have his parents take him anywhere again. Because of that, he thought to himself, it was okay that he had run away from home. With that flimsy justification, he continued on upward.

Another few steps, faster now.

The boy wondered if this was okay. He wasn't particularly fond of his local church crowd. Too stuffy. But he wondered if he could find some kind of salvation at the top of this hill. One could even say he was unnaturally drawn to it. Drawn to a salvation he wondered if he even deserved.

Faster and faster. About halfway up the hill now.

The boy imagined his sister would get upset at him again. She was always protective of him. Always yelling at him to keep himself safer. He never did. He felt he didn't deserve it. Because he should care more about saving others. That was all his life was worth now. Helping others. Never himself.

The top of the hill. A church.

The boy slowed down, hands on knees, catching his breath. After a moment, he let out a faint exhale, and walked up to the door, placing his hands on it. It was slightly ajar, to his faint surprise, but he pushed that down and opened the inside. It was a bit dim, but he walked in anyways. Unused pews and a statue of the Lord on a cross sat before him. Devoid of dust, they seemed to be well maintained. A stained glass pane depicting the 3 wise men with Jesus sat to his left, the sun shining through it. That was the only source of light. He slowly walked up the aisle, looking around, before stopping in front of the giant cross. He wondered if he should pray.

He wondered if his parents were watching him. He was taken to visit their graves once in a while, and he prayed then. But he didn't feel inclined to pray now, so he decided not to. So instead, he stared up and continued to think to himself. The fire that'd taken his parents' lives still blazed hotly in his mind. A burn scar was seared across his back, an eternal mark to his past. He let out a silent exhale. He deserved it. After all, no one would have died if he hadn't-

Stolen story; please report.

"Welcome, young man. Have you come to pray?"

He froze, turning quickly. A tall, imposing man was standing behind the boy a few yards away. He had short blonde hair, and a neutral expression. He didn't seem particularly angry about the boy's trespassing. In fact, he seemed moderately amused at this situation. The boy swallowed as he answered.

"N-No. I just came to..."

He paused, realizing he didn't exactly know. The man continued.

"No matter. What is your name?"

"... Mateo."

"Well then, Mateo. Did you come here seeking anything?"

He began to walk around Mateo, not breaking eye contact. Mateo didn't answer that, because he didn't know. He felt drawn to this place, but he didn't know why. If it was as simple as salvation he'd have just prayed, but he knew he wouldn't receive salvation from something like that. He thought he didn't deserve it. So what did he come here seeking?

"... mister are you a priest?"

"Why, yes. I'm the priest who attends to this church."

"I thought this place was abandoned..."

"Well, it is closed to the public, but I maintain it fine enough. Private guests attend here once in a while."

Mateo wondered what type of guests a private church would have, but figured it was more of an adult thing anyways. Still, something about this man unnerved young Mateo. Maybe it was his piercing yet dead gaze, that seemed to see right through him. Maybe it was the mild amusement underneath a coverage of general disinterest. Maybe it was just because he was just so tall. His mother had been on the taller side, but even still, a tall stranger was still otherwise intimidating.

"Young Mateo. That name... are you perhaps the boy whose parents recently perished in the fire that I heard of in the news?"

Mateo's blood ran cold at the man's words as he broke eye contact and looked down at the floor, shifting. His silence was answer enough for the man.

"Ahh, I see. I apologize for my... insensitivity. Would you like me to give a prayer for your parents?"

Mateo decided then and there that he didn't like this man. Maybe it was a child's instincts, or a more justified hurt, but something about him was simply detestable. So he turned, starting towards the door.

"N-No. That's alright. I think I should leave..."

The priest had finished walking all the way around to the front of Mateo, standing behind him now, in between Mateo and the statue of the cross. He watched as Mateo picked up the pace, trying to get out of there. Right as he readied to open the door, however, the priest spoke again.

"Be at peace, young Mateo. The salvation you seek is in your future yet."

The words carried some strange sense of foreboding. The young boy escaped quickly, running down the stairs back to his sister. Back to home.