It didn’t sound like a question, more like a statement of confusion, anger, happiness… A fusion of emotions that couldn’t be expressed in words.

“It’s… Complicated.”

I said hesitantly.

The fact was, I hadn’t fully sorted my emotions on the matter yet. Did I think this through properly? Was it driven by selfishness? Did I only do it to have an heir? Could I truly care for her like a father? Could I really be a good father? What of Silika? Would she even want me as a father?

All I knew for sure in my mind, is that this was something I needed to do. My mind had been frozen over right until the moment I had met her, and now the thought of continuing on without her…

No.

There was no other way. The moment I met her, I knew she was my daughter. I felt it in my bones. In my soul.

“When I saw Silika at the service yesterday, it’s as if my world stopped. The torment that haunted me, all became quiet at once. I don’t know how to explain it…. I just know that I need to do … No… That’s not right... It’s the only thing I know that this is what I want to do. I want to see her grow up and become better than I ever will be. I don’t want her to live in sadness and regret like I did.”

I tried to explain. It was truly difficult to explain something without matter or substance; something as abstract as feelings.

“I u-understand.”

To my surprise, Coleen was the first to say something.

“S-silika is my b-best friend.. Sh-she ha-has a b-b-bad t-temp-per, sh-she f-fights a l-l-lot, a-and sh-she can be v-v-ver-ry s-s-stuborn, but sh-sh-she’s a g-g-good p-p-person. W-when I’m g-getting b-bullied, sh-she’s the first to jump into a f-f-f-fight. She a-a-always knows w-when I’m s-s-sad. She n-never asks or s-say mean t-things to others even if they s-say mean t-things t-to her. I w-want h-her to b-be hap-p-py, b-but I d-don’t k-know h-how.”

Coleen looked up to me.

“W-would she b-be happy w-with y-you?”

That was the question wasn’t it? Is it the right thing for Silika. Would she be happy staying at the orphanage with kids her age who have similar struggles, or would she be happier with me?

Before I could try to answer the question, we reached our destination.

“Let’s go.”

Feldor declared.

He left the carriage followed by Coleen. I was about to follow suit, but Delian held me back by the shoulder. I turned around and faced him.

“Would she?”

He simply asked. Staring straight into my eyes.

I looked at him unwavering.

“I would put my life on the line to make sure she is.”

Delian nodded and we followed Feldor inside the church.

The main hall looked rather empty. After all, it was already late afternoon and not a worship day, but we could still see some kinsmann going about their business. Feldor guided us through a large corridor that led to a large spiral staircase decorated by large murals depicting the lives of Matriarch and Patriarch of Scorn since ancient times. I wasn’t familiar with most of them as very few churches bothered with the stories of other gods, but as these individuals held the highest rank within a church, many of them had had country if not continent spanning influence.

As we reached the top of the stairs we entered a large domed room. It was easily as large as the church's main hall. Hundreds of Kinsmann walked about or sat around tables scattered around discussing topics that a layman such as I couldn’t begin to comprehend.

It was easily forgotten, but the church's primary purpose after protecting the population from heretics was not to teach worship. Kinsmann dedicated most of their time to the research of blessings and what could be achieved with them.

Only in these sacred halls could people experiment with their blessings with impunity without the risk of becoming ferals. They were the ones who brought the most advancement to technology and the use of blessings. Many now common household items were first devised in halls like these before being made available to craftsmen who could then use their own blessings to make them.

This was one of the main reasons why Septenary kinsmann were so highly regarded as they were some of the few individuals who could work with the blessings of other gods in order to create otherwise unthinkable inventions. Well, there and the College, but the College could only be called ‘safe’ in the loosest form of the word. There was a very good reason it had made residence in Marshland.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

We walked through the halls and reached a large ornate door on which Bishop Feldor knocked.

It took a few moments, but eventually a black haired woman cracked open the door and glanced at us with a bored expression.

“The Archbishop is not taking any visitors at the moment.”

Her eyes then drifted toward Delian, Coleen and I at the back.

“... And definitely does not have time to give his blessing on a mismatched couple. As the church has officially stipulated multiple times, we recognise the blessing of the Purple Veil on the union.”

I felt my brow twitch and I could see Delian quietly fuming at my side, but somehow maintaining a polite crooked smile.

The bishop, as always, remained unfazed. Likely due to the inappropriate comments being aimed at someone else.

“We are not here for such inane purposes. Tell Archbishop Kin Mericcia that Bishop Feldor has come on urgent business. His ear only. Is that clear, kinling?”

It was her turn to twitch. Although not an insult per say, kinling was the lowest rank within the clergy. Often given to children recently having entered the folds and definitely not the rank of an Archbishop assistant.

She almost snapped back, but I saw her grit her teeth and nodded. She closed the door and we heard footsteps walking away.

Suddenly I thought back on what Feldor had just said and something stuck out to me. The name of the Archbishop. Did he say ‘kin’ Mericcia?

“Your excellency, when you said Kin Mericcia, you didn’t mean as in…”

I started asking, but was interrupted by the door opening once more.

This time the kinsmann opened the door completely.

“The Archbishop will see you now.”

Unable to finish my question, we followed the assistant across the small office on the other side of the doorway to yet another door that led into a large room where the Archbishop waited, standing behind his desk.

The first thing that struck me were his eyes. Instead of circular pupils, his were shaped like two swords parrying each other. His skin was a pale shade of blue and his hair long and black. Most strikingly, the left side of his jaw was covered in a dark metallic contraption. When he moved his head toward us, the contraption moved in unison with the rest of his face.

I had heard Feldor right. The Archbishop was a pure-blooded kin of Scorn.

“Feldor. To what do I owe the honour?”

He said while presenting the chair facing him to Feldor, but the Bishop politely refused by shaking his head, prefering to stand. Probably as to not unwittingly exclude us from the conversation.

“The honour is all mine Kin Mericcia.”

“Nonsense!”

The Archbishop responded with a chuckle as he took his seat.

“Be it as it may, I don’t assume this is a social visit? You’ve also brought with you quite the diverse cast of characters.”

He said, as he observed us.

I could immediately tell that this man had been a soldier before. It wasn’t his stance or way of speaking. It was his eyes, going over each and everyone of us. Analysing, searching, strategising. Nothing could surprise a man like this.

His eyes stopped on Delian, as if to ask him to speak up.

Delian cleared his throat.

“Greetings your eminence. I am the director of the orphanage on Plum street. Earlier today one of my children was taken in broad daylight by members of the garrison…”

The archbishop’s eyes immediately darted to me.

“And I assume they denied the allegations.”

He said rhetorically, but I nodded nonetheless to confirm his suspicion.

“Any clues as to why?”

I nodded yet again and took out the Solomon book Delian had showed me.

“Silika, the kidnapped child, is deaf. Coleen here and her communicate exclusively using the Solomon tongue. One of the guards involved in the kidnapping has apparently harassed the girls over its use in the past. I believe they may have flagged the girls as a potential spy.”

The archbishop flipped through the pages of the book for a moment before nodding and handing it back to me.

“An ingenious use of the language. I’ll commend Mister Director on the decision, but it is indeed a problematic language of its own.”

He then finally turned to Feldor.

“And so, can I respectfully ask you, Feldor, why did you deem it appropriate to seek my help in this matter?”

The Bishop cleared his throat.

“I administered the girl’s baptism just this winter. She is my ward. After having taken into account the situation with the garrison, I estimated that the matter was beyond my ability to remedy. It was my logical conclusion that only with your guidance can I find her swiftly and successfully.”

The Archbishop leaned back on his seat, crossing his arms on his chest.

“And so, by your logic, every missing farmer is Alenia’s burden to resolve?”

He replied dryly, raising an eyebrow.

“If it were up to me, it would. For I will not be trampled; I will…”

“Fight those who seek to abuse. Yes, yes.”

The Archbishop let out a long and tired sigh and closed his eyes for a moment.

He stood up from his chair and faced the window behind him as he looked deep in thoughts. He nodded to himself before heading back to his desk and swiftly writing a note and sealing it on the envelope.

“Seek out this man. He will help you. You will find him at the Blue Palace.”

He wrote a name on the envelope before quickly sealing it using a nearby candle.

He handed the letter to Feldor and I caught a glimpse of the name written on the envelope.

‘Chief Justice Milray Vilger’

I had never heard of the council position before, but for some reason the name stuck out to me.

Milray Vilger… Where had I heard this name before?