"In the beginning was the Voice

and the Voice was with God

The Voice that is God

in the Great Cosmos Orchestra sang.

And so she came to be

by the will of the divine Sun

and without her

Singing is not part of us

as of everything that exists.

She is Music

and Music is the shining ray of God.

His holy light makes us sing

and the cold Silence will not win against her."

I go through the church door when the celebration is almost over. It's raining outside. There's a cold wind. The air smells damp and dirty. Or maybe it's me, the dirty one, walking through the doors of a sacred place and not having the decency to clean up first.

I sneeze as a chill comes over me. I was running until this moment. Maybe too much. Fast under the roaring rain, among the thick bush, falling several times on the way. I couldn't help it. The guards who chased me are probably still looking, but thankfully now that a flood is coming down, they're probably going down the wrong tracks. Perhaps it was the will of God that allowed me to find this small parish.

As I move along, tears flow down my face. I failed. There's nothing else I can say. Though this is neither the first nor the last time, I know I have lost a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I should have done more. I could do more. Even if they stopped me, did I try my best? Or did I flee because I was frightened? Maybe, yes. Yes, I did what I did because I didn't want to see it through.

In the quietness of this small church, I find the confessional in which I kneel to pray and repent. Am I a sinner? Yes. Undoubtedly. Do you think I got something out of it? Not at all.

Then, while my voice swells, as I pour out my misdeeds like bile, I confess to myself that I would have done everything again, perhaps even worse, if It had served to save his life.

When I no longer have anything to confess, I rise. And that's when I'm startled by a voice.

"Hymn to the Bride, Psalm of Iannen, Clef de Sol, notes 1,1-4."

I freeze. Am I not alone? Was the priest silent to my rant up until now? But that's not exactly what surprises me. It's his voice. Feeble. And sharp as a knife.

"I hear your words. They are full of resentment. But I see inside you and find it full of pride. So what is it that you regret so much?" the priest adds.

I try to look beyond the grate; I can't see anything beyond it. Not even a silhouette of a man.

"I couldn't save him."

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The graceful response that follows fills the confessional. "And yet you still tried nonetheless."

"Did I achieve anything?"

"Nothing, if that's what you are thinking."

I twist my eyebrows. "It’s not about how I think it is, but more than that’s the way it happened" I retort.

What good is doing something if I'm still empty-handed? Or maybe it does gain something for me: it makes me feel bad. Reminding me what a joke I am.

"And yet, you would do it again even if it is useless," the voice presses.

What? "Explain yourself!"

"There are things that cannot be reversed, nor you can mend them anyway. But the pain suffered can be returned in kind to those who inflicted it upon you.

I squint my eyes. Not sure I'm getting what he is saying to me, but I’m confident that, within me, something arouses. It's a new feeling.

"Revenge? Is that what you are talking about? I never thought I would hear that from a man of faith."

And that is when the voice becomes persuasive and, this time, somehow, more feminine, but it takes me time to realize it.

"You don't need to be so surprised. I know that you desire it, isn't it true?"

"I..." I wish I could say that the idea never crossed my mind, but I would be lying.

From the grate comes a sudden cold. Snow. Everywhere. The Lunar Cry now envelops me. I should have realized it faster and sooner. How did I miss this? I'm not speaking to a priest, but to someone that has the ability to change his feature as she pleases. A deceiving goddess who finds amusement in tormenting those who already suffer.

"What if your father is not completely lost?"

I raise my eyebrows and widen my eyes. My lips opened just enough to give the idea that I wish to speak, but not a whisper escaped my mouth.

Yet, my expression must speak just enough for me, just as the goddess Moon adds: "I will give you the power to save your father from the Silence and show you how you can take your revenge."

I'm angry with myself for not seeing through her schemes fast enough. "I don’t want anything from you, vile temptress." But, then again, she is well known to hide herself, changing her voice and appearance, so that she could deceive you better.

"If you don't believe me, come out of the confessional and see It for yourself", as she spoke, a gust of wind pushes me outwards.

I fall forward. The moist scent of the soil inebriates my senses. And a garden, as far as the eye can see, stands out under a gigantic tree. There, lying on an altar, I recognize my father.

I start running. And with a jump, I land on his chest. Slowly, the gaze goes up along his gruff face. There is no sign of the rope mark near his neck. His curly dark hair is clean, as is the shaggy beard under the cheekbones hardened by the scar that runs across the right cheek up to the chin. He never wanted to tell me how he got it. I cry.

I caress his cheeks. "I'm sorry," the voice broke as I whimper. "I tried. I swear I tried. I was there. Did you see me? I was there. I could save you. I. I could... Will you forgive me? Please tell me you will."

I put my head on his chest. There is no heartbeat, but I sense a soft heat. As if he is lying motionless and waiting for something.

I couldn't save him. I bite my lips. The taste of blood it’s grazing my tongue. It’s too late now... Not even praying will be of any use.

"It's not fair." No, It isn't.

My father... the King of January smiling as they were hanging him. The Prince heir to the throne is at his side, doing the same.

"Damn." Damn, both.

I get up slowly. Something in me has cracked and what flows out fills me with a new motivation: I want justice.

An eye for an eye. "You took my father from me," a tooth for a tooth, "I will take away your son."

I cannot take revenge on my faith, but I can hurt those that blindly follow it.

As the Sun God rises on the horizon, the Moon smiles pale and malignant hiding in the clouds. Although I know that this Dream will soon fade, I’m certain that when I'll wake up I will not have lost this newfound resolve. But if it is true that the Dream is the quintessence of ourselves, that it reflects our true nature and will, then is there any reason for me to be afraid of the inevitable?

Blood calls blood and the King has not yet paid his due.