Ciril hummed softly as he unpacked the box in the early morning light. The sun was still dim and a chill permeated the air even inside his little office - a privilege to have one as part of his chambers in the church’s limited space. It had arrived the night prior, though only made its way to the church in the early morning. He caressed the hardcover with a smile.

“Didn’t you finish the book last month?” Rebecca’s tired voice yawned from behind him.

“Yes,” Ciril nodded. The temptation to turn was there, though he kept unpacking instead. There was more than one of the softcover scripts. “I had it printed.”

“Really?” Rebecca asked doubtfully. “Isn’t that stupidly expensive?”

“The printing house gave me a discount, and the church subsidizes such endeavors. I could pay for the rest,” Ciril smiled. “Most had been sent to the capital, though I wanted a few dozen here.

“It could have been spent much better,” she scoffed as she shuffled around behind him. “You could have spent it on a gift.”

“Like what?”

“A ring?” she suggested

“The last time I bought you a wristband you mocked me for a week straight,” Ciril rolled his eyes as he finally turned. She was already clothed at that point, wearing her uniform. “As if I didn’t know better than to get you jewelry.”

“I never said I wouldn’t laugh at you about it,” she grinned. “Anyway, I have to drop by the town. I got the longer leave on condition I would help recruit.”

“Of course, ‘Captain’,” Ciril made sure to give an exaggerated salute.

“Oh, shush,” she she scoffed. “I will be back in time for the party.”

“See you then,” Ciril nodded, returning to carefully handling the books as Rebecca left.

It had taken him two years to write it. What had been an assay at first had expanded into a more comprehensive delve into the philosophy surrounding his interpretation of heroism and sin. Dissecting quotes of the cannon or speaking of other philosophers and clergy men who had arrived at neighboring conclusions.

The old pilgrim philosopher had certainly been right when he had said Ciril’s reading was novel. Most of the texts he had found on the topic seemingly ignored the dichotomy between heroism and the sins of failure and death - or outright disputed it. The closest he had seen were those claiming that as Heroes were no mere men the standard should not apply. An unsatisfactory idea to the families of the lesser fallen who wished to hear of the great deeds rather than realities of War.

It was a good thing that the prints had arrived when they did, too, for today was quite the conspicuous date for Ciril personally. He had long planned to introduce the book to his fellows in cloth on the occasion, then dismissed them when it seemed the text would not arrive on time. Suddenly, those plans were back on the table. That meant a slight adjustment. He went downstairs to the mess hall, finding out he was the second among the priests to wake - the three acolytes eating an early breakfast notwithstanding. He could not see the first, of course, because they were dutybound to the confession booth. That could never be unmanned for long once the sun rose even if it scarcely saw use so early. The duty to the faithful was not to fall to the wayside.

The day was special, for it was Ciril’s thirty-third birthday. An important date for any faithful of the Three. So conspicuous that a celebration of sorts had been arranged. A small gathering of the clergy and the few townsfolk Ciril was acquainted with. As others began to wake up Ciril spoke to them of the book delivery, quickly building the foundation to merge the two celebrations into one of both feat and time.

Those plans were disrupted by an unexpected arrival an hour before noon. The first sign of them was the acolytes spotting a metal box making their way downhill from the town proper. That in itself was enough for everyone to go look. Ciril had known of the large machines deployed in the War and he had heard of ‘cars’ starting to be used by civilians, though it was his first time seeing one. It was not completely dissimilar from a carriage in structure, except that at the front rather than horses it was pulled by an extended rectangle as it rolled downhill.

Everyone was guessing at who it could possibly be. For all their town was not completely rural such machines had not spread to it before. But who from outside the settlement would have business at Saint Mayas? The acolytes suggested anything from tax collectors to rich merchants coming to confess how they gathered the capital for their latest wonder, no matter how far-fetched some of those ideas were. Ciril guessed military men, here to arrange the funeral rites of someone important in the hometown they had not seen in decades.

When the car stopped at the end of the paved road just by their church they were all proven wrong. The head priest was perhaps the first to catch a glance of the vehicle's occupants for he had become too stunned to so much as mutter even before the two men stepped out. One was seemingly just a driver - dressed politely and professionally though of not much interest beyond the implied wealth they represented. What baffled everyone was the other occupant, stepping out of the back seat. It was an older man, visible by his slight wrinkles and blotches of white rash over some of their skin. That in itself would not be worth mentioning except for their clothes. They adorned a crimson raiment with smidges of gold, hinting at iconography.

“Cardinal,” someone put voice to what they had all been thinking. A real higher up arriving unannounced in their little chapel.

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“Brothers,” the man in question smiled as they stepped out of the vehicle, approaching the flabbergasted gathering. “I apologize for arriving at such short notice. Alas, I am afraid I would not make it on time had I dallied until tomorrow.”

“Your eminence!” their high priest was the first to recover, or at least the first who dared speak. “What may have brought you to our humble cloister?”

“Many a thing,” the man, for all he wore his robe of office, did not seem keen on suffocating them with that rank. “But let us talk inside. The journey has tired me.”

And inside they went, past the sermon hall into their communal hideaway beyond. The cardinal did not mind the hard wooden benches or at least pretended well not to, accepting their humble tea and simple fare. The conversation began slowly, the local clergy hesitant on how to broach any subject with the newcomer, though eventually the question of why was asked.

“I have heard that one of you would celebrate their thirty-third year since birth on this day,” he nodded, a smile still on his lips.

“That would be me, your eminence,” Ciril admitted while everyone glanced at him with surprise. Thirty-three was, obviously, a conspicuous number, yet not nearly enough to garner the attention of the man before them. “Even for such an occasion, we have scarcely expected important guests. We would have prepared to be better hosts.”

“No need to be so nervous, I am here on my own accord and time,” the cardinal shook his head. “As for why, it is of course your philosophical piece!”

“Has it garnered your eminence’s attention,” Ciril asked, feeling a flutter of fireflies in his stomach.

“More than mine,” the cardinal nodded. “It has caused quite a stir in the Holy see. Why, the pontiffs themselves might be inclined to read and ponder it!"

“Surely you jest?” Ciril paused.

“No need to diminish your efforts,” the cardinal shook his head. “Of course the philosophers among us have taken interest. Your arguments elegantly bypass a deadlock our philosophically inclined brothers have been arguing over for years. A breath of fresh air, enough so that many among my peers have already read it in the past week since the prints' delivery.”

“I am overjoyed my philosophy has stirred so many hearts,” Ciril said after a moment, feeling overwhelmed. “I would not have expected such interested. Or the visit, your eminence.”

“When I found out that it would your thirty-third today I could not help but come and visit,” the cardinal smiled. “Please, call me Jonathan, Ciril.”

“It would be my pleasure, Jonathan,” Ciril carefully nodded.

“Now, I am sure you have a celebration planned which I would hate to disturb,” the cardinal stood up.

“Just a humble gathering,” Ciril shook his head.

“Either way, I am unfortunately ever busy in my service to the Three, therefore I can hardly afford to remain,” the man shook his head, then reached into his robes. “Though I would have one quick request. If you would be willing to give me an autograph...”

“Of course I would,” Ciril immediately nodded.

Soon enough the cardinal left, quite happy with obtaining what he had come for. Everyone else's tongues finally untied when the man was gone and the next few hours were shadowed by discussion of what had just transpired. It was rare for someone like that to visit their small church after all. Ciril could not remember it ever happening before. But eventually thoughts returned to Ciril's birthday. A few hours after lunch visitors began to arrive.

“We might be a tad early,” Magdalene, the elderly shopkeep, had dragged her grand nephew along. The lad carried a basket of peeled and precut carrots, making for a good snack to bite into.

“No such thing,” Ciril welcomed them both with a hug. “Now you cannot miss the excitement."

A few more citizens arrived, people Ciril was familiar and friendly enough with for them to make the journey. Rebecca arrived among the last few, bringing along an unexpected guest.

“Richard!” Ciril exclaimed. The lad had once again changed in the two years since they had last met. The soldier turned pilgrim once again adorned their uniform. “I had not know you had returned to the front.”

“I have not quite yet, Father,” Richard hugged Ciril back. “I perhaps would have already but when I was making the decision I had heard it would be such an important day for you soon. After a talk with my uncle we agreed I could help with recruitment for a while so that I wouldn’t miss it.”

“I am glad to see you lad,” Ciril nodded with a smile. “You have come a long way.”

Then there was merriment. Snacks and conversations, as well as a few birthday gifts Ciril enjoyed. Although the clergy were forbidden from drinking - lest it dull the wit for philosophy in them - the atmosphere more than made up for it. Ciril had also used the opportunity to give a copy of his book to anyone willing. Of course, philosophy was not the reading for everyone but Magdalene and a few other had taken him up on the offer while the clergy would have it available in the church’s humble library closet.

By the evening the gathering had dispersed and Ciril found himself more alone with Rebecca. He had not spoken much to the other townsfolk of the cardinal’s visit, so he finally mentioned the details she had been curiously demanding all day long.

“A cardinal wanted you to sign the book?” the military woman asked, incredulous.

“Apparently it had gained quick popularity among the Holy See’s clergymen,” Ciril hummed.

“Now I also want one,” she smiled.

“You rarely ever read,” Ciril pointed out.

“I might start,” she shrugged. “Worst case scenario, I will sell it to another cardinal. They are probably rich.”

“Well, I do have extra copies,” Ciril relented, grabbing one and signing it with care near the bottom of the soft cover.

“You could make it a bit more personal,” she complained. “Maybe write ‘with an eternal dedication to the greatest beauty ever witnessed’.”

“What a mouthful,” Ciril rolled his eyes, then looked down. After a moment he decided to draw a little heart beneath the autograph.

“Aww, how sweet,” Rebecca chuckled. “Also very anatomically inaccurate. Hearts are actually closer to an oval flesh chunk than a proper shape. And most I have seen had holes in them.”

“I don’t think those were supposed to be there,” Ciril pointed out, unsure what else to say.

“Now you are the expert?” she teased.

“How much longer will you be able to stay?” he changed topic to something grim rather than morbid.

“A few more days,” she shrugged. “The brass wants their recruits. I am actually a pretty good figurehead."

"Then we should make them something worth remembering."