Chapter 9: Speak Plainly

"How can I put this—?"​

Father Wilhelm reclines ever so slightly, taking his trembling hand off of your shoulder and pulling several times on his cigar. His obvious test of your restraint has you fidgeting with the chain around your neck.

"I'll tell you as much as I can. We'll talk all night if you want, but I need you to relax. Let's move next to the hearth! The heat should do us some good. Ray seems to enjoy it enough."

You're grasping hard enough on the gold to possibly hurt yourself. "He can wait. I can't. Please."

As Father Wilhelm speaks, he takes you firmly by the arm, pries your hand off of your holy symbol with a fair amount of force, and walks you next to the hearth. "A compromise it is! Astrid is a terror. I bet you both would get along swimmingly. This makes perfect sense— spending your whole life fasting— I'm sure. The food and drink must be a lot easier to hold off on than all of this excitement! Bear with me just another second. As I was saying— it's a shame she's hardly written! Simply marvelous. Mother Aimar's clergy and my own work together in many respects, mostly along the borders..."

Through clenched teeth, you command Ray to stay down. Father Wilhelm has you recline next to the roaring fire, but your dog is up on his feet, growling as a precaution at your obvious discomfort.

"I wasn't too rough, was I? He seems upset."

"Ray— sit. Down. Stay. Father Wilhelm. Please. He's only upset because he knows you're hurting me—"

The hand comes off of your arm in an instant, though it isn't the source of your discomfort.

Something finally snaps.

Music

"Stop with the tests and games. Everyone— everyone thinks that they know what I need. No one will let me learn in my own time, or give me any answers, even when I finally ask for them. How am I— how am I meant to lead? Or— Mercy— or do anything befitting of my station if I'm always being treated like THIS? Does no one legitimately respect me?! Please, ANSWER the question, Father Wilhelm—"

"Richard—"

You bark, "Father Anscham."

"Father Anscham, I never meant any offense. You know I respect you. We lose clergymen every year to the Church of Time. We lose many more citizens still. I have only been trying to push your limits because I want to help you. It can wait for another time. This is much more important. I sincerely can't believe that the Church of Mercy has taught you so little—"

"Why is it so difficult for anyone to speak plainly? I was taught to uphold my word, to be truthful in all things, to make oaths before I could possibly comprehend what they entailed— and it feels as if I'm the only man on earth who can do so—"

"That's not necessarily true—"

"I had to invoke Spirit to learn anything in the Church of Mercy worth knowing, Father Wilhelm."

Legitimate horror is written all over the priest's features.

You grimace back. "Is that really the worst thing you've heard me confess to?"

"No, not by a wide margin. It simply explains a great deal."

"Tell me. I need to know."

The horror on Father Wilhelm's face rapidly dissolves back into his usual, tired expression. He doesn't smile, but simply looks to you with so much pity that you don't know what to do with yourself. "We don't know what happens, Father Anscham. At the Church of Time. People simply go missing. We keep their clergy in our outposts as a fear tactic. We use them for interrogation if we must, but even I don't know what they actually do."

"You— you must be lying."

"You've been told since you were a child, haven't you? 'Her will is unchangeable.'"

"Yes, but—"

"It's enough to keep most people in their place, isn't it?"

"That doesn't mean—"

"You've never met someone that's invoked Her, have you?"

"No."

"You certainly have never tried."

"No!"

"You were afraid, weren't you? To even pray to Her?"

"I— I would be lying, if I denied it—"

"Mother Aimar is sworn to protect our country, our King, and our people— just as you and I are. That doesn't mean she's indebted to share her work with either of us. I'm not withholding any information from you, Father Anscham. Cutting a straight path to Eanlac from here would take weeks, by any measure. I know you can't have traveled this far south before— no one ever has reason to— but I am not lying to you. If you ever wish to meet her, it would be my privilege to help you take safe passage to her church, but you should let this rest. At least, for now."

"Why should I—?"

"You have absolutely no idea what you're doing when it comes to even the Goddess of your own church, Father Anscham. I know that you're afraid. It's alright. Everything is going to be alright, but you have to trust me, and let me help you. The Church of Time isn't going anywhere. I know that at the very least, Mother Aimar respects you. She's written to me once before as well, you know. Been in service to the Church of Dream for fifty Worship's past, and I've only heard from her twice! Can you believe it?"

"What— what did she say—"

"The first letter was to welcome me to my station, of course. I was appointed in similar circumstances to yours, in fact. Hardly the first choice, but my connection to Dream was so substantial that the last Mother of the Church of Dream thought me fitting. Mother Aimar was happy to acknowledge as much."

There's a very poorly timed pause that has you gritting your teeth. You manage to not interrupt, and you're terribly glad that you didn't. Father Wilhelm begins to rattle off so much information so quickly that it's all you can do to take it all in.

"The second was about you. Dream had taken me the night before. There was a child on the footsteps of the Church of Mercy. Though his beard was red, his eyes were gold, and he spoke of his Father's pain. He begged for a rescue party to be sent. Before an open doorway— after leaving hundreds more— there was a man slick with blood and sin. Supported by the hand of a demon, he emerged after weeks of turmoil back into the light of day. There was a void at his side: a guide that had not been looked upon in as much time. He knew not what he sought, though he carried it around his neck. He required Our aid."

"The first time you recounted the Dream to me, you omitted a great deal—"

"I strongly suspected you would die if I wasted anymore Time. Mother Aimar told me as much. To silence anyone that would question my immediate departure from the Church of Dream. She reassured me that if I were to leave at once that I would make it to you in Time. I trusted her judgement, and met you within minutes of your exit from the ruins, did I not?"

"...it was almost the very moment I left, yes."

"That was no mere coincidence, Father Anscham. Neither was my Dream, and neither is the Relic you possess now. You may have no understanding of the consequences of using such an item, and you may still have much to learn, but the Gods are Merciful, Father Anscham. I know you've been taught at least that much."

Though you're more rested than you've ever been, you can't help but feel exhausted. "There is still so much I don't know, Father Wilhelm."

"I told you once before, and I genuinely meant it: I am more than willing and able to stay up all night, if you'd like. We'll have ample time to talk on the road, but this is as safe a place as any to discuss the Gods." A hand apologetically goes back to your shoulder. "I'm so sorry I don't have more answers for you, regarding Mother Aimar. You need to respect her and Time, as I know you always have. The world isn't ready to lose you, Father Anscham. It scarcely knows you, either. I can give you as many answers as I'm able, but please don't be too upset if I don't know everything. I'm no demon."

"The only thing that has me upset is my inability to get a straight answer from anyone. I have so many questions— and I need answers, so desperately—"

Father Wilhelm makes a proper show of getting as comfortable as possible next to the hearth. Putting himself in arms reach of his additional firewood, he gives you a sincere smile.

Ambience - Hearth

"I'll help you in any way I can, Father Anscham. Go on."

You scowl. "How can you possibly say that you respect me or want to aid me if you think me too naive to serve Mercy?! Have I not— have I NOT proven my devotion to Her beyond all measure? Am I not carrying a tangible form of Her gifts? Did She not embrace me?! Do we not have a stronger bond than any other?"

You're intensely aware of how rude you're being. Accusing another church leader of having a weaker tie to his own patron is outrageously offensive, but you can't care. You're glaring, and it's all you can do to not punch Father Wilhelm for his own slander. He's entirely over the line, no matter how honest he's attempting to be with you.

"Father Anscham, I have never questioned your devotion for an instant. Regardless of the relationship anyone has with their patron, you know that Mercy loves you. I hate to be the one to have to spell this out for you, but that is the only thing you seem to know with any certainty."

"I have spent my entire life in devotion to Them. I have sacrificed everything for Them."

"The Gods, yes. Not the church, and not our people, and— how can I put this—"

"You took no issue speaking so candidly before, Father Wilhelm. Why stop now?"

His smile is infuriating, but it persists. "Because I do respect your devotion. It's unwavering, even though it seems entirely unfounded. You've been made to abuse Them, and still have no idea what a healthy relationship is meant to look like."

You soften your grimace. The damn soot is in your eyes.

"I don't want to be another casualty, Father Anscham. I can't tell you in one night what the Church of Mercy should have been teaching you all of your life, but I'm going to do everything I can to help you, still."

"Why—" It's becoming harder and harder to not cry. There's still a great deal of anger laced through the injustice in every word leaving your cracked and scarred lips. "Why did the Church treat me like they did?"

"I still don't believe I fully understand the extent of it, let alone why."

You curl up as deeply around yourself as you can, despite the discomfort it causes. Ray drops himself firmly next to your side, giving you someone else to hold onto. You keep to yourself— relieved at least for his lack of judgement— but you're too upset to oblige him.

Several very long moments pass. The crackle of the hearth isn't nearly enough of a distraction to stave off the memory. "They sheltered me, as the Church of Mercy is sworn to do. No one from Pontos— no one who'd heard of what I'd done— would be able to harm me. The Church of Vengeance wouldn't execute me. They gave my parents a new home. Better land. A better life." There's no more anger in your voice. It all comes tumbling out. "Away from me. They restrained me— from harming anyone else— from harming myself. They taught me, knowing I would never be a part of the church— but they still took enough pity on me to ensure that I could appear functional enough, while—"

There's no seeing the fire. As much as your vision is blurring, you bury your face in your arms, and curl into yourself. You need something to hold onto.

"While they tested me. I never should have survived my first invocation. I wanted to prove myself, I wanted to be stronger— I still do, Father Wilhelm— more than anything. I couldn't have realized. I didn't know. It's been thirty-two times now, Father Wilhelm. Thirty-two times that I've escaped the Catalyst. Thirty-two times that I've prayed to Vengeance." Misery carries through what little information you have worth repeating. "I know that even Father Pevrel cannot channel Him."

A simple nod confirms your research.

You draw in even more tightly on yourself. "The Church of Mercy didn't care— I'm certain that they never did— about keeping me alive. I have been a burden on them all my life, and they've done everything— everything in their power to hide their intentions from me. I couldn't have known what damage I was doing to my body, my mind, my soul— not out of desperation to prove myself and certainly not as I risked life and limb to uphold my oaths. My bonds— everything that I hold dear, everything that I've ever known—"

It's impossible to not fidget with the gold around your neck. It's so warm to the touch, and it's not from the fire beside you. "Mercy has never hurt me in the same way as the church. I could call upon Her at will from such a young age. My first sermon to Her saved the lives of hundreds. She's always granted me and Our children relief from our pain. She's never starved me, or kept me in the dark. Her light— Her blessing— I know that I've never been alone. Not in the same way as being watched, or held down. Not to be made to abuse Their gifts and never knowing why."

Your shoulders are shaking. They might as well be bare. "Having my vessel so scarred that it's plain to see to anyone who looks at me that I— that I have never known Them in the way as any other priest—"

A hand marred with shades of blue rests on your shoulder. You look up to Father Wilhelm teary-eyed, and are met with a smile. "There are plenty of men and women in Corcaea who have called upon Them without ever having been a part of Their family. You're still blessed beyond belief, to be able to have called upon so many of Them. They love you, Father Anscham— even if the Church of Mercy has shown you no such devotion. I'm terribly sorry for what they've done to you."

"Is this really— really such a such a surprise— just look at me—" You don't pull back from the hand on your shoulder, unwind your arms, or make any indication of wanting anyone to actually look at you. "I— it feels as though I'm accused of being a demon more and more often. What could anyone in Corcaea actually think of me? What could they possibly know about me?"

"Next to nothing. You're a very soft-spoken man, and— please don't take any offense— but I am under the impression that you have kept very few friends."

The hand on your shoulder, the weight of the flask in your pocket, fond memories, and immediate reassurance of people who want to help you despite everything you've done staves off the worst of your self-pity. You simply nod your head, trying to fight back breaking into sobs.

"Father Anscham, most citizens in Corcaea know you as a figure of devotion, and a beacon of faith for the common man. You've saved countless lives during your work. You have always deferred judgement to your elders. You've always presented yourself as a man of the cloth, and have remained humble to an extreme, despite having so much responsibility thrust upon you. At such a young age— regardless of your history— your behavior has been nothing short of commendable."

"Then— then why—? Why did no one make more of an effort to stop me? From entering the ruins, from— from how badly I've been hurt—"

Several puffs on Father Wilhelm's cigar seems to be the full extent of his ability to quell the apology written all over his face. "You make Mother Aimar seem fairly sociable, Father Anscham. The way that the Gods work through you is terrifying to an extreme. The power you wield— Their collective blessing— is something that has likely had the King's attention from the moment you were found on your little farm in Pontos. You have been a threat to the Church of Mercy's stability from the first moment they took you in— and if I may be so bold, is surely the reason you've been treated as poorly as you have. Perhaps their heart was in the right place, to aid you in controlling your gifts. Perhaps they wished to do nothing more than make you less of a threat— but I strongly suspect that is not the case. The situation is very delicate, Father Anscham."

"What can I expect, when— when I return?"

"No rest to speak of! No small measure of political turmoil, a congregation that you rescued from the depths of the ruins that refuses to be seen by the Church of Spirit, a number of extremely irate priests who were quite comfortable in your absence, and, well—" Eyes laced with divinity stares directly at the holy Relic resting openly against your chest. Though you're still drawn in on yourself, you suspect he can see its radiance even without looking directly upon the item.

You pull your arms in even tighter, as if it could keep the world away. "Are they going to— to try and take it away from me—"

"I don't know, Father Anscham. I have never seen such an item, but it would be my honor to do everything in my power to help you interpret its purpose."

Slowly, you unwind yourself, sitting back upright and taking the chain from your neck to hold it freely before you. Without touching the item, you hold it to the light as best as you're able. The gold is so immaculate— re-purposed into your meaning, your symbol— that every flicker in the fire beside you seems to catch onto it.

There's flecks of gold in your vision as you silently invite Father Wilhelm's judgement. His eyes are downcast. You get the impression that he's been actively avoiding scrutinizing the item, and now can't bring himself to look upon it. "Father Wilhelm. What— what do you think of it?"

"There has never been a doubt in my mind that you are anything less than the Father of the Church of Mercy. The fact that you were able to use it to aid two demons and a halfling woman has raised more questions for me than anything. I still wish to answer everything you need to know, Father Anscham, but I would be lying to you if I said it hasn't disturbed me to an extreme that you have taken such little time to research this item."

Your grimace is back as quickly as it left. "Time is a commodity I have never had, Father Wilhelm."

"We have plenty right here, right now. Would you do me the extreme service of discussing this at some length? We may not have the opportunity to do so with such discretion again. Not for a very long while."

"After everything that I have been through, Father Wilhelm—" You tighten your grasp on the chain underhand, struggling to convey just how much it took to obtain your Relic. "I cannot think of a single more important thing for us to discuss. We can— we will come back to my concerns. What questions do you have for me?"

"This was a gift from an archdemon?"

"Yes."

"She never told you of its uses or purposes, did she?"

"No."

"Why do you think she was so eager to part with it?"

"She was dying, Father Wilhelm."

"Do you think that she gave it to you for a reason?"

"Of— of course. I proved myself worthy of carrying it—"

"Isn't it suspicious that an archdemon was in possession of such an item?"

Your disgust is absolute. "Idonea was once a Mother of the Church of Mercy. She was more than deserving of possessing it—"

"But what is it, really? You never opened it, and didn't know of its purpose before using It to aid Beltoro, isn't that right?"

"I was dying, Father Wilhelm. Idonea was dying. There was no Time—"

"It's their fault that you were, Father Anscham. The item could have been left to you easily, if the archdemon—"

"Idonea."

"If Idonea was so pressed for Time."

"Stranger coincidences have happened even since I departed from the ruins. I'm— I'm certain that everything that has happened was for good reason—"

"Even what you did for Beltoro?"

"Especially what I did for Beltoro. I do not regret anything, Father Wilhelm."

"Your gift— your blessing— destroyed the Relic's original form, did it not?"

"Yes."

"How similar is it now, in function and form?"

"It— Mercy's blessing still grants me relief from my pain, if I take it in hand. When I reshaped the locket, I kept its form to a degree, but the similarities—"

You look upon your emblem, its duality, and all of the power concealed beneath its yellow gold. "It may as well be a different item entirely. I can look upon it with mortal eyes— save for when I work through it— but this is no longer Idonea's Relic. It bends to me. It's an extension, a reservoir, a—"

"A vessel?"

"Somewhat. Nothing like it was before. Using the Relic to aid Beltoro felt as if I had given everything I had. Its healing and protection almost— almost seems passive, now. I was able to use it to mend Ofelia's eyes without effort..." You're stumbling through your words. Recoiling from the memory of the homesick halfling having her eyesight stolen. "But the..."

Empty eye sockets. Mending with nothing but liquid gold and my bare hands.

"But the effects—"

Father Wilhelm happily interjects, pulling you away from the nightmare. "What of your alliances?"

"What— what of them?"

"From the sound of it, you and the new archdemon—"

"Yech."

"His name is disgusting."

"The Disgusted."

There's a laugh from the priest beside you, trying his best to ease your anxiety. "Your unprecedented ally seemed to have staved off half an army, thanks to your efforts. I don't claim to understand it."

"We were— are stronger, together."

The interpreter looks to you earnestly. "What do you make of your Relic, Father Anscham?"

Looking to the locket, its immaculate face, and the symbols of your work, you can't help but to take it close to you once more. While fastening the chain back around your neck and allowing the Relic to sit against your heart, you give a pained smile back to your mentor. "I feel terribly empty when I use It, Father Wilhelm. Like I've given Mercy to an object, rather than to another. It is far less taxing, and is certainly capable of healing my pain— but I have no idea how to use It to heal the pain of others. Not without giving myself to them, or causing more harm. Not for a lack of conviction, but— but, I..."

I know I'm fit to wield this power. This blessing. I was ready to sacrifice everything I had, over and over again— and it was never for abuse. Never to harm. Never to purely make use of the Relic. It was always to show Mercy.

"I can't stand the thought of it being taken from me. I have so much work to do, even now. There is so much pain, so much to be healed— not just in Corcaea— but in the ruins, and in the lands beyond our borders. I would never presume to supersede King Magnus, to overstep my position, but— Mercy, Father Wilhelm, I gave everything I had for this Relic. For the Gods." There's enough pain written across your face to almost match the admiration beaming back at you. "I can't stand the thought of it being taken from me. What is He even like? Have you met our King? What— what could he possibly even think of us—" You blink. "Of me?"

Father Wilhelm looks as if he could cry, battling as he is with getting another cigar and tossing more wood onto the hearth. "I suspect that King Magnus would be very proud of you, Father Anscham. Wasn't he the one who officially tasked you with exploring the ruins?"

"On paper, yes, but... it was more of a collaborative effort of His men. There were a number of interested parties who I appealed to. It is— it is very difficult to find anyone willing to go into the ruins with hope of returning— and I seemed like the best candidate for gathering any information, at the time. For defense, and research, you see."

It all sounds extremely suicidal and unconvincing. Each word must seem more damning than the last, but Father Wilhelm's enthusiasm carries over your insecurity.

"He not only will want to know of what you've done, Father Anscham. He deserves to know! More than anyone! Our King has been hard at work at home, and across our borders. In fact, it's highly likely that His efforts are the reason Celegwen and Ofelia stayed with you for as long as they did."

There's so little context for Father Wilhelm's words that they might as well be nonsense to you.

"I have no idea what's gone on beyond our borders, Father Wilhelm. Not merely with the Church of Mercy's efforts, but news— news is hard to come by."

"I know. It's hard for all of us. Our neighbors do not take kindly to demons, or to the Catalyst, Father Anscham. They rarely understand the distinction. I fear this subject is better suited for Father Friedrich and Father Sullivan to elaborate on— but to the best of my knowledge, our allies lie solely here, in Corcaea. To say nothing of your luck in evading an attack in the wilderness, or rescuing dozens of men from the ruins: It is nothing short of a miracle that an orc, elf and halfling all had it in them to greet you without absolute hostility. They are not our allies— and to be entirely honest, it is too much of a coincidence for them all to have been exploring in the ruins at the same time as you."

"I— I can fight demons, Father. I can preach, I can serve— I know of the weakness in the heart of mankind. But Orgoth, Celegwen and Ofelia treated me with more decency than I could have hoped for, even from another man. They tolerated me— at least, as best as they were able. Orgoth did try to kill me on sight— and Ofelia may have held me at knife point— th-they couldn't hide their mistrust of our race, but— but they were there for me, when I needed them—"

Father Wilhelm's heard your confession in full, but may have not understood the full context. New questions brew in the same look of horror that crept into his features before.

Surely you can defend how readily you trusted everyone you met in the ruins. "Even Orgoth didn't shy away from Dream's visit to me. He knew nothing of our Gods, despite his obvious prowess on the field of battle. It— it was unsettling, to an extreme. He was far too affable, given how much time he had surely spent fighting humanity—"

You pull back in on yourself, trying to take some heat from the fire behind you. It feels like there's ice running through your veins. This all is still deeply unsettling, and you sorely need respite from talk of battle and strange creatures from other lands. "What can you tell me, Father Wilhelm, of Dream?"

The Father of the Church of Dream cracks a manic smile. The swing into praise of his God is so fast that you can't help but respect him. The man clearly is as obsessed as you are. "His gifts are ancient, easily forgotten— by those who lack the vision to recognize His blessings! Yet with sufficient training and devotion, one can catch glimpses of the night. Father Anscham, the nightmares of other men, ambition not yet realized— of so much more than fantasy. Dream grants us visions of what is to come, of what has transpired before, and of things that were never meant to be. So many men look to sleep as a curse— as something to be avoided— but He is a blessing."

Having forgotten any other subject of conversation, Father Wilhelm slips further into his reverie. "The way that Dream has seen fit to work through you is miraculous. You know so little of His works, yet He has strove to aid you— to grant you relief from your pain. He cautioned you of the demons who would attempt to wrest you away from the Gods. He showed Himself to a demon! He spared the disgusted from a fate worse than death! Even when He sees fit to ease us into forgetting— into rest, into reprieve— it is all for a reason. The Gods are Merciful."

You are riveted, brimming with questions, and couldn't be more frustrated by how obtuse the priest is being. "I asked before if you could speak plainly, Father Wilhelm."

He blinks a few times. "You can't possibly expect a priest who interprets nightmares for a living to speak plainly about Dream."

"I— I can hope for more, can't I?"

"It typically takes a lifetime of devotion and work with the Church to be blessed by a God, Father Anscham. To be perfectly frank, you should be used to so much ambiguity by now."

You really are, and you still have so many unanswered questions. It's infuriating.

"Can you at least tell me what you meant in regards— in regards to my first invocation of Spirit?"

Creeping horror seems to be crawling back into those stark blue eyes. "It was a horrific abuse of Her gifts. You should have died. Many times over, by now."

"It would have been a Mercy, Father Wilhelm—"

"Please don't say things like that. This is exactly what I meant. You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, Father Anscham, but your abuse of the Goddess..."

He trails off, cringing, managing to keep his cigar between his teeth despite the intense hesitation written all over his face. It's abundantly clear that for all of the priest's talk about transparency, this is one thing he doesn't want to get into.

Music

"I know it was abuse. I've been told so much— learned so much— I've heard such horrible things, Father Wilhelm. It's as I said before: I have no use for pride. No matter how ugly the truth may be, I've— I've felt uglier— been called worse things..."

He's done everything in his power to treat me with kindness and respect, even knowing what I've been through.

You draw further into yourself, looking earnestly to the man beside you. His hesitation to speak doesn't subside.

No. I'm sure it's because of it.

"Can you please— please answer a few more questions for me, as honestly as you are able? It's— I understand, if you want to sugar-coat things. If you must. But I can take it, Father Wilhelm—"

He pulls you firmly into a hug, and obviously doesn't want you wrest yourself away from affection.

It's as if a hot poker has been driven up your spine.

Every inch of your body tenses.

So does the hold.

"Father Wilhelm, Mercy— you really don't need to—"

"No. I do. Talking to another person shouldn't be something you have to suffer through."

"Will you please answer my question, then?"

"Rich— Father Anscham, this is the best way we can show our devotion to Spirit. Learning of one another, giving, and taking knowledge that's given. With respect, and with the same love we wish to share with our Goddess. Calling upon Her to endure what never should have been given to you is more than enough to overwhelm anyone. To break anyone. I can't even begin to imagine what's going on in that scruffy head of yours. Didn't Father Sullivan do anything to try and help you?"

There's a battle raging in your skull. You're torn between brutal honesty, sparing yourself any further pain, and not breaking down sobbing from someone treating you with so much genuine kindness.

Your voice cracks with the same intensity as your thoughts. "He— he tried, Father Wilhelm. To help me learn..."

White hair, white eyes, and the white skin of a man looking upon a small and hurt little boy cuts across cold memories. He did nothing to take him away, and everything in his power to help that little boy cope. Everything he could to get him to learn, despite everything he had endured.

"I was so scared. I pushed him away so many times. It's all I knew how to do— to protect myself— I couldn't understand why he wouldn't make it all stop." You're tensing so hard that a headache is forming. "I still don't understand. I told him I hated him. I said so many terrible things— and he— he eventually stopped trying."

You've been resting your head on the shoulder beside you without even realizing it. The paint-streaked priest is more than content to simply listen and offer you as much support as he's physically able, and hasn't once pulled away.

"I never could have realized, how— how badly I needed this. Not until it was too late. Not until he was gone. I failed him. Do you think he could ever forgive me? " It's impossible to stop the compulsion for comfort. You wrap your arms around Father Wilhelm as tightly as you can, with a need for more than answers.

"Do you think I deserve a second chance?"

"Of course. Let me be as clear as possible, Father Anscham: he failed you."

"You— you don't know what it was like—"

"There's no excuse."

"I wanted to hurt him! I couldn't in any other way— not— Mercy, not while I was restrained— he wouldn't listen, Father Wilhelm. I begged, I— I must have pleaded a thousand times for him to help me understand, and he couldn't ever tell me why. I couldn't do anything to him. He knew there was something wrong with me. He— I know he— was afraid of me, too." This is all so deeply buried in the depths of your mind that no tears surface with it. There is only deep nausea, and the overwhelming desire to not let go of the savior at your side.

"There's nothing to forgive. You deserve more than a second chance, Father Anscham. I know you asked me to sugar-coat this, but..." The arms around you tighten. There's probably ash getting on the back of your shirt, but you don't care. "...it sounds like you were never given a chance to begin with. It's alright. We're going to fix this."

"How? How can I possibly—"

"Don't ever tell anyone I said this—"

"Don't ask me to lie."

"I was trying to make a joke!"

"It wasn't funny."

"Listen. I can't help but agree with your archdemon. Idonea. She had the right idea! Learn to feel, to learn, to grow. You're sharp as a tack. You're the most resilient man I've ever met. Your bravery and selflessness—"

"Mercy, Father Wilhelm—"

"No, really, you need to hear this. There's never— not in recorded history, and certainly not here in Corcaea— been an alliance between an archdemon and a church leader. You've saved countless lives, Father Anscham. There is a congregation waiting for you back home who all owe their souls to you. You owe it to everyone to save yourself, too."

So many compliments and things you already know only feels as if they're obscuring what you really need. "How? Why will no one tell me anything I need? How can I possibly— I don't even know where to begin. I have no idea what I'm doing. I never have."

"You will. These things take more than Time. I promise, you'll be alright."

Father Wilhelm gently pulls back to place both of his hands firmly on your shoulders. Though he looks exhausted and his eyes are swimming with melancholy, there's a smile written across his face.

"Today wasn't so bad, was it?"

You meet the smile directed at you with a grimace, dry eyes, and a voice full of conviction. "It wasn't. I know you are doing everything in your power to treat me with kindness, Father Wilhelm, and I deeply appreciate it. While I— I can't pretend as if I'm fine after a single day of leisure..." A sigh escapes you as you straighten up, looking ahead with as much determination as you can muster. "I will continue to try. It's as you said. These things take more than Time."

The priest before you keeps his hold on your shoulders. His haunting expression is replaced with so much pride that you have to glance away.

Ray has been diligently staying by your side through the evening, though you've been so overwhelmed that you've hardly noticed him there. You feel both of their stares boring into you— and want to pull away— but the hands persisting on your spindly frame keep you grounded.

"We'll have more than Time to set things right, Father Anscham. Much more. I'm certain you don't hear this often enough, but I'm so proud of you. Your devotion to Mercy's tenets must be without parallel."

A grin finally comes back to your face. It's one compliment you can't refuse.

The hands on your shoulder part, and Father Wilhelm pulls the paintbrush out of his hair. The way he musses the brunette strands without disturbing his nightcap is impressive, and reminds you immediately that you've been wearing an equally absurd hat throughout such a serious conversation. You adjust the hat awkwardly, marveling at the Father of Dream's capacity to either ignore what's directly in front of him, or his complete willingness to overlook it.

His grin softens. A vague gesture is made to the room you've been granted during your stay. "I can't imagine you getting much sleep. While there's anything left of the night, would you like for me to get you a few candles? Is there anything else you may need?"

You can't help but shift uncomfortably. It's not from how sickeningly full you still are, or the continued looks you're being given by your friends. "It would make me feel significantly better to have my journal back, Father Wilhelm— along with all of my other things."

The surprise and immediate embarrassment directed at you is so intense that you almost feel sorry for asking. "By all the Gods, Father Anscham. I had completely forgotten! Give me just a moment!"

"Wait—"

You catch the priest, who rose so quickly to his feet that he's already put some distance between you both down the main hall. For his age and build, his energy continues to surprise you.

A ridiculously long nightcap whips around to face you. "My mistake. The candles, then?"

"Just one, Father Wilhelm. For Mercy."

A look of so much respect is directed towards you that you can't help but to get back to your feet, and smile back. As men of the cloth, you don't need to spell out that you need the finest material he can spare for your devotion. Father Wilhelm simply gives you a nod, and wordlessly sets off.

Your other companion still seems to be deeply enjoying the warmth and respite of the hearth. You have a place to make a fire in your own quarters, but you decide to leave Ray to his rest as you leave the main hall.

You are the Father of the Church of Mercy, and you wish to spend an evening with the Mother.