𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇

SIX

"I'll be cooking our own meals from now on," Y/n told Lucas, "do not accept anything the church gives you."

Lucas pouted, an adorable expression on his face. Y/n's hearts were tugged at the strings, and he looked at the child with a pained expression. Did children really deserve to live in such a society? Such a twisted, immoral society? Did anyone really deserve such a cruel fate bestowed on them? Did—did he deserve it? His sanity was slowly being tested and Y/n wondered if Father Anton's goal was to push him until the edge of a precipice: until he could no longer hold on, until he would fall.

The session at the reconciliation room hadn't just been strange. It had been baffling. Anton's supposed intentions and his actions contradicted each other. He was like a walking, living breaking of the word contradiction in itself. He spoke one word: he spoke God's word, then acted like the devil. Like Satan.

"But that's rude." Lucas protested.

"And dangerous." Y/n added, sighing. "Look, kid. It—imagine your favorite candy, alright?"

"I never really had candy," Lucas's shoulder slumped.

"No matter. My mother taught me how to make some sweets," Y/n told him, "I'll make them for you if you're good. But think of something you really like to eat: and then imagine someone puts something dangerous inside—"

"Oh, like those yucky vegetables!" Lucas interrupted.

"Like those," Y/n agreed, "obviously, you wouldn't want to eat those, right? But sometimes the church—they, um, hide those inside. So it's not very safe."

Lucas immediately pulled a ew, yuck! face, and Y/n smiled fondly at him. It was refreshing, and gave Y/n relief to see that at least, he had maintained his previous childhood naïveté. Too many children had their childhoods corroded with the teachings and their naivety whisked away by the unforgiving world they were raised up in, with the strange ideals and less than perfect roles they were given.

To start with, this child has had to witness the destruction of his home and the slaughter of his friends... Y/n swallowed, shaking his head nervously. No. No. Even that horrifying thought was etched in his memory, and as Mills would have put it, burnt into the back of his head.

"But you'll make me some sweets, right?" Lucas pleaded.

"I sure will," Y/n ruffled his hair, "and oh, do you attend school?"

"Only those who make good offerings can," The little boy frowned.

Dang it! Y/n forgot about that, unfortunately. Helen had been the one to create such a horrible hierarchical system.

"It's no good anyways," Y/n said truthfully, "I'm no expert myself, but I can still teach you the basics: arithmetic, language, and basic survival skills."

"Isn't this rebelling against the church?" Lucas fiddled with his fingers, "I'm a sinner. The people told me so. Should I really be—be—"

Y/n understood Lucas's fears. In fact, he shared the same visceral sentiment. This was risky. A sinner helping another sinner was extremely risky, especially when said sinner was teaching a little boy the very opposite of what the church encouraged them to learn. But Anton hadn't exactly specified on teaching what, right? So Y/n was willing to take the risk for now.

"Anton—Father Anton allowed it."

Only a half lie.

"Oh," Lucas brightened up, "okay, then. Thanks, um..."

Y/n knew that the children didn't exactly know how Father Anton looked. They had only heard myths, stories—and they revered him. Like he was God.