The Regressor of a Saint

Kidnapped?

Darkness.

The kind that imprisons your senses and steals your breath. It pressed up against his ears, seeped into his lungs, and wrapped around his body like a suffocating shroud.

Yet...

He felt at ease.

It was quiet, peaceful, and oddly comforting in some ways. It cradled him, made the urge to resist slowly fade away.

Despite the fact that he was vaguely aware that something wasn't quite right, he had no interest in finding out what it was.

With a faint, contented sigh, he surrendered and sank deeper into the abyss, letting himself slip further into the comforting peace.

However, this feeling didn't last for long.

Before he could fully immerse himself in the comforting darkness, a foreign touch roused him—a gentle hand stroking his head.

His eyes snapped open, adjusting slowly to the new darkness around him. This darkness was different—colder, unsafe.

His surroundings were dimly lit by the flickering flames of a candle held in a metal bracket next to a wooden door. Shadows danced eerily on the walls, revealing the confines of a carriage. A carriage he certainly hadn't seen before.

He turned his head and met the warm, unfamiliar eyes of a man he had never met.

Alert and without any means of defence, he quickly composed himself, shifting his small legs underneath him so they hung off the edge of the seat, ready to run if anything were to happen. Still keeping an eye on the stranger, he carefully formulated a plan to escape this unforeseen situation.

However, before he could, the stranger spoke first.

"Easy there, kid. There's no need to be so wary of me." The voice was gentle, smooth, with a subtle hint of a southern accent.

The stranger's dark brown eyes locked onto the boy's, a broad smile spreading across his scarred face, the lines crinkling with a mix of warmth and something more calculating.

"The name's Cian, and before you label me as a bad person in that tiny head of yours, let little old me explain what led to this odd situation."

The child's gaze, sharp and mistrustful, remained fixed on the man. The carriage's dim light accentuated the shadows on Cian's face, making the scars appear deeper, more menacing. Finally, the boy gave a small nod, acknowledging him.

Cian sighed, a sound of both relief and amusement, before continuing, "You were found on a deserted beach, and as I am its caretaker, accountable for everything that happens there, I couldn't just leave you lying on the cold, filthy ground. 

It was against my nature and principles to leave a young child such as yourself in the wild without any form of shelter or supervision. So, I decided to bring you along with me."

As Cian began to explain himself, he kept a close eye on the child. his gaze wandering over the areas of exposed skin that could be seen through the tattered clothes that he wore.

As Cian spoke, his eyes roved over the boy's frame, taking in the tattered remnants of what might once have been clothes.

The fabric was stained with dirt and salt, clinging loosely to the child's frail shoulders like a discarded old towel. Both sides of the shirt were torn and frayed, exposing patches of pale, grimy skin underneath. 

The boy's pants were no better, with gaping holes at the knees and countless other small tears scattered throughout. They hung loosely around his hips, more akin to rags than actual garments.