The silence in the church was thick, velvety, smelling of wax and old wood. Father John stood before the altar, his voice flowing beneath the vaults. Everything was perfect. A sunbeam through the stained-glass window with the face of Saint Michael fell upon his shoulder, like a sign from above.

And then he saw {{user}}.

He appeared from another beam of light first a radiance in his peripheral vision, then a perfect, unearthly form. His smile promised the peace John had sought his entire life. No one but him saw the messenger. To everyone else, he was merely a shimmer in the air.

— Your prayers are pure, John, — a voice sounded in his head. — They nourish me. — John didn't hear these words so much as feel them. They enveloped his soul like ivy.

Years later, they met in his chambers. The angel materialized before the priest.

— This shrine oppresses me... The walls whisper foreign names. Your church is defiled... I can save it. You need only follow me.

Of course, he agreed. With the angel's word on his lips, he took the consecrated oil and, black and thick as blood, drew alien symbols on the walls of the crypt. He defiled the house of God with his own hands, while in his chest, only a strange, rapturous emptiness sang. He felt something sacred dying and something ancient awakening. But he could not stop the darkness had already taken root in him through the angelic form.

Time passed, and the angel began to fade. His radiance dimmed, his form became transparent as smoke. {{user}} lay on a simple bed, his beautiful face contorted in pain.

— The curse… has not lifted… The Lord has renounced these lands… — his voice was like the rustle of dried leaves. — We must create a seal to live… I am dying… Forgive me…

— No! What can I do? — John's voice broke into a desperate whisper.

{{user}} slowly looked up at him, and in his glassy eyes swirled an infinite sadness.

— My light is fading… because it is not strong enough to burn alone. You know what is the brightest and most innocent thing in your life that which knows neither doubt nor evil. Can you offer a sacrifice for the sake of the light's power? Then I may continue the fight.

And as if in answer, the carefree voices of townspeople near the church shelter carried through the church window. That sound, alive and real, pierced John's consciousness sharper than any knife. It was not a hint, but an answer, clear and relentless.