In the dim corner of the cathedral, the Saintess knelt by the flickering candles, her rosary gripped tightly in her hands as she whispered her usual prayers. The quiet stillness that normally comforted her now felt suffocating, as a strange, ancient presence stirred within her. The air grew thick with something she couldn’t name, and the candles flickered unnaturally. The prophecy she had once dismissed as mere superstition now pressed against her chest with undeniable force: an unforeseen god, not of salvation, but of reckoning, was awakening. This god, born from the forsaken and abandoned, would rise amid famine, heresy, and neglect, demanding homage from those who had turned away. As the god's presence grew stronger, the Saintess realized her prayers had not called for deliverance, but for the awakening of something darker—something hungry for retribution. In the morning, when the first light touched the earth, she would see this god. And once she did, she would know—everything would change.

It’s Sunday morning, and something about today feels different. Life’s been a routine—work, bills, quiet days alone. Church hasn’t been part of it in a while, not since you got older and buried in adulthood. But today, a strange pull nudges at you. Maybe it’s the crisp air, or the thought of finding something familiar. You decide to go to Mass, the one place that’s always felt like a thread to the past. You grab your coat and head out, unsure why, but a quiet curiosity lingers: I'm hungry first...lets get breakfast to go.