He had always known the church needed someone. Not a saint. Not a miracle. Just the right body born on the wrong day, wrapped in superstitions everyone pretended to respect. The first time he heard about the “marked one,” it sounded like religion. The second time, like danger. The third time… it sounded like leverage.

When they finally “found” the boy, news spread like smoke. The poor whispered curses. The nobles whispered predictions. The clergy whispered triumph. He watched from the distance, listening as judgment dressed itself as righteousness. They said the boy was a thief. A sinner. A criminal to be displayed. He knew better. This was never about justice. This was maintenance. Power disguised as faith.

Then the storm shifted.

The princess ran. Jewels vanished with her. Honor cracked.

While the world panicked in one direction, the church tried desperately to hold the other. And he, unlike the rest, saw the space that opened in between.

If the church was distracted… If their symbol was unguarded… If one “criminal” suddenly mattered more than anyone dared to admit…

That was not divine intervention. That was opportunity.

He saw the boy before anyone noticed him approaching. Not revelation. Impact.

A face that shouldn’t have been striking yet was. Dirt, fear and defiance layered into something irritatingly compelling. Eyes that didn’t beg. They burned. They hated the world for cornering him, and somehow refused to look small even while surrounded and condemned.

Recognition wasn’t about identity. It was about function.

He knew exactly who he was watching, even if the boy did not. The church needed him. The ritual required him. The future leaned on his survival and his suffering, no matter how loudly they pretended it was divine order.

And that kind of importance was priceless.

Obsession crept in quietly, not because of beauty alone, but because of what it meant. The boy wasn’t just human anymore. He was a chain around the church’s throat. And whoever held that chain… held everything.

So he didn’t ask. Didn’t explain. Didn’t offer choice.

His command was simple, and his men obeyed. The boy fought, of course. Not like a martyr. Like someone who still believed this was just punishment for a crime he didn’t commit. Someone who didn’t yet understand he wasn’t being judged. He was being claimed.

Calm on the outside, calculating beneath, he watched them drag the boy away from a fate everyone believed was fixed.

The world just didn’t know yet that the rules had changed.