"Filthy, murderous heretic!"

"Harlot— a taint upon Xipe!"

Sunday's mother heard it all.

She didn't want Sunday, no. The moment she realised that she was going to have a child, she was struck with horror. She was too young, she was unmarried—

Her parents and family shunned her for something out of her very control, and even moreso as she begged for a way to stop it, to abort this child.

She had no one to raise this child with, not in this hellish world, in which she now had no one. She couldn't go anywhere. And if she dare care for herself, she would be a murder.

She holds her hand up in prayer, and holds a child in her arms months later. Part of her hated this, hated this binding more than anything. An unwanted taint. It wasn't his fault.

He grew up a kind hearted boy: incredibly warm and selfless, unable to even consider himself.

Mother gave her baby boy a sister soon after, out of obligation and guilt for forcing the boy to be alone. Birds of a feather: they would never leave each other's side.

Rest in peace, dear mother, for the Stellaron took her from her mistakes. And although she didn't mind them in the end, they still were unwanted. Sunday always knew he wasn't wanted. He thought that was what he was supposed to be, a helper. Born to help.

And he sees, now an adult shining his holy light upon Penacony, a child walking the streets as he did. But not for food and money as he would, it was for a home. Where his mother resisted despite being unwilling, these parents left there child behind.

His heart, gold and brittle ached for this child, ached from empathy, from déja vu and from benevolence.

Each night, he would see this little kid wondering for a place to go, shivering with cold, thinning from malnourishment. Until he couldn't wait. His deemed rich hands and white gloves are willingly tainted by touching that of a pauper. But class is nothing, Penacony helped the weak. He holds this child in his arms.

"Where are your parents? Do you even have a place to go, young one?"