Saint Nina swept the young beastkin’s feathery blond hair from his brow. It had been only a few months since his arrival at her temple, yet he had spoken barely a word. Still, she felt a strange familiarity with the boy, something she could not quite place. He had arrived with the cleric, Eustes, who warned her of the child’s tendency to react violently at the slightest unexpected touch. Nina knew, even without Eustes’ explanation, that the boy had been through extensive trauma; it was obvious to anyone who could see the wounds on his body when he arrived. She had healed his physical state, but she knew the scars to his psyche would take much longer to mend.

Eustes had spun a curious tale for their order during his stay in the temple, to rest from his journey bringing the beastkin boy. He had attempted to carry the blond-haired youth up the many steps to their door, struggling so hard that Nina herself had rushed out to assist him, followed by other members of their order. When all was settled and he sat with everyone in the main dining hall, they were the first to receive his journey. In Eustes’ mind, his meeting the beastkin boy had been one of chance. He had explained how, during his trek through the jungles of Dolmas, everything that could go wrong had gone wrong: bandit attacks, flooding, even a small earthquake, all leading him to stumble upon the unconscious blond youth. Eustes was known as a firm believer in the predestined and Nina had guessed at his explanation of the circumstances. He claimed it was all too apparent these happenings pointed to only a single conclusion—the direct influence of the gods.

Nina had requested of those present for Eustes’ recounting that they would keep it in confidence; she ordered them to secrecy, but gently. Nina had known right away that, if the tale were true and if that sequence of events were an intervention in fate, then this boy was much more than meets the eye. Very few individuals throughout Talmus’ history had earned the interest of the divine; those who had, they often became known as the very voices of the gods. In that capacity, those called would serve as the heads of their Faith and were known as saints.

Nina herself had such a calling. She felt a certain pity for the beastkin child. If he had a calling like her own, then his journey ahead would be grueling and lasting, perhaps more than even hers. There remained only one domain of the Faith that lacked its voice: solar. The Sun Temple, the seat of power for the Saint of Flames, was located within the Lorian Empire far to the north. A Saint of Flames had not held that seat in centuries; the suspicious death of the last sitting Saint of Flames led many orders of the Faith to speculate on the Sun Temple’s true practices.

Nina hummed thoughtfully. Despite her grim predictions of the future, of what the gods may have in store for the beastkin, she had hoped the boy’s fate could be a gentle one for as long as possible. Despite her careful attention, he conflicted with other residents and had reacted poorly to their busy halls from his first moments at the temple. Overwhelmed, he had kept to himself. He had been transferred between multiple shared bedchambers: his dreams were plagued with night terrors, such that those present often heard his sleeping calls for help. The temple’s high priestess, Amani, brought Nina further curious news. She explained that the child had told her of a vision he had received while abandoned in the desert. Even at the start, Amani had mentioned her skepticism towards taking the beastkin youth into the temple; hearing of his visions made her only more determined to see him gone.

Nina knew, after all the details, all the stories, and the lingering strangeness, that this boy was special to the gods. She explained as such to Amani. The high priestess nodded and knelt before her. “Saint Nina, let me take the boy to his room,” Amani whispered, staring at the one held in Nina’s arms.

The saint shook her head. “I’ll hold him only a bit longer, Amani,” she replied softly. She looked down and stroked his honeyed locks with a slow hand. The saint felt a peacefulness, in the knowledge that she was able to offer a place of comfort to this lost soul. Before this night, she had regretted only that the child still lacked a name. Whatever his previous one had been, he had refused to speak it and Eustes had not known it. Nina had offered to provide him a new name, in the hope she might find something suitable that he could make his own. Instead, she was surprised when he decided to choose one for himself. Nina smiled as she recalled how he finally approached her with it: nervous, shuffling his feet and tugging at the hem of his chiton. Cautiously, he had beckoned her closer, and she knelt beside him, until he whispered a name to her with his hand cupped to her ear—Lumi. At the time, her expression had brightened right away as she had recalled its meaning in High Talman, an ancient language of Talmus. Light bringer. She mused that it would be a fitting name for the imminent Saint of Flames, but did not mention it to the boy.

Nina looked up from him to address Amani. “I’ll put Lumi to bed,” she whispered.