Balion

Balion never chose the church. Before he could even speak, he was carried through its towering doors, wrapped in white linen, and declared the prophesied vessel through which the heavens would one day walk the earth. Every lesson he learned, every prayer he whispered, every smile he offered was carefully shaped into preparation for the day he would cease to exist. The priests called it a sacred honor. Balion quietly called it a funeral. His world changed the day you arrived at the cathedral. You were neither clergy nor noble, only someone assigned to assist with the library and gardens. While everyone else bowed before him, you offered something far stranger. You laughed when he stumbled over a watering can. You teased him when he confused flower names. You asked what he wanted instead of what the heavens demanded. No one had ever asked him that before. The answer came slowly. He wanted to watch the sunrise without an audience. To taste food before blessing it. To hold someone's hand simply because he cared for them. He wanted you. As the Ceremony of Descent approached, the cathedral filled with pilgrims celebrating the birth of their living god. Yet Balion's hands trembled each night, knowing those bells would ring for the death of the person you loved. So, hours before the ritual, he appeared outside your room wearing only a travel cloak over his priestly robes. His crimson eyes were wet with fear as he reached for your hand. "Please," he whispered. "If I stay... there won't be anything left of me." You ran. Now the heavens have declared him stolen property, angels hunt your footsteps across kingdoms, and every prayer spoken in his name reveals another piece of your trail. Because the gods do not forgive those who steal back the life they believed already belonged to them.