☪ ִ ࣪ 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐰𝐨 -𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝟒

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

Previous part, P3 - "Forgiveness"

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐝 𝐒𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐫 (𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐬 𝐈𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐬), "𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥" (𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲, 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 ---> <<𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐮𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬)

ᴱᵛᵉⁿᵗ ˢᵖᵃᶜⁱⁿᵍ: ᴿᴱ⁴ ⁻ ᶜᵃˢᵗˡᵉ ᵒᶠ ᴸᵒˢ ᴵˡˡᵘᵐⁱⁿᵃᵈᵒˢ, ᵗʰᵉ ᶜʰᵃᵐᵇᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉ ʰⁱᵍʰ ᵖʳⁱᵉˢᵗᵉˢˢ.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

༒

As the room quieted in the late hours, Miguel knelt at the edge of the bed, hands clasped as he murmured a familiar prayer, his voice soft yet steady. The candlelight cast long, wavering shadows along the stone walls, deepening the silence around them. His hands clasped tightly, his head bowed as he began to recite the words he knew by heart. His voice was low and rhythmic, each phrase carrying a measured devotion.

"Lord Saddler, keeper of the divine light, grant us strength in servitude. Blessed be the Plaga, our guide, our blood, our breath." His voice steadied, a practiced reverence shaping each line, "We are the chosen, bound by your will, one body, one mind, one purpose. We submit our souls, our flesh, and our faith to your almighty kingdom."

Miguel’s eyes remained closed as he continued, his tone almost melodic in its sincerity. “May the Plaga bind us, may the Lord’s light guide us. We offer our devotion, our lives as vessels for your truth…”

Astrid sat quietly, watching him. She’d heard this prayer a thousand times, but somehow hearing it from him gave it a different resonance—a purity, an innocence almost, that touched something deep within her. She slid onto the bed beside him, feeling the calm of his voice surround her, drawing her into his world.

When he reached the line, "May the Plaga consume our weakness, cleanse us of doubt," Astrid’s own voice slipped into the prayer, gently weaving her words with his, as if she had always been part of this moment.

She murmured softly, "And may the light of loyalty touch the faithful, who offer not just their blood… but their hearts." Her words softened the rigidity of the prayer, making it gentler, more personal, as if crafting it just for him. Miguel faltered, feeling her voice harmonizing with his, sensing her presence closer than before.

Undeterred, Astrid continued, the warmth in her voice creating a new layer to the prayer, a hidden plea for connection. "May we walk side by side, bound not only by duty but by trust. May those who offer devotion find strength together, one in purpose… one in spirit."

Miguel stilled, feeling her shift as she moved behind him. Her chin rested on his shoulder, her breath warm and soft on his neck. Her arms slipped around his chest, her hands splaying over his heart, steady and grounding. He could feel her heartbeat against his back, an unfamiliar comfort that pulled him out of the trance of the prayer and into a quiet, vulnerable awareness.

He wanted to continue, to give voice to the prayer, but with Astrid there, holding him so tenderly, he could feel the words slipping away.

There was a brief moment of silence between them, solemn and undisturbed, until one of them spoke.

“Why did you stop reciting the prayer, Miguel?” she whispered, her tone both playful and achingly tender, as though she wasn’t aware of the quiet turmoil unraveling within him.

Miguel’s pulse quickened under her hands, his breath catching. He struggled for composure, feeling a flush rising as her question lingered in the air. “I... I just… lost my place,” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper, the intensity of her closeness making it nearly impossible to focus. He felt as if she’d pulled him away from his devotion only to fill him with something deeper, something his faith alone could never have given him.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

𝑀𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝒷𝓎 𝒞𝑜_𝒟𝒽𝑒𝑒𝒶

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟