The room was small. Maybe ten feet by ten feet. Clean. Organized.
But falling apart.
Water stains spread across the ceiling like dark clouds. The wallpaper peeled in long strips, revealing cracked plaster beneath. The floorboards groaned with every shift of weight, some rotted through completely, patched over with mismatched wood.
In the corner, an ancient air conditioning unit clung to the wall. It hummed—not the steady drone of working machinery, but something arrhythmic. Wrong. Whirr-click-click-clunk. Whirr-click-click-clunk. Like it was struggling to breathe.
The man kneeling in the center of the room didn't seem to notice. He faced a small altar set against the far wall. It was simple. A wooden crate turned on its side, draped with faded purple cloth. On top sat a small statue—a bird carved from pale stone. A dove, maybe, or a sparrow. The details were worn smooth by time or touch.
Feathers surrounded it. Dozens of them. White, gray, brown—all arranged in careful circles around the statue like offerings. Some were pristine. Others were stained, torn, barely recognizable as feathers anymore.
The man's hands were pressed together in prayer, his head bowed.
He was thin. Too thin. His clothes hung loose on his frame—a simple shirt and pants, both clean but threadbare. His dark hair was cut short, almost military-style. His skin was pale, like he didn't see sunlight often.
He whispered as he prayed. The words were barely audible over the struggling air conditioner.
"…grant me clarity. Grant me purpose. Let me see my path…"
Whirr-click-click-clunk.
"…let your wings spread,
Protect what you design. The pattern. The will…"
Whirr-click-click-clunk.
"…guide my hand. Make me the instrument…"
The man's voice cracked slightly on the last word.He lowered his hands slowly, opening his eyes.
They were dark. Intense. Not with madness, but with focus. Like someone who'd found absolute certainty in an uncertain world.
He reached forward and plucked a single white feather from the circle around the statue. He held it delicately between two fingers, studying it in the dim light from the single bare bulb overhead.
" Bless be the son," he whispered to the feather. Or to the statue. Or to something else entirely.
The air conditioner clunked again, louder this time. The rhythm faltered. The man stood slowly, joints creaking. He walked to a small table in the opposite corner—one of the only other pieces of furniture in the room. A laptop sat there, closed. Old model, scratched and dented but functional.
He opened it.
Few apps where shown email, drive, banking, and side work all the way away from everything. He clicked on it. A message app appears serval chats and small group chats going to on. Saints little devil district serval messages popped.
"Have yall seen the videos "
"Stop going on about that shit man
"Bro I swear to god
"What's Sakin talking about
" the zombie video thing
"It's fake that AI shit
"Can't be
"There's nothing going on and zombie video what the hell are th-," mid thought the door knocks.
"Big bro, mother needs you," said a young kids voice.
"Ok give me a sec Molly"
Closing out of the tab. He then turns of his computer. Going up to the altar once more he clasps his hands together with a quick nod. He open the door as from the sides he saw a little girl blue in the face eyes colorful. With rags that nearly didn't look like cloths.
"Hey Molly what's up?," the man asked a smile across his face.
"Nothing can you pick me up" Molly said her words moving quickly
" Yeah but did you Finnish your work today?" Questioned the man in a low voice as he grabs her with one arm and holds her up.
"No mother is busy so she said to Finnish the food," Said Molly
Walking down the hallway is was stingy smelt of like found memories and wet paint. Chalk drawing litter every notch of the walls with toys scattered places moving to dodge a fan out the way.
Grabbing a tissue from his pocket as he wipes it of. "What you mean where's sister what happened to Barn?" He questioned rasing an eyebrow
"She went to work," she replied sucking on hers she touch's the roof and scrape along it.
"Hey stop doing that," he said voice stirn as tears build up on her face. Stoping he looks at her with a stern face.
"Ah stop wit-" before he can get another word out. Molly started wailing tears flowing down her face
"Big bro gh hates me" Molly barly got out with spit covering her face.
"Hey I won't Carrie you if you keep this up," he said her wailing now growing louder
" I know damn well you don't have one of my kids crying!!" A voice said behind him deep and strong.
Turing around he saw a group of kids around a tall women who's head was only a few inches away from the ceiling. An all black garb covered her with a hood that went on top. Close to a nun with white cloves and small little writing around her clothes.
"Wait hold on mother," he said fear down his throat
"And didn't I call you 40 minutes ago, not only that you're sister skipped dinner, I know I didn't raise you like this Florian," said the woman pulling a bat from her dress.