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English
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Published:
2024-11-14
Words:
1,075
Chapters:
1/1
Comments:
10
Kudos:
23
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Why do we Fall? Why do we bleed?

Summary:

Was it all over? What could they do?

Except pray?

Notes:

(See the end of the work for notes.)

Work Text:

Everything was going wrong.

 

Everything was going so horribly wrong.

 

They were in a rush towards the Eldan Sanctum. The gauntlet runner swaying as it flew as quickly as possible to the point Gallica had pointed out. And Will…

 

Will was still unconscious. 

 

Leon still couldn’t fully register what he had seen. 

 

“...The Elda tribe, Humans …”

 

That had been what Louis had said.

 

Louis had turned Will into a Human.

 

A Human, an awful godforsaken Human.

 

Leon couldn’t look at Will. Not when…

 

Leon felt sick again, and not because of the rocking of the gauntlet runner.

 

Will’s popularity had plummeted, Louis was all anyone could think about.

 

Was the future Rella had told them about on the horizon? Humans destroying everything?

 

Was it all over? What could they do? 

 

Except pray?

 

---

 

Leon’s parents would take him to church at least once a week. It was expected of them, as nobles under Sanctism. He was just a boy, and found everything about church boring, nonetheless his parents would bring him along. After the sermons and prayers, they would talk amongst the other church goers and leave.

 

Leon’s parents also didn’t seem to like church.

 

After they left, they would take portions of food out of the kitchens. Fruits, vegetables, meats. Never so much, but never a small amount. Leon was always tasked with taking at least a handful. They all were. Him, his mother, his father. They carried the food out of their home and into the connected fields of Halia. 

 

There, his father started a bonfire with heaps of wood he often brought in a wagon, and they threw the food into the fire. 

 

They were always accompanied by at least some servants of their home, and a small assortment of townsfolk would also join them. All bringing their own items to burn. Some brought food, like his family. Others brought incense, herbs, flowers. Leon even remembers some soldiers who were a part of their guard bringing weapons. 

 

They were all put to the flame. And afterwards, they would all pray again.

 

One day, Leon asked why they did it, why they prayed twice, why they burned their food. He asked his mother, as his father set up the bonfire alongside the townsfolk. She smiled at him, and patted his head with the hand that didn’t hold her basket of food. “They’re offerings. Prayer is a bargain to a god. Think of it like trade. Would you give someone you didn’t know something valuable without anything in exchange?”

 

Leon remembered thinking on it for nought but a second, before vehemently shaking his head. His mother had chuckled at that, “Then why should any god do the same? A prayer is asking for something, be it small or large. Even a little thing takes a lot for a god to do. As such, we offer what we have to them, a trade.”

 

That day, Leon had prayed as hard as he could after making his own offering.

 

Leon hadn’t realized at the time just how heretical his mother’s words were. 

 

---

 

He hasn’t prayed since his parents death. He had no care for Sanctism itself, and what his parents believed had been lost with them in the fire. But, what else could Leon do? It felt as though everything were over, everything was over. Despite never putting any stock into prayer, he had to try. Anything to help them. 

 

The pantry of the gauntlet runner was… low. But Leon remembered some coming with small offerings, so maybe it would work. Maybe some god out there would be willing to take him up on his offer. He grabbed what food he could, without setting back their storage to an amount that would be noticeable. He ended up only getting two white peach turnips and a slice of stale bread. 

 

There was a furnace on the gauntlet runner, hidden a bit aways. Seemingly not used for much. No one was nearby, Leon made sure. Quickly as he could, he started the furnace up, threw his paltry offering inside, clasped his hands and prayed. 

 

He prayed they would all survive. He prayed that they would find a way to stop Louis. He prayed that the prince would live.

 

He prayed that his friend was still his friend. That the monster he had become really was just a  trick.

 

He prayed until the tears on his cheeks had dried, until the smell of his offering burning had dissipated. 

 

Until he heard a quiet voice call him.

 

He had nearly jumped out of his own skin when Eupha placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. 

 

He looked away from her, “A-ah, I was just…”

 

She simply shook her head, “There’s no need. We’re all so worried, after what happened. I won’t shame you for turning to this.”

 

‘To prayer,’ went unsaid. ‘To religion,’ did as well, when Leon had never before mentioned anything of the sort.

 

Eupha’s eyes furrowed, “Your Magla… I- we still have hope. I was able to stabilize the captain, and we can still save the prince before it’s too late.” 

 

“...And Louis?”

 

She let out a sigh, “I suppose we will see after we save the prince.”

 

Leon swallowed, and stayed silent.

 

“I… didn’t know Sanctists made offerings like we do,” Eupha said slowly, looking at the now barely lit furnace.

 

“They don’t.”

 

Her face twisted a bit in shock, but quickly went neutral when she met his eyes, “I see…”

 

They both sat in silence, watching as the furnace fire began to die. Leon hadn’t added much fuel to begin with, and it didn’t take long for it to begin to fade.

 

“I don’t even know if it worked,” he said, a bit suddenly. “I don’t know what god would want such a small offering anyway.”

 

Eupha hummed, “The kind who cares, the kind that listens carefully.”

 

“What does it mean if they don’t?”

 

“It means we have to take matters into our own hands. The same way you all did for me.”

 

There was nothing left but embers now.

 

Leon had never thought much of gods or prayer. They were always things that were never certain. But he was certain about one thing, the people around him. 

 

If there was one thing he believed in, it was his friends. 

 

Everything was going horribly wrong, but he had to hold out hope that they could make it. 

 

All was not lost. Not yet.

 

“Thank you, Eupha.”

Notes:

This is actually based on something that happened to me recently. Due to recent political events in the U.S. I ended up being desperate for a way to change what was happening me around me, and I went to pray. I grew up in a semi-Christian household, going to church once per whenever my family could afford to not go to work. Im atheist. So... Fat work that did, but hey it means I get to write out my weird Strohl and Halia headcannons.

(I have a lot of weird headcannons)