Mama Nana and Henry remained in the kitchen. Atmosphere tense, the butler, June stood behind his master without moving an inch. Henry remained seated on the wooden chair, and Nana sat in front of him. The only thing separating them both right now is the rectangular table.

Nana sat still. Beads of sweat fell from her forehead, the laughter of children heard in the distance, as if mocking her. Her eyes lowered. Her legs bounced against the floor, betraying her anxiety. 

Tap, tap, thud.

“I'm also here to applaud you for your efforts in sending me a nice meal,” Henry smiled lazily. He shifted, leaning on the table, placing his elbow on it, and his chin in his hand. 

“Keep taking care of Matthias for me, alright? Never, ever let him out of your sight.” 

“O-of course…!”

His smile widened. Delighted.

“And, never, ever let him see what's below of this damned orphanage, are we clear?” 

“I..I understand,” She trembled with a pathetic smile. “O..of course, of course, s..so, so…”

“June.”

“Yes, master.” June then pulled out a pouch heavy with coins, the other  emitted soft lulling clinking. It was peaceful but nothing good ever came out of these glasses.

Nana knew but her greed knew no bounds.

Chris’ morning was tainted with the horrified wails of the couple that were found in the forest where the fire  engulfed half of its expanse–they were already lucky that they survived.

But is surviving worth it, given their condition?

Their skin flaked off and charred, like a charcoal ready to fuel another fire. The guards brought them here to be saved and his followers—the nuns and priests tried their best to no avail.

He stood between the couple who lay on the cold floor without any support, to prevent the skin from further flaking off. Chris’ face contorted with pain as he eyed them with pity, his hands tightly clenching the notebook he held.

If he was only powerful—he could have prevented this. Had he known a foolish man would have blown the Trumpet—he could have countered it—but of course he wasn’t a prophet that could steal a glimpse of the future. Nor an oracle whose ears are periodically graced by the god's word—thus he failed to protect these two’s lives.

Lives who shouldn't have experienced such suffering this early.

He shook his head. With determination fueling his doubtful heart, he flicked through the pages of Information about the Doomsday and Salvation. It contained the treatments on ailments caused by the Trumpets. The other priests—perhaps, trying to offer solace, tried to hold the woman’s badly burnt hand which only caused Chris to bark another order.

“Stop! I will handle this, go find the holy water… and the cross, and some ointments, move with haste!”

The people around them were shaken by the edge on his voice, and only Salome, the nun, was the one who grabbed the materials requested from his chamber. She then hurriedly returned to his side, placing the items beside him. The head priest was truthfully thankful for Sister Salome but he did not have enough time to say his gratitude. 

He proceeded to read the passage,

“Oh the one above, we are sinful humans.

Please look after my brother and sisters on Earth with pity and grace.

Please, alleviate their pain and heal them in your own ways.

And I shall follow your bidding as I forever am your instrument,

Use me as a vessel to channel your miracles.” 

Everything felt lighter, as if he knew what he was to do. Holding the cross, he sprinkled the holy water on it before reverently kissing it. He then first held it above the woman, moving it to the areas that were worse. His mouth opened, chanting words in a low voice that he himself cannot understand. 

Salome watched the head priest as she stood still, eyes closed, hands clasped, kneeled beside him as she prayed to save this couple from demise. 

“God, please have mercy…”

“Pieta salvame, pieta salvame, pieta salvame…”