Chapter 29

Draft

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Lemuel looks at you blankly for a few seconds, as if to confirm whether the nod just now was an illusion.

"Holy Son?" He mutters.

"Yes," You say

"Only one is born every year, the Holy See's faceless living miracle? The chosen by the big man?" Lemuel points to the TV. "Like that Isaac?"

You nod and correct, "Seven."

"What?"

"Sons, seven are born every year," You say.

Lemuel blinks and frowns, seemingly beginning to wonder if he had been mistaken. After a moment he shakes his head heavily, refuting you fiercely.

"How is that possible? Seven?" He asks incredulously. "Every Christmas, the name of this year's Holy Son is announced. The television and radio report it every day during those times, it's spread all over the streets and alleys. Announcements are even posted in the backwards countrysides! If they weren't allowed to show up in public, I swear that the yearly Son would definitely be printed on mugs and clothes- and even though he doesn't show up, the names are plastered on all kinds of things. The Pope himself is one of the Sons, born in the year when the gates of hell opened, eighty-two years ago, it's written down in elementary school textbooks, even I know it! I'll never forget, that one year a little boy, the Holy Son passed by me. The town, the whole town was blocked off to greet him, he..."

Lemuel's voice stops abruptly, he looks at you in surprise and slowly finishes the second half of his sentence.

"...His name was Enoch," He says.

Names are limited, duplicate names mean nothing. There have been countless "Enochs" in this world, just like how there are countless "Adams", "Jacks" and "Marys". However, the name of the Holy Son, which is announced once a year, isn't allowed to be reused.

"I heard about him two or three years ago, the news of the Son of God routinely saving believers." Lemuel continues, "You said you came here five years ago, but 'Enoch' is still alive..."

"Actually," You explain, "The one who's still alive is called Enoch."

Only the winner gets a name.

Every Christmas, the Holy See announces the name of the Holy Son, but it's different from what the public thinks. It's not the name of the holy son born that year, but the one who leaves the chapel that year. At the age of eight, you outperformed all your siblings in the chapel in the test, so you were allowed to leave. Your name was known to the world, and so were the winners of every year. The Son of God, beloved by God, can only die gloriously, or live a long life. If an inappropriate accident occurs, it doesn't matter, there are many backups who can take his place. This name will surely live a hundred years and die in glory.

The Holy Son has never appeared in public.

Lemuel ruffles a handful of his hair and sits down on the sofa. His hand subconsciously gropes the table before finally falling, he covers his mouth. "If I smoke a cigarette every time you shock me, I'll die of lung cancer," He mutters.

You're sorry for scaring him, maybe everyone will get scared when their past opinions are proven false. You've never said that to anyone, no one asked you.

"What about the others?" Lemuel says. "Seven are born every year, and only one is announced every year. What about the other six?"

The other six will stay and wait for future assessments. There they'll be praying for their brothers and sisters on the battlefield and wishing them the best of luck. Sons of different ages live in the chapels. The monastery called the Chapel was large enough to house hundreds of sons and the large group of priests who looks after them. Just leave the chapel and go to a better place. They never say where that better place is, only that it's bathed in the favour and glory of God.

However, you have a guess about it.

One night when you were seven, you woke up at midnight only to find that your nun, who was taking care of you, wasn't in the room. The door was unlocked, you were walking out sleepily with the moonlight when you heard someone talking in low voices by the yard.

"...Only seventeen years old! There's still one year left!" The voice was crying, it belonged to a certain nun, "God, he's worked very, very hard, he'll definitely be able to pass the assessment next year, just give him another chance. ..."

"He's the eldest of them," Sighed another voice, your nanny.

"There's obviously still one year left!" The crying voice repeatedly emphasized, "There's still one year left, why can't we use the ones in the Sacred Relic Room? Wouldn't the effect be the same?"

"This time it's His Majesty who needs it. Mary, you know, His Majesty has nothing to lose."

"I don't know!" Mary's voice became sharp and hysterical. "All I know is that my child is going to die! He was so young when he was handed over to me, yes, I raised him with my own hands..."

"Restrain your tongue!" Your nanny interrupts her sharply, "It's God's grace that guides him! He's not your child, he's the Lord's child!"

"It's the Lord's c-child... yes..."

Mary's voice dropped like she had been drained of strength. They murmur and recite a few prayers begging for God's blessing, and while they were chanting, mother Mary whimpered. Her thin cry was swallowed up by the tall and magnificent monastery, it did not get far.

You remember who Mary was, the nun of your eldest brother Ahaziah, she was a dignified lady. Those who frown and those who hid their faces and wept made the same expression when they found you, "Enoch?" Your nanny blurts out, she must've been really frightened, otherwise, she would've addressed you as "Sir" or "His Royal Highness". Only your teacher can call you by your first name

They sent you back in a hurry, and the next day, many things happened.

Ahaziah, the eldest in the Chapel, suddenly fell ill. Before his death, he volunteered to be a martyr. His body entered the ossuary, and the people who were taking care of him naturally left the Chapel.

His Majesty the Pope, who had not appeared for half a month, appeared again on the balcony of the Pope's Palace. The clergies cheered loudly.

Your nun has changed. You never saw the previous one. Your teacher repeatedly asked you what you heard last night and how you felt. After the incident, they told you that those who spoke falsely had been punished, and of course you, who eavesdropped that night, couldn't escape the guilt. "Don't say anything," Your father says as he heals you. "Don't say anything, to anyone."

"The others," You answer Lemuel, "Will stay in the Chapel."

"For all of time?" He says in shock. "Just like that, locked up in a monastery so unknown and out of sight?"

You stay silent.

"I thought the Son of God was the lucky one." Lemuel murmurs to himself, "I thought 'Holy Son works hard to save the world' was just bullshit propaganda, it's just a few talented good-fortuned bunches who were worshipped as a miracle, I thought the Holy Son lived well..."

He purses his lips and shakes his head again.

"When I was wandering, I met a Holy Son, and for a few days in those mornings, the town was full of people from the Holy See. All those who weren't decent enough, the poor or the homeless, had to leave for the Son, the whole town was fenced off. I couldn't be mad, so I hid in a big tree and looked at it from a distance. It was a convoy. That luxurious car that the Holy Son was sitting in was surrounded by a large group of cars, it was so fucking majestic." Lemuel whispers, "I listened, they said that the Son was three years younger than me and one year older than Mary, I hated him to death at the time. Why? Why did we have to be driven to the wilderness in the winter so as not to dirty the eyes of those nobles, yet the nobles who were about the same age as we were born wanting and lacking for nothing..."

You don't know what kind of life a king lives, but it's true that you're born and fated to die lacking and wanting for nothing.

Every Son has a team for them, a nun, a "father", a group of teachers, a group of bodyguards, a separate group of caregivers for all kinds of chores, and many more people you've never even met. There are always people around you to take care of you, your every move is watched, any action you make needs to be instructed, and any outsider who wants to come into contact with you must go through layers of scrutiny. Every moment you are now is more personal than it was before.

Such is the life of the Son, whether in the Chapel or on the battlefield, whether at birth or as a pope. Yes, the Pope is also one of the Sons, the eldest of you. You saw him once the day you left the chapel.

His Majesty the Pope is very powerful, and when you came to the door of the Cathedral, you felt a sensation from him- there is a slight connection between the saints, and the intensity of this connection depends on the strength of the other party. He's supposed to be strong, but he looked very weak, bony, and old-fashioned. The Pope is eighty-two years old this year, and he was only sixty-five years old then, but his eyes were already cloudy and wrinkled, and he looked like he was eighty or ninety years old.

He sat on the high seat and beckoned you to pass. He squints at you, like an old man who couldn't see his grandson's face. Contrary to what you might expect, His Majesty the Pope didn't bless or admonish you. He seemed to have a hard time talking and only reached out to touch your head. His face is kind, his eyes sad, and when he strokes the top of your head with his right hand, you notice he's missing two fingers. His Majesty the Pope always tucks his hand into his sleeve, and even if he wants to stretch it out, he only waves his left hand.

"The time is up, Your Majesty," The clergy behind the Pope's seat reminded deferentially and unquestionably, you should go. The Pope nodded and laboriously told you, "Good boy, go. Go."

You leave with the leader, just as you followed him in. As you walk out the door, you can't help but look back and take one last look. His Majesty the Pope is still watching you, he sits alone on that high platform... No, of course he's not alone, there are people who take care of him and protect him and surround him, just the people in the hall already outrivaled the size of your entourage. This is also a matter of course, His Majesty the Pope blesses you, His Majesty the Pope supports the expedition, and he won't allow any loss.

It's just that when you look back, for some reason, you feel that His Majesty the Pope looks very similar to the brothers and sisters who watched you leave.

The door closes, and the doors of the Great Sanctuary fold behind you layer by layer, cutting off your vision.

You remember that day was very clear, with a blue sky and white clouds, the sun was shining brightly. The sky is boundless, and when you looked up at it, your vision wasn't blocked by any wall or a dome. Gifted by the Lord, You think, Thank you Holy Father, Holy Spirit and the Pope.

How fortunate you are to be on the battlefield.

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