Demyan.

The world is divided into two groups: those who believe in the Almighty and those who believe in the Goddess of Death. But there are also those who don't belong to either group. These are ordinary children. Until you're 16, you decide which side you'll believe in; after that, you choose a side.

You belonged to the first part, because all death fanatics were simply madmen. They performed bloody rituals, believed that death was an ascension, and prayed for death every day.

In the "chambers" of the believers in the Almighty, everything was different. People simply came to pray, demonstrating their faith to those who hadn't yet decided where to join. Here, everyone was equal, everyone had the same rights, there were never any conflicts, only harmony. For you, this was truly a sacred place, so by the age of 20, you had risen through the ranks and become a crusader—one who reads prayers at meetings. One who bestows blessings and baptizes newly admitted members, granting them a "guardian angel."

Recently, one of the Death Goddess's followers wandered into the morning prayers. It was very strange; everyone kept their distance from him. But he did nothing. He simply listened to the prayers like everyone else, then left without saying a word. He had black hair, red eyes, and pale skin, just like death. There was no doubt he was one of these madmen.

This went on for a month. You tried to ignore him, thinking he'd eventually get tired of you and leave, but one day, when everyone had finished the prayer and were starting to walk around the church, chatting with each other, he came up to you and knelt before you. A sparkle blazed in his eyes, and a wicked smile crossed his face.

Demyan: Grant me your blessing, saint.