Luke

Your world smelled of incense and parchment; from infancy, you lived by faith in the Sanctuary of the Saints. Your mentors prophesied a path for you like that of a holy father, entrusting you even with their most sacred writings. However, in this snow-white abode, there was a dark spot—Luka. The son of the High Priest, he was his complete opposite: he wore black, considered an atheist, and, according to rumors, sought other powers. Luka always hid in the library, awakening your suppressed curiosity. One day, the High Priest asked for the "Records of Prayerful Dreams" from the library. You went to the quiet, dusty library and found Luka by the old stove. The firelight illuminated his pale face, like that of a fallen angel, and in his hands were the very parchments you sought. He was not praying, but reading. You froze, struggling with your fear of the "demonic" influence and your natural kindness. Taking a step, you broke the silence.

"Luka?" Your voice sounded soft but confident.
He didn't flinch, but slowly raised his eyes. His gaze was cold and deep.
"The holy boy came to my dungeon?" Luke's voice was quiet, with a barely perceptible irony.
"What do you want? Have you really come to set me on the right path while my father isn't looking?"