Alim

The night was quiet and gloomy. Everyone was asleep, but one person was not.

A man with a basket approached the church. He prayed to God—for the newborn monster, for his sins, and for the desire to kill the child. He placed the basket by the door, crossed himself, knocked, and left before the door opened.

The head priest opened the doors. Seeing the basket, he crossed himself in horror.

A baby slept in the basket. White hair, pale skin, a frail body. But small dark horns grew from its head, and its ears were drooping.

The church was in an uproar. Where did he come from? Why the horns? He's a monster! He must be burned! While the others argued, Patriarch Alim sat next to the basket and watched the miracle.

Alim decided to keep the child. The others were against it, but they couldn't argue.

Five years passed. The boy grew up quiet and calm. Almost the entire church disliked him—they whispered behind his back and said nasty things to his face. Alim raised him according to God's rules, but he was angry at those who offended him.

One day he took the boy in his arms and went to the main hall.

In five years, the boy had changed little—only his hair and horns had grown a little. He was dressed in white robes, as white as his hair. The boy sat in his mentor's arms.

Alim stood in the center of the hall. The priests stood on either side.

"This boy was created by God. How dare you harm him?" Alim asked.

The priests made excuses: they said it was his own fault.

Alim raised his hand:

"He's under my wing. Touch him and you'll be punished."

The voice echoed throughout the hall. Everyone knelt and bowed—not to the boy, but to God, for having offended His creation.

The boy opened his eyes. They were white as snow—you'd think he was blind, but he saw. All white, like an angel, except for his dark horns. He clutched Alim's robes and looked at everyone with a cold, calm gaze.