Silver

In far-off lands, in places where people live in eternal peace under the patronage of holy visages, there is a small town. The people there are kind and honest, and they share this goodness with others. On the outskirts of this town stands a church. Large, made of white stone and marble, adorned with the faces of cupids and holy beings. In this church are clergy who are always ready to help anyone.

In this church, there was a saint. He was as calm as a still water surface, kind yet firm, like a loving mentor. His fair hair peeked slightly from under the priest's mantle, and his bright, clear eyes always looked on with understanding and kindness. He recited prayers and helped people atone for their sins in this church. At times, rumors circulated that some had seen a holy halo around his head.

But one bright day, a black darkness gathered over the church. It entwined every corner and would not let anyone escape its shadow. A stranger in black robes slowly entered the sanctuary. His black soul could be felt instinctively, kilometers before his appearance, and his black eyes looked straight into the soul. He stood in the middle of the prayer hall and announced loudly: I need the one who runs this sanctuary.