For I Am A Side Character - 108: The Athalenean Church

The Athalenean Church…a religion devoted to two figures, one for the name of Atlanta, the angel who gave her name to this world, and for God…a title that only belongs to one being.

Having promised John that I would see through his issue regarding the visions he was having at night, I decided that I would come to the church where he was staying in.

And looking at the size of the church, it was without a doubt, the largest church in the city.

Basing off of the statistics of their size, this religion accumulates over 92% of the people living around the world.

While some worship artifacts and other high powerful figures, its without a doubt that God’s existence in this world is true to a point that even science and atheism itself has a hard time showing proof of the falsehood of God’s presence.

After all, the very essence of his being exist in the dungeon where the hunters hunt.

For every dungeon raided into completion, they would be made pass through a shrine, and here they would be given a gift/a book that simply comes from God himself as a reward.

As I stood in front of the church, beside me was none other than John himself who decided to guide me in the church himself. Being its home, he was very excited to tour me around.

Normally at this time, I would have been going home with Jessica, but to her notice, she was called to her club, which by my knowledge, she hasn’t been to for a long time now.

Now, I had the chance to make my way here without asking for Jessica’s attention.

“The church really is big, huh.” I said as I stared at the massive gate standing before me.

“Have you never been here before?” asked John.

“No, the only churches I went to were the chapels in my street.” I said.

“Huh, well you’re in luck. Since I grew up here in the cathedral, I basically know my way around every crevice of this place.” he said.

“Okay, lets go then.”

Having been lead by him, we made our way into the church. As we went in, the first impression I got was of how decorative the inside of the church was. With the ceiling painted in the actions of how the world was created, it reminded me of the Sistine Chapel of my past life.

On the ceiling, God mended the world by his hand on the first day…

On the second day, he sowed seeds into the world which soon became the vegetation which covered the crust of the planet.

On the third day, he shed a tear unto the deepest land, which it soon it covered the entire world in a mere second. And with a snap of his hand, the friction of his fingers caused the water to boil and turn into clouds…causing the water to level down, bringing the land back into its surface.

On the fourth day, God created the first ever man to walk on land. By sticking a golden needle into his pointing finger, he dropped his blood down at the highest peak of a mountain, and there came life…the first ever creation of man in this world.

And along the man, he gave him a wife from which was crafted off of the bone of his rib. To his mission, he gave them the necessity to prosper.

The two, man and woman were the first ever creations…

And to his next creation, he gave them everything they needed to survive. From fruits, vegetables ad the notion of a life cycle, where man eats to survive and so does the other way around.

Soon enough, God sent an angel down to the world to watch over the humans, and little by little, this angel was said to be a messenger from God himself.

This Angel was the very thing that thought the men and women of this world the concept of morality…the one thing that separated itself from the creation known as demons.

And the Angel also explained that this world, where by God’s orders, was named after an Angel who gave her life for the lord. It granted this world its name, Atlanta.

Their lives continued on for many centuries…as they expanded, so did their blood and love.

But through the centuries, one day, God descended from his home and he granted the man and woman, along with their kin, weapons.

a sword and a shield…

A spear and a bow…

A free will, as well as the power to conjure power…which to be exact was named mana.

To his creation, he pulled string of hair from his head, and there, he coiled his hair into a string that went on to many directions at an infinite line…the hair went from up and down and side to side…branches and branches of his hair continued to grow until finally, his hair became the piece that made this world strong…

His hair was the creation of the dungeon.

And to this, the dungeons were his next mission to the two living man and woman of this world. He tasked them to be warriors. To be strong…

The humans, fearing the power of God, agreed and soon the tradition to hunt in dungeons became the very source of their growth for strength and knowledge.

Soon enough, time passed and the tradition to hunt dungeons went to the current era.

From seeing this story up in the ceiling, I can only assume who those people were…

If I was right, they must be the Aranean Warriors…

“…The Church is amazing.” I said as I stared at the ceiling.

“Hmm? Oh right, Father did said that this world was made in only seven days, the first was the land we stood on, the second was the seed which soon became the trees, the third was a tear that became the sea, the fourth was our flesh which was man, the fifth was the cycle to our life, from animals to who we hunt and to those who hunt us, the sixth day was the creation of order or more seemingly, the commandments that our churches live by, and by the seventh was said to be the creation of both magic and mana…”

“That’s the gist of it?” I asked.

“Yes, anyway, you hear that?.” as he asked this, in the distance, I could hear the sound of a choir of men and women singing a holy chorus of a church’s song.

Having gone further deep into the church, I encountered the sight of we came by another sight of a grand door. A door that was more decorated than any other.

“.…Is this the entrance to the church?” I asked.

“It is…” and having said this, he opened the door and I witnessed the sight of a man standing in front of a podium, and with his eyes closed, a light shined over him.

“…The afternoon prayer is at its end.” said John as he was familiar with this moment of a church’s usual notion.

“…what should we do?” I asked.

“nothing, lets just wait until the song ends.” he said.

And to his words, we waited.

For fifteen minutes, the choir did not rest and the priest continued to pray into the light before him. And John on the other hand simply joined to the prayer, with us sitting on the chairs, he lowered his head and started to pray in unison to the choir.

And as they did their ritual, I looked over the sight of what was behind the priest.

Two grand statues stood over his small stature, one at a height standing over 10 meters tall. An angel with wings that spans from wall to wall…that must have been Atlanta. Her beauty was reflected in the very sculpture, and so to it, I was amazed.

But behind her figure, was a 15 meter statue of a faceless deity.

‘…Even in the church, he doesn’t show his face.’ I thought to myself.

I stared at God’s grand standing, and to his notion, his form was similar to the times I’ve known to remember. A stance shown to be kind and gentle…a form that showed mercy.

“…”

“…its finally over.” said John as he raised his head in respect to the afternoon prayer ending.

“…Is the priest is coming this way?” I asked.

“Father must have noticed us when we entered.” said John as he caught the eye of the priest.

Feeling a bit nervous, when the priest finally came forward, John bowed in respect to his foster father while I bowed a second later.

“John, its good to see you come back home. Who is this friend of yours?” asked the priest as he showed a kind soft smile.

With hair as white as snow and eyes barely open, in sign of his old age, the man was shown to  be quite wise-standing. The impression of his figure simply reminded me of my master…

His figure alone was something I dare not to mock.

“Father, this is Soril, he came by as a guest.” said John.

“Oh, and for what reason did he come on this day?” asked the father.

“We simply came here to do our work from the academy.” said John as he made an excuse to the priest.

“Very well, but first, before you show him around the church, please bring my coat from my room. I intend to visit a friend this afternoon and I will come back by midnight.” said the priest as he patted John’s back in request.

“Ah-, Yes!” having followed the priest’s orders, I was left alone with the man who leads the church of this city.

“…You may have not heard of me, but my name is Father Ishkel, and I’ve been watching over this church for all my life now. Now, may I ask who you are?” he said as he turned to me with a rather calm, but uncomfortable gaze on the side.

“Soril Remus, and just like what John said, I’m only here to do some work we received from the academy.” I explained.

“I see, pardon me for saying this, but I’ve never seen you’re face before here in the church, and I should not be wrong, I am very confident with my memory.” he said, confidently.

“…Ah yes, It is my first time here.” I said.

“I see…well, its good that John has finally made a friend outside of the church. That boy is always so focused in paying back the church with good deeds, that he never gives time to even make friends. I’m glad that he has you now.” he said, thanking me for what seems to be a sign of trust.

“…I’m honored by the thanks.” I said.

“Hmm, oh don’t mention it. Now then, in return for being friends with John, do you have any sort of request that I could grant?” he asked out of the blue.

“What? You don’t have to.” I said in rejection.

“Oh, please don’t throw away this old man’s offer, it’s the least I can do for John’s sake.” he said with pleading eyes.

And to his offer, looking to Father Ishkel, I could feel his sincere gaze drop on me…kind…soft…like that of an ideal grand wiseman, his visage simply reminded me of God.

And having this thought, I unconsciously turned to the statue before me.

“Well…this is more of a question than a request.”

“Oh? And may I ask, what is it that you are curious about?” asked Father Ishkel.

“About God specifically.” I said with a rather conflicted stare to the statue.

“Oh?”

“If God was such a loving man, how come he lets the people he watches over, suffer so much? Why does he allow pain and misery to exist in a world he created with such care and beauty?”

Father Ishkel’s eyes softened, and he took a deep breath, his gaze following mine to the grand statue of the faceless deity.

“Ah, the age-old question of suffering,”

he began.

“It’s something every believer grapples with at some point.”

He motioned for me to sit, and I complied, taking a seat on one of the wooden benches. He sat beside me, his hands clasped in his lap.

“Soril, suffering is a complex and multifaceted issue. Many theologians and scholars have tried to explain it, and yet it remains one of the greatest mysteries of faith.”

I nodded, feeling the weight of his words. After all, I too received this suffering straight from the orders of God’s missions.

“Surely, there must be some reason? Why would a benevolent God allow such hardship?”I insisted.

Father Ishkel sighed, his expression thoughtful.

“There are several ways to approach this question.” he said slowly.

“One perspective is that suffering is a consequence of free will. God gave humans the ability to make their own choices, and with that freedom comes the potential for both good and evil. The suffering we see in the world is often the result of human actions—greed, hatred, violence.”

“But what about natural disasters? Disease, famine—things that aren’t caused by human actions?” I countered.

He nodded again, acknowledging the validity of my point.

“Indeed, those are harder to explain. Some believe that such events are tests of faith, challenges that strengthen our spirits and bring us closer to God. Others see them as part of the natural order of the world, which is inherently imperfect. In this view, suffering is a means of growth, a way to cultivate virtues like compassion, resilience, and empathy.”

I considered his words, feeling a mixture of frustration and curiosity.

“So, you’re saying that suffering has a purpose?” I asked as I gripped my hand in the thought of the pain I went through…

“In a way, yes,” Father Ishkel replied gently.

“It may not always be clear to us, and we may never fully understand it in this life. But many believe that suffering can lead to greater understanding, deeper faith, and ultimately, a closer relationship with the divine.”

I looked down at my hands, feeling a sense of unease.

“But what about those who suffer and never find solace? Those who are crushed by their pain?”

“That is a tragedy….” Father Ishkel said softly.

And he continued.

“but that is why it is so important for us, as believers and as human beings, to offer support, love, and compassion to those in need. We may not be able to alleviate all suffering, but we can make a difference in the lives of others through our actions and our kindness.”

“But what if there exist a man who can’t exist in that kindness? What if he’s all alone…”

Father Ishkel paused, his expression thoughtful and compassionate.

“If there is a man who cannot accept kindness, then it is our duty, and God’s, to continue offering it to him, relentlessly and unconditionally. Even the hardest heart can be softened with time and persistent love.”

“…What if that man hates God? Does he have the right to redeem himself of the sin over hating God?”

Father Ishkel leaned closer, his eyes filled with a profound gentleness.

“No one is beyond redemption, Soril. Not in the eyes of God. Sometimes, it takes a lifetime to break through the barriers we build around our hearts. But God’s love is patient and unwavering. He waits for us, even in our darkest moments.”

After hearing such words from the father himself, I felt a lump forming in my throat, my own doubts and fears bubbling to the surface.

And having been not able to speak then, he himself began to ask me these questions…

“…Do you believe that God is real?” he asked.

“…I do.” with a coarse tone.

“…Do you think he’s unjust?” he asked.

“…I don’t know.” I said as I was unsure of myself.

As I said this, the priest’s smile faded, replaced by a look of solemnity. “I think our understanding of justice is limited. We see only a fraction of the bigger picture. What may seem unjust to us in the moment might have a deeper purpose that we cannot yet comprehend. It’s not always easy to trust in that, but faith requires us to believe that there is a reason, even when we cannot see it.”

“I don’t know if I can see that yet.” I said in return.

Father Ishkel reached out and placed a hand on my shoulder. “Then give it time. Calm your heart, and you’ll soon know the warmth of kindness. Let yourself be open to it. Sometimes, the smallest acts of kindness can pierce through the deepest sorrow. And remember, you are never truly alone. God is with you, always, even when you cannot feel His presence.”

His words resonated deep within me, stirring something I hadn’t felt in a long time. A flicker of hope, a glimmer of light in the darkness. “Thank you, Father,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

To this moment, I felt like I’ve confessed to a sin…

The weight of my burden lightened…the weight of my hate…

“Remember, faith is a journey, not a destination. Take it one step at a time.” he said.

As John returned with the priest’s coat, I stood up, feeling a sense of renewed determination. The answers I sought were not clear, but perhaps that was the nature of faith. It was not about having all the answers, but about continuing to seek, to question, and to grow. With each step, I was beginning to understand a little more about the divine path that lay before me.