“Deacon…? You’re up late.”
The waves of water within the Grand Pool lazily splashed against the structure’s walls, uncharacteristically devoid of life swimming through it. Illuminated by the moon, the restless and pure waters of Tlalocoatl reflected in the glasses of the young, aspiring snake priest. Its beauty and silent song was soothing, and even the startling, gravel-deep voice of his own Father could not take away from it.
“Ah, yes,” He said, mustering a small smile to his Father. “I was…feeling restless. Couldn’t sleep. I decided to come here and meditate.”
The Bishop, a tall, imposing Dragon of the Sea, crosses his arms under his chest and lays a scrutinous eye upon his Son. “They say ‘No rest for the wicked’, but you are one of the purest souls I know. What could be ailing you, my Son?”
“...I suppose it’s the future.” Deacon says, taking his attention off his behemoth of a Father and looking towards the Grand Pool.
“The future?” parroted the Bishop. “But you’re still so young. Why would such a thing perturb you?”
“...I know it shouldn’t, but…I can’t help but think about it. Sure, I can support myself with my job at the gym, and sure I can transition to full-time work, but when it comes to matters of faith, I feel like I preach to a choir of corpses.” Deacon’s hood lowers as he chuckles at himself. “...No, that’s inaccurate. Corpses have the decency not to laugh at me when I preach.”
The seated Deacon felt the ground ripple as the Bishop took a seat next to him. Even seated, Deacon felt small next to his towering Father. For a moment, the only sound between them was water crashing upon stone…it was a serene sound compared to the thoughts of inadequacy roaring within Deacon’s mind.
“Deacon,” The Bishop finally said. “Why do you want to be a priest?”
Deacon’s hood perked at the question. He looked at his Father incredulously.
“Wh- Why?” balked Deacon. “I want to spread the word of Tlalocoatl, like you have! He’s done so much for us all that I want others to feel the Love of our Lord as well!”
The Bishop looked at his son. Rarely did his face ever stray from that focused gaze, but Deacon could see his father curve his mouth into a smirk before he spoke.
“...I’ve always known you were a devout follower, but never in my life had I expected you to be so brash.”
“B-brash?” asked a clearly hurt Deacon.
“I’m not sure what else I would call ‘Preaching to a world from His ivory tower’. Your vigor is admirable, but I am fairly certain you’ve not had enough experience to take on such a task.”
The tip of Deacon’s crescent tail slapped the ground as Deacon side-eyed his own father. “...Does operating a cell phone count?” sniped the younger reptile. “If so, I can say that is something I know better than you.”
The Bishop chuckled as he continued. “Deacon, do you remember the Three Principles of Tlalocoatl?”
Deacon unfurrowed his brow as his mind returned to his God. “ ‘Be generous with the River's Gift, Purge evil from body and mind, and Guide the Misguided,’ ” he recited perfectly. “...Father, what does this have to do with being a Priest?”
A large arm reached around, and hugged around Deacon’s shoulders, pulling him closer to the Bishop. A wistful sigh escaped the elder reptile as he looked at the water at their feet.
“...I know that, to you, and everyone here, I may seem invincible. Through size and experience, I’ve guided many through terrible turmoils both internal and external. This was not always the case. Long before I took up the robe, faith in ANY God was the furthest thing from my mind.” Another chuckle escaped him, this time it felt much more melancholic than before. “Being ‘generous’...I was more generous with booze than I was with anyone’s gift, let alone Tlalocoatl. I was the misguided one…and yet, here I am.”
Deacon looked at his father incredulously. The thought of The Bishop, a dragon known only by his title and the leader of this great Faith could have been anything less than devoted was more than shocking. As much as Deacon wanted to question this, The Bishop continued, watching his past through the unrestful waters before them.
“My path was never set for me. The love you are surrounded with was…absent in my life. To say that I found Tlalocoatl is incorrect. Tlalocoatl found me in my darkest hour, and has found many others before us, after us, and with us now.”
The Bishop’s head turns to Deacon’s, locking eyes with his son.
“I have done my best to give you a Home I’ve never had. I’ve imparted my teachings to you time and time again…but I am not you, Deacon. There are some things you must learn yourself.”
The silence between them was louder than the fluctuating waves within the Temple for the younger reptile. His mouth attempted to find the proper words, and he failed every time. Eventually, Deacon decided that there were no right words for this, and spoke from his heart instead of his mind.
“...What if I never find out what I’m meant to be?”
The water of the pool’s endless movement finally ceased. The splashing against the pool ended, leaving both father and son truly alone together for the first time tonight.
“...The path to finding oneself is seldom easy,” mused the Bishop, his eyes locked on the calming body of water. At sea, in my lonesome I often thought to myself: ‘Am I good enough?’, ‘Can I even do better?’, ‘Is this a lost cause...?’, “What’s the point…?’ ” The Bishop’s voice trails off, leaving Deacon to wait in a stunned silence for his Father to regain his train of thought. “...Even now, I struggle to put away my fears. But when I look at you, Deacon…I see something I could never have.”
“I do…?” Deacon asked, his eyes widening as he waited for the answer.
“Opportunity. Your path may not be visible to you now, but believe me - it is only because every way you walk will end in a future so bright that it’s blinding.”
The Bishop. Deacon’s Father. A Dragon as large, intimidating, and scar-ridden as he commanded respect with a mere look from his stern gaze and booming voice, when he decided to raise it. Many considered him to be the Rock holding the Holy River Covenant together, including Deacon himself. And yet, the Bishop sat here, unveiling the insecurities that his stony demeanor kept well hidden, to a son who had yet to understand what surrounded him.
It was funny how things worked in this World.
“...I can’t even imagine you drinking.” Deacon finally said.
The Bishop paused, then offered a small smile. “Neither can I, anymore. Guess I never learned my limit before I stopped.”
“Maybe that’s how you got all those scars…?”
The Bishop was silent, before breaking out in laughter. “Just maybe.”
Deacon smiled too, breathing out a sigh of relief. He glanced at his Father, lost in the water with a gentle look on his face. He was a man of few words, but everything he said came from the bottom of his heart. Deacon knew that if his Father believed in him, then perhaps he really had nothing to fear.