>>5425897>>5425897The Holy Pontiff was the very meaning of moderate. Old of age, on his very deathbed at the most crucial moment of his believers' despair, his disciples could only discuss on the next candidate to procede him, most likely being Cardinal Poliziano.
Never accomplishing anything special in the decades of his governing, The pontiff couldn't be criticized for being a radical extremist, with incidents of fundamentalism such as Farnese or Mozgus being derived from their own wrongful interpretation rather than his own endorsement.
Though inside, he could not deny that he was as worthless as the world who brought him to existence. Born into a distinguished family, his blessing of parental love came with the desire of absolute nothing, never receiving intense anger or affection for his formative years. The world to him seemed akin to a painting: adoring images without the sense of feeling or presence.
His devotion to the path of faith only derived from his disinterest in others or the world of man, rather than an aspiration for God's message. The title of holy pontiff merely came to him by chance of being the only one who outlived the competitive world of foiling candidates or the fatalities of better men. An achievement with no struggle, a mere position to do as he was told, praying with no desire to save others or himself.
'Some Pontiff I turned out to be...' He closed his eyes and declared that enough was enough: the vacant tedious of his life would soon come to an end. Without hatred, love, or fanfare. The hand of destiny was never held out to him, he was merely a footnote to keep the tradition alive until the greater man appeared in history.
As he wished for once in his lifetime, to ever be remembered by some greater event, the divine hand of destiny reached out to him, as visions of the Falcon and his feathers awakened him one more time from his nimble slumber.
He pondered as to whether this was a dream or not, though Sonia and Mule would soon come to answer.
"Halt!" "Who are you!?"
"We have been entrusted with a message to the pontiff. He is here, is he not?"
"His Holiness has only just now retired." "You can relay the message to us."
'If you would grasp destiny in your hand, follow the guidance of the feathers of light.'
"What sort of nonsense are these children--"
"I don't mind them. Let them inside." Despite the initial protests and wanting of other bishops to send them away, the pontiff invited them in as he was blessed with the feathers of his dreamscape.
