Brother Jorin knelt before the statue of the Unnamed God, his mind heavy with the weight of unspoken guilt. He had served this god in silence for decades, a life of discipline and devotion. The rituals were precise, the prayers unwavering. But in the recesses of his heart, small compromises had begun to stir. It started innocently-a single coin left untouched on the altar. "For the poor," he told himself, though the monastery was rich in gold and grain. Then came the whispered prayers, shortened by a word or two, his mind drifting as he allowed himself a fleeting indulgence of thought about the world outside the cloister. The Unnamed God demanded sacrifice, but over time, Jorin had learned how to temper the scales. A favor given here, a small indulgence taken there. The other monks never noticed; to them, he remained the image of piety. But Jorin knew. His prayers were no longer pure, his offerings tainted by ambition and self-interest. "I serve You," Jorin whispered, bowing low before the god. But the truth gnawed at him. He served no god but himself. Each compromise had been a step down a path darker than he had realized. Now, standing at the threshold of his life’s twilight, he wondered if the Unnamed God had ever listened at all-or if his soul had already been sold for the smallest of betrayals. But the silence of the stone statue offered no absolution. Jorin prayed anyway.
Extremely underrated ! What a haunting and beautiful arrangment. Hats off !
WTF bro, in french sry : Je tombe par hasard sur ta vidéo, mais quelle dinguerie ! C'est magnifique !
Brother Jorin knelt before the statue of the Unnamed God, his mind heavy with the weight of unspoken guilt. He had served this god in silence for decades, a life of discipline and devotion. The rituals were precise, the prayers unwavering. But in the recesses of his heart, small compromises had begun to stir.
It started innocently-a single coin left untouched on the altar. "For the poor," he told himself, though the monastery was rich in gold and grain. Then came the whispered prayers, shortened by a word or two, his mind drifting as he allowed himself a fleeting indulgence of thought about the world outside the cloister.
The Unnamed God demanded sacrifice, but over time, Jorin had learned how to temper the scales. A favor given here, a small indulgence taken there. The other monks never noticed; to them, he remained the image of piety. But Jorin knew. His prayers were no longer pure, his offerings tainted by ambition and self-interest.
"I serve You," Jorin whispered, bowing low before the god. But the truth gnawed at him. He served no god but himself. Each compromise had been a step down a path darker than he had realized. Now, standing at the threshold of his life’s twilight, he wondered if the Unnamed God had ever listened at all-or if his soul had already been sold for the smallest of betrayals.
But the silence of the stone statue offered no absolution.
Jorin prayed anyway.