A man sat in the woods, face and chest enveloped by the orange glow of the flame before him, all other sides of him in darkness. Crickets roared and owls crooned from tall trees, creating a soothing environment for the man as he unzipped his maroon-soaked knapsack and pulled out a slab of raw deer meat.

Fresh. The man had just killed it himself. The iron scent induced a comforted sigh from him as he tossed the meat into the fire, listened to its cackle and went to his knees for prayer.

"May the gods bless me with go- better fortune. Despite all the misfortune which has befallen me, I still believe. May your spirit fill the void felt by my fami-" He stopped and turned.

"I would very much prefer my food unburnt. Did you know that Isley?" A voice said. A deep voice at that, its bass resonated through Isley's molars.

Isley knew something was off before the words even greeted him. Mid-prayer, the wood behind him had started to emit a pale blue glow so intense it painted the flame in front of him a lilac color.

He couldn't have known the sight waiting behind him, the presence of a semi-transparent pre-pubescent boy fitted in an oversized t-shirt and sneakers. His attire and stature suggested youth and innocence, yet his eyes and slight tilt of the head hinted at maturity.

"Isley?" He paused. "How do you know my name is Isley?"

"I would hope one of my devout believers wouldn't be foolish or a simpleton. Take it all in. Think about it, and the answer will come to you." The boy said. With a snap of his finger, the rosy flame behind Isley dismissed itself. He extended his hand with a smile and said. "Offerings are much better when they're personally delivered anyway."

Isley froze and considered running away. Thought better of it and reached for the deer meat sitting atop the ashes, much to the boy's dismay. "No, you fool!" Too late. Isley grabbed the deer flesh and understood the warning immediately.

A scorching pain shot through his arm as the child berated him.

"I can't believe you did that! It was a joke. I didn't believe you would grab meat straight from a fire! Are you stupid? Does that brain come with a warranty?" On and on he went.

Tears stained Isley's cheeks as he listened, and a smile crept on his face. "I'm s-so glad. My wife strongly believed in you, and you sound just like her. So I guess there truly is a bit of the gods in each of us."

Yet his smile lived shorter than his tears, dying young like all good things. He doubled over as images of his family haunted his memory. His deceased family. His extinguished family, whose deaths he accidentally caused. He wept.

Eyes narrow, the boy approached his trembling body, squatted, and placed a hand under Isley's left shoulder blade.

Panic shot through Isley's spine upon the cold touch. He felt violated, as if the touch had probed his very essence. Probed and seized all his secrets. Secrets he didn't know he had and strewn them around the public forum of his mind.

Would the god know?

Would it know that his own foolishness killed his family? He never mentioned that part in his prayers.

Would it know he wished he had been the one to die every day, not them? Despite his best attempts to seem grateful?

Would it know... would it know he secretly cursed the gods themselves? Spiteful at their very existence?

In truth, praying had long been a tradition for him. A habit he carried out mindlessly with little belief. His wife is the believer in the family, or rather she was. But, unlike him, she'd always been strong, reliable, and intelligent. So why was she the one to die from his mistake?

Though he didn't believe, the prayers were his only repentance.

The young boy removed his hand and flopped next to him on the Earth. His eyes searched Isley's as if double-checking a room stripped bare. Finally, he spoke.

"I would like to hear your prayer more intimately this time. Please share it with me."