The Holy Father's deep melodic voice echoed through the stone-walled chamber as he declared, "Then from this moment on, your name will be Valmer Valgrace van Ruvoch. You may call me Holy Father from now on."
The boy - now Valmer - sat frozen on the wooden bench, his dirty fingers gripping the edge of the seat. The flickering candlelight danced across his wide eyes as he processed this revelation. A real name. Not just "boy" or "street rat" or the curses people usually threw at him. A proper name, with titles and everything. His mouth opened slightly, then snapped shut.
After a long moment, his nose scrunched up in displeasure.
"But why's it sound so crappy and long, you old bastard?" he demanded, kicking his bare feet against the bench legs. "Can't you think of something better? At this point, I won't even remember the damn thing!"
The Holy Father sighed, the sound like wind through ancient trees. He leaned forward in his high-backed chair, the rich fabric of his robes pooling around him. "Valmer," he said patiently, "do you know what 'thank you' and 'please' mean?"
Valmer's eyebrows shot up. "Thank you? Please?" He licked his cracked lips, suddenly hopeful. "Are they food?"
A soft chuckle escaped the Holy Father's lips. "No, Valmer. 'Thank you' is what you say when someone helps you or gives you something. 'Please' is what you say when you want something from someone. These words are very important in proper society."
Valmer crossed his thin arms, his oversized sleeve flopping with the movement. "Why do I gotta say those crappy words anyway?" he grumbled, glaring at the intricate patterns on the stone floor. "First you give me some stupid long name, now you want me to talk all fancy? Tch." He spat on the floor for emphasis. "This is why I hate bald old bastards."
The Holy Father's eyes narrowed slightly. "First, I am neither bald nor old," his tone was calm, rising from his chair with the grace of a man half his age. The heavy gold cross around his neck caught the candlelight as he moved. "Second, if you refuse to learn basic manners, then I suppose you don't want any bread tonight. Or your siblings either."
He turned toward the arched doorway, his robes whispering against the stone floor.
Valmer shot up so fast the bench nearly toppled over. "Wait!" he yelped, grabbing at the air as if he could physically stop the man. "Please, old bastard, don't do that! Not the bread!"
The Holy Father paused, turning just enough to cast a knowing look over his shoulder. "One more thing," he added holding up a single finger. "No curse words."
Valmer's shoulders slumped in defeat. "...Thank you, old geezer," he muttered, kicking at the floor.
The Holy Father sighed deeply, the sound carrying years of patience. "This is going to take a while," he murmured, gesturing for Valmer to follow. "Come."
As they walked down the dimly lit corridor, their footsteps echoed off the ancient stone walls. Torches flickered in iron sconces, casting dancing shadows that made the tapestries seem alive. The Holy Father spoke as they walked, his voice taking on a teaching tone.
"Valmer comes from the Latin word 'Val,' meaning strength or protection, and the French word 'Mer,' meaning sea. Together, they mean 'endless protection' - like how the sea never stops guarding the shore. And like how you protected your siblings from hunger and other dangers all by yourself. One day, when the world needs your protection, you will give it in abundance."
Valmer trotted beside him, actually listening for once - though mostly because bread was still on the line. The Holy Father continued, "Valgrace means 'strengthened grace.' Your grace is weak now, but God will give it to you in abundance, as you try to get closer to him. And van Ruvoch..." His voice softened. "That was the name my father gave me. I now bestow that name unto you, as someone I have decided to take in as my own."
They reached a heavy oak door at the end of the hall. Valmer stared up at the Holy Father, his young face unreadable in the flickering light. Finally, he mumbled, "Thank you... old geezer."
The Holy Father's lips twitched, almost smiling. He rested a hand on Valmer's tangled hair. "I know you'll make me proud," he said softly, pushing the door open to reveal a warm, bread-scented kitchen beyond.
Perhaps, the Holy Father spoke too soon. Years melted away like candle wax.
****
The grand cathedral was silent except for the echoing footsteps of the Holy Father as he paced across the marble floor. Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, painting the room in colors of gold and crimson. The scent of incense hung thick in the air, mixing with the faint aroma of old books and polished wood.
At the center of it all stood Valmer, now a young man of seventeen, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of the Holy Father's gaze. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by a nervous twitch in his jaw.
"Valmer Valgrace van Ruvoch," the Holy Father called, his voice slow and deliberate.
Valmer's stomach dropped. 'Oh crap. Nothing good ever happens when he says my full name.'
He forced a grin, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black jeans. "Did something happen, old geezer?"
The Holy Father sighed, rubbing his temples like he was fighting off a headache. "It's Holy Father, not old geezer."
Valmer shrugged. "Same difference."
The Holy Father sighed as he gave up on pushing any further, then he narrowed his eyes . "Where were you last night?"
'Crap. Did he find out? That all-knowing geezer—no, stay calm. Let's play the dumb card for now.'
Valmer scratched the back of his head, feigning confusion. "Uh… in my room? Probably asleep?"
"Hmm. That's strange." The Holy Father reached into the folds of his robes and pulled out a sleek smartphone. His fingers moved swiftly, scrolling before turning the screen toward Valmer.
A bright image flashed—Valmer, in the middle of a packed nightclub, arms around two girls, a cocky grin plastered on his face. A neon sign behind him read "SIN & VICE" in glowing pink letters.
Valmer's blood ran cold. 'No way. I put so much time into disguising myself! How the hell—?'
The Holy Father tilted his head, voice dripping with false innocence. "Then this clearly isn't you? My eyes must be failing me in my old age. After all, my son would never go to such a place… right, Valmer?"
Valmer stood frozen, mouth slightly open. The air between them grew heavier, the silence stretching like a noose.
Then—
"Well?"
Valmer swallowed hard.
Valmer, his head lowered, muttered, "That is indeed your son, old geezer."
If there was one thing the Holy Father admired about Valmer, it was his brutal honesty. The young man studied the Bible diligently, never missed Mass, and had a sharp mind—if only he could fix his foul mouth and his weakness for women and alcohol, he would have been the perfect successor. The Holy Father had even planned to nominate him as the next Pope one day. But how could he, when Valmer couldn't resist a pretty face or a strong drink?
The Holy Father sighed, rubbing his temples. "Valmer, we've talked about this before."
Valmer crossed his arms, scowling. "Yeah, yeah. 'Discipline this, self-control that.' Blah, blah, blah."
The Holy Father's lips thinned. He remembered the time he had tried to teach Valmer about fasting.
"Thirty days without bread?"Valmer had scoffed, his face twisting in horror. "Why don't you just grab a kitchen knife and slit my throat, you old geezer? If you wanted me dead, you should've left me in the streets! At least there, I never starved for that long!"
It had taken hours of patient explanation to convince him that fasting wasn't a death sentence.
Then there was the Bible study.
"Parting seas? Commanding fire from heaven? Walking on water?" Valmer had thrown his hands up in disbelief. "Is this what you study, old geezer? First, you give me a stupid name, then you make me say 'please' and 'thank you,' starve me for thirty days, and now you want me to believe in fairy tales? What am I going to do next? Wear weird outfits?"
Yet, despite his stubbornness, Valmer had learned quickly. His devotion had grown so strong that it filled the Holy Father with pride.
Now, standing in the cathedral, the Holy Father's voice softened. "Valmer… what must I do to make you understand that I only want what's best for you?"
Valmer's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, old geezer. It won't happen again."
"That's what you said last time—"
The Holy Father suddenly broke into a harsh cough, his body trembling. His face paled, and before Valmer could react, his knees buckled.
"Old geezer!" Valmer lunged forward, catching him just before he hit the floor. His heart pounded in his chest. "Damn it, not now!"
Without hesitation, Valmer lifted the frail man into his arms and sprinted toward the cathedral doors. The heavy wooden doors groaned as he shoved them open, bursting into the sunlight. The streets of Rome blurred past him as he ran, his breath coming in sharp gasps.
"Hold on, old geezer," he muttered, his voice tight with fear. "Just hold on." The hospital was close enough to reach it by foot, he wasn't going to wait on the Cardinal geezers before making a decision.
Deep down, beneath all the insults and defiance, Valmer loved the Holy Father more than anything. And he wasn't about to lose him.