Silver the Hedgehog: The Hymnals of Tetragrammaton

Verse One – The Presence of the Father

"Wow! This place is huge."

Spagonia Train Station - Morning…

Welcoming Stylo was a grand lobby. Broad and antiquely delicate, the train station's stonework let incomers wander around. Benches upheld weary travelers, but Stylo was too excited to be weary. Even the birds were welcome; perched high above, childlike canaries spotted a dove couple. Gleaming sunlight brightened everything. The windows were grand, tall and wide. The morning light felt mystical. Electronic boards and posters attracted the attention of a few people.

Speaking of whom, one thing Stylo noticed immediately was that the other Spagonians were near-transparent. Spooked, he jumped a little. "What in the—?"

"Welcome to Spagonia," announced a prerecorded voice. An intercom broadcast? She continued on, explaining things in regard to travel safety, security measures, and the like. At another startled jump, Stylo wondered if any of it applied to him. Better yet, how to make it apply to him.

"Umm…let's see…" Stylo stammered, turning every which way for somewhere to duck into. "I…just need to, uh…!" Then, after a light bulb's flicker, "Bathroom!"

The white hedgehog reemerged. The coy men's sign pranced in its still-shot. It didn't seem like anyone noticed him; was he still invisible? Making his way back onto the portico, he recounted something Father Nestor had taught him:

"With your level of skill, you can freely meander in and out of Purgatorio," the old echidna explained, gesturing accordingly. "It is the technique used to walk back and forth between Purgatorio and the Human World."

Stylo sighed. "Whew. Good thing I remembered."

The only exit was through a security gate. Soldiers were geared from head to toe, as well as armed. The one he greeted was concealing his weapon, obviously. "Is there something big going on today, officer?" Stylo asked.

"Yes. A religious convention hosted by the Ithavoll Group. It should be getting underway soon, so security has been enhanced. Please present your traveler's permit."

Stylo's heart dropped. He gulped. "I, uh, I am so sorry. I don't have one." After digging through all of his messenger bag, he didn't have the first thing he'd need upon arrival.

A sour grimace crooked the guard's mouth.

"Umm! If it's any consolation, though, here's my ID." He handed him a tiny, laminated card. There was nothing significant about it: Only Stylo's face, name, date of birth, and rank were displayed. "I belong to the Lucia Mission, just outside of here! I'm studying under Father Nestor—!"

"This piece of documentation is insufficient, young man. Please step back."

"Huh?! But, sir—!"

"Step out of line, please."

Slinking back, the twenty-year-old hedgehog allowed a woman awaiting with her child to take his spot. Utterly dumbfounded, Stylo was at a loss of what to do. Panic edged into his mental processes: "Oh no! Stylo, you dummy! The one thing for you not to have—of all the piddling…Gah!"

"Hey, you. Need a Visa? Just go over there."

Stylo's eyes caught sight of a cowboy hat. He then caught on to the cool amethysts underneath. Somehow, a godsend had been sent to him. After a friendly tip of the brim, the red echidna sauntered off. Over one shoulder was a duffel bag; rolling behind his feet was a medium-sized tote. On top of it were two more travel bags. Sticking out of one of them appeared to be a folded map. Stylo blinked with astonished eyes.

"Uh, 'scuse me? Sir?"

The echidna snapped his pocket watch shut. A pretty golden gleam entered both his and the curious hedgehog's eyes. A particular eagerness had brightened them, now that their eyes were meeting. The echidna held a confused, spooked look—including creased eyebrows and defensive fang.

"Can I help you…?"

"Which way is it to the help kiosk?"

He shot his thumb adjacent from his shoulder. Stylo's eyes followed the point and perked his ears higher. Smiling grandly, he grabbed the stranger's hand and shook it, vigorously professional. "Thank you thank you," the boy spouted before dashing away.

Moments after watching him scamper off, the red echidna huffed. He tilted his hat more forward, pulled out the map, and began to scan it over.

The electronic signage within the building displayed the time change: 8:17 AM, in bright orange characters. Shortly after, a weather update as well as a prewritten message regarding that supposed convention and the revamped city-wide security in correlation with it.

"…I'm lookin' dead at this map and it ain't showin' me a… 'Parking Lot Café,' my man."

The man from earlier found himself in a bind. At the person on the other end of his cell phone, he gritted his teeth. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he sighed. Something about a mentioning of coffee blends irritated him.

"Oh my goodness—Dammit, Ced, will you please tell me where you're at?!"

"Yeesh…! Chill yer britches, 'Senio…Lord. Lemme try that again…."

A more faraway voice mumbled something, but it was unintelligible to both speakers. "Huh? What did he say?"

"Nah, it was nothin', my man. Vesper's just sleeptalkin' again…Something about a 'Polyglot Café' or…?"

The echidna—with a cool best-friend shortening of "Arsenio"—gave a funny look to his map. Then, to his phone. Then, back to his map with narrower eyes. "The hell?—you mean the one you're at, right now?"

Now plus Visa, Stylo found himself entering into a wrong part of the male echidna's conversation. Somehow the man was yelling into his mobile device, with the white hedgehog flinching at every emphasis. Out came a teetering, "Umm…?"

"—but how the hell did you confuse 'Polyglot' with 'Parking Lot,' though?!"

Every spine on the young man's head stiffened. Bubbling at the corners of his eyes were sensitive tears. A trace of fear stitched into his heart; the harshness reminded him of Father Pieria's outbursts. Yet, despite the heat they carried, the burly albatross was always reminded that "Temperance is a virtue."

So, for a few moments more, Stylo observed the other man. He could easily see that the echidna was annoyed, fuming, and ready to snap again. It was rousing silent attention from the station guards, so Stylo made a bold move.

At his cell phone's disconnecting click, the male echidna made a "click!" with his tongue. Shoving it into his pocket, he did a double-take at Stylo's gawking eyes. Another confused look pronounced his features. "The hell, man? What does this kid want?" He flashed a threatening fang at him.

"I'm sorry to bother you again, but the guards are watching you…."

The hedgehog's whisper sensitized him. After a couple blinks—looking towards the gate—and another couple at one walking by. In exchange for Stylo's teasing smirk, he gave a strangely blank yet cross look. "There ain't anything to see here. I ain't no terrorist."

Stylo was startled by the subjective observation. Flushing madly, he cheeped, "I didn't think you were! I'm so sorry!" He slapped a pair of hands over his mouth.

Both brows lifted. Following came a bewildered look. The boy was fretting inside, he could tell. He took a peek at a radiating semblance to the Celtic cross he possessed. Feverishly uttering under his breath, the boy's chain of prayer was broken.

"Hey, kid? Do you know where…?" He sighed. "'Polyglot Café' is?"

"I'm sorry?"

Golden-yellow finches had bucked wide. The white hedgehog had frozen. Like a night-roaming deer caught in a semi's headlights. No fault or harm was about to come his way—the echidna was sure, in the strangest of ways. He was only asking if he knew where that café was. Sure, the boy was a tad weird, somewhat nosy, and annoying, but it wasn't something to beat him down over. In fact, a kidlike charm radiated from the white hedgehog: His garbs looked more pristine against his silvery dove-gray coat. Segmented forehead-quills appeared to be brushed upward. His messenger bag looked out of place, though; the young man's head tilted at the stranger's intrigue. Thankfully, the echidna's temper had simmered down.

"Oh, I see. You're new around here, aren'tcha?" A sly smirk. "Well, no worries, kid. Let's be lost together, why don't we? Feh-heh!"

Stylo blinked rapidly.

"I'm sure we can learn our way around together."

Then, he blushed.

"I'll find where I've gotta be, sooner or later, and you'll find where you've gotta be…wherever that is."

Stylo watched the echidna hike up his belongings, listening in on more exposition. Compared to his sling-tote, the luggage seemed full-blown. He'd introduced himself as Arsenio Gutierrez. On auto-pilot, he multitasked flawlessly. As if a disruption had never been made, he presented his ID and Visa to the security guard. Stylo wasn't sure if he should've followed, but the echidna had darted a "He's with me," back at the guard. The boy was astonished, struggling to keep up in conversation. He found himself flittering about in attempts to follow his new acquaintance; Arsenio only chuckled, in return.

Spagonia, within an indistinct leisure district – Mid-morning…

Clearance was complete. Now, Arsenio and Stylo could begin on a joint episode of wanderlust. From the midst of his explanations, Stylo learned that Arsenio was a freelance treasure hunter; an explorer of sorts with the intention of keeping his finds. But with enough luck and good looking-out from a renowned friend, he might consider working for a museum or an archaeology firm. Stylo's eyes sparkled, proud of him for his achievements.

Even if it settled a bit oddly with Arsenio, himself. He chuckled again. "You're a weird kid, you know that?" A cool wink.

Stylo could've sworn each hair on him stood up a bit. He sucked in part of his lower lip, hiding an awkward smile. "What about you? What do you do?" His quills frazzled at the sudden redirect. "Uh-I, ahh…I'm an apprentice at the Lucia Mission, just outside of here! I've worked under Father Nestor ever since I was little. But I'm on break today. Lots of work and no play makes for a very unhappy Stylo." A bashful laugh lilted.

More antiquated edifices lined the streets. Spagonian natives looked so regal and holy in their garbs. Arsenio was putting two and two together as he quietly analyzed his younger companion. Stylo looked like a teenager, but he admitted—again, bashfully—that he was twenty years old. He "aged gracefully," according to him. He wasn't attending Spagonia University. So Arsenio figured the hedgehog was using his apprenticeship as a more intensive route. Perhaps for a career focus? Maybe it was geared more towards religion? Was he training to become a priest, he wondered. By the looks of him, he still had a long ways to go.

"Well, whatever is it you're aiming for, you're closer to it than I am—that's for sure."

A curious blink. "Hmm? Why do you say that?"

But Arsenio just shook his head. "I shouldn't say. Could be bad judgment on my end. Ya know?" He gave Stylo a semi-comforting grin.

"Criminy, here it is!"

Polyglot Café – Mid- to Late Morning…

"Finally! 'Bout time I found this damn place…! Grah, my bad. I kinda just dragged you along…."

"Oh! No, that's okay! But, uhh…if you don't mind, I think I'm gonna head out, now. Maybe we can sit down for coffee next time?"

"I ain't got a problem with that. In fact, I'll treat ya." His wink looked so cool. "You know, for helping me keep my head, and keeping me company. It's nice to travel with others sometimes. Anyway, I guess I'll be seein' ya."

Up a tall staircase and through a rustic door, Arsenio was greeted by a tinkling bell. He gave Stylo one last wave before disappearing.

Stylo did the same before heading off his own way. All while hiding the butterflies flittering in his stomach.

Further up the street, there were stands. Showcases of handmade sweet nothings, including cards, fruit baskets, and other decorative trinkets. Somewhat homey, nestled inside a small plaza, Stylo couldn't smell the sweets without them making his mouth water. With the little money he had Stylo tried a gelatin sample before buying a cup for himself. It was green, but tasted more like strawberry than kiwi. A jewelry stand caught his eye: "Maybe these gold bands will accent my new outfit!" The young man was bubbling with excitement.

Even further along, Stylo found a shopping mall. Although, it wasn't anywhere near as big as he thought it would be. If anything, it looked like an indoor Chinatown. It appeared to be receiving quite a bit of patronage, however. Even Stylo's: Sparkling canaries ogled a young men's boutique, under the name "Adonic Egotist." Not too cued in to the name, Stylo went in and checked everything out. Vests, sweater vests, tailored vests, even lumberjack vests; dress wear, sportswear, casual wear, and "hard-wear" were divided into four tiny sections in the shop. Going by style, he could only imagine himself in dress wear, since his Lumen Sage fledgling robes were considered formal. But, too eager to be conservative, Stylo wanted to buy the first outfit he put together.

Or, at least, tried to want to.

His poor wallet was starving. A crooked smile twitched his lips. "There's no way I can cover this…Oh no!" came his mind's frightened peeps. Tears drooled in comical squiggles.

But he still wanted to try on the ensemble. He'd picked out a lovely graphic tee-cardigan combo and cool denim skinnies. Trendsetting boots and sunglasses tied the look together; his gold bands made it look richer—literally. Curious, he examined the engravings in the bands. They were in an unreadable script, and Stylo gave up without thinking too deeply into it.

Suddenly, a sharp pause. And a half-anxious, half-sneaky smirk. "Hmm…? What was that move again?"

Half a moment later, Stylo pulled the curtains back and forth. A courteous move, even though he was sure nobody noticed. Apprehension made his heart pound, but he strolled back towards the boutique door. After removing all the price and security tags, Stylo chanced a non-problematic exit. In fact, an opposing incident came: A sales associate had noticed no one—meaning Stylo—had come out of the changing room in a long time. Stylo took a moment to watch the once-concerned clerk fly into confusion after noticing the tags, throwing his eyes everywhere, and calling the manager. "He should be calling the police…!" A naughty snicker. How uncharacteristic of him, the white hedgehog thought right after.

Far enough away now, Stylo revealed himself just before blending into a crowd. Almost like they were awaiting a parade, Spagonian citizens lined the main street. A little girl waved a cross in the air at someone. Her cross looked an awful lot like his own.

"Huh?" Stylo pulled out his necklace. Gold, radiating sun rays, it resembled his treasure gifted to him on his eighteenth birthday. It was uncanny.

The person she waved at was approaching. Suddenly, a gravity unlike any the hedgehog had ever felt fell on him. Canaries quivered at the distant magnificence.

A tall Human, hoary with age yet somehow retaining a minute youthfulness, glided along. Gold-tipped boots clacked against cobblestone. Shoulders draped by a whole peacock, as well as a golden cloak, the man looked divine. Ahead of him was Spagonia University, the city's centerpiece. At his heels was a shorter man, who resembled a hedgehog—like Stylo—in profile. Veiled from head to toe, the hedgehog's willowy masculine frame was the only thing Stylo could identify. He seemed to be carrying the golden robe's hems, like a maid would for a bride's veil. An anonymous entourage surrounded both men.

Utterly stunning, thought the twenty-year-old. Stylo's eyes shimmered at the Human man's response to that little girl's call, "I love you, Mr. Balder!"—which was a good-natured smile, coupled with a gentlemanly half-bow. An almost magical movement: It was enough to simulate him ducking from a whirlwind. It snatched up one of Balder's peacock feathers. In perfect time, the wind lightened, and the little girl giggled uncontrollably after catching it. Her mother praised her, and the little girl waved again, "Thank you!"

A childlike fascination had settled in Stylo, too. He made himself smile big. "Wow! Father Balder—as in, the Father Balder! I never thought in a million years that I'd see him! Especially so up-close and personal, sort of…Heh?"

Somehow, an eeriness meandered through that moment. As brief as it came, it left. A piercing gleam, and it startled Stylo to notice it coming from the Human's half-mask. Richly gold, a cobalt lens was encrusted into its sun-like design. The upper-left third of the man's face was armored by it. And it screamed "Foreboding!" at Stylo.

In the Presence of the Father, Amen.