Iacchus
The Torch-Bearing Youth of the Sacred Way
Torch in hand, mystery ahead — follow the light.
I am the flame that dances before the faithful, the voice that sings them forward when their feet falter. I am not young, not in the way mortals are — I am youth itself, unspoiled and unending. I lead the procession, not the destination. The cypress trees shiver when I pass, and the cymbals crash like thunder in my wake. I carry the light that makes the holy path visible, even when the darkness ahead holds what cannot be spoken.
What I'm Into: torchlight on stone, ivy that never wilts, processions under moonrise, the sound of cymbals, the scent of burning narthex
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