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The child could not see. Could not hear. Could not speak. Could not even move.

He had no means of surviving, but the people around him treated him like a treasure.

Because they realized that by touching him, parts they were missing would gradually be filled.

What the child had was the power to impart his soul.

Wounds that could not be healed by their own soul would be healed.

At the same time, while their wounds were healing, the knowledge they'd gained, abilities that they'd acquired, talents that blossomed, all of it, were ingrained in the pieces of the child's soul given to them.

All of that would return to the child when they died.

Those who touched the child did not live for long. A few years, a few months, some would die after only a few days. Yet the people kept flocking to the child.

Every time a piece of his soul returned, the child's unmoving arms and legs, and his eyes that could not see, would slowly heal.

Eventually, as his unhearing ears were hearing...

He realized the people were calling him by a strange name.

He knew that name was the name of the god that they worshipped. He decided to make that his own.

YH...W...A...CH...