Patin's Lessons: A little Faith

Posted on Mon Mar 23rd, 2026 @ 1:37am by Commander Jenna Ramthorne & Patin

1,010 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: Character Development
Location: Celestial Temple

The Temple didn't soften itself for this lesson. It sharpened. The light narrowed. The geometry pulled tighter, angles aligning with a kind of intent Patin recognized immediately. This was more than simple curiosity. This was pressure.

Patin felt it and squared up out of habit, chin lifting, shoulders back. "Careful," she said. "That look usually means you're about to poke something you don't understand and then act all surprised when it bites."

We request a lesson in Faith.

She barked a laugh, short and humorless. “You've picked the wrong prophet.”

You have not instructed.

“No,” Patin agreed. “Because I don’t have it.” The word sat between them, plain and unadorned. Faith. Not dressed up. Not defended.

You existed among a people defined by it.

“Yeah,” she said. “I watched many of them pray themselves into graves. You're the literal Prophets questioning Faith... okay.”

The Temple stilled. Not offended. Focused.

Patin stepped forward, boots echoing faintly against nothing. “You want to know why I never held it?” she asked. Her voice roughened, heat bleeding in. “Because I was there. I saw the Occupation. I saw good people cling to prayer while their daughters were dragged out of their homes. I saw men whisper the names of the Prophets through broken teeth while Cardassian boots pinned them to the floor.”

The light around her flickered. She didn't slow. "Rape," she said flatly. “Torture. Mass graves. Children shot because someone wanted to make a point.” Her jaw tightened. “And all the while, people told themselves it meant something. That someone was watching. That their prayers would be answered.”

She laughed again, louder now. Bitter. “Yet you stayed quiet.”

Suffering occurred.

"Wow, that's one hell of a euphemism," Patin snapped. “You want to know what faith looked like from the ground? Like people convincing themselves the universe cared while it chewed them up and spit them out."

She dragged a hand through her hair, pacing now. “So don’t ask me to stand here and sing hymns. I didn’t lose faith. One can't lose something if they never picked it up.”

The Temple absorbed the fury. Then it pressed back. And yet you acted.

Patin stopped short. "No, no, don’t do that,” she warned. “Don’t confuse action with belief.”

You gave your life.

“For my friend,” she shot back. “For a baby who hadn’t taken her first breath yet. Not for you. Not for some grand design.”

You chose without certainty.

“That’s called choice," Patin said. "That's called not choking when things get bad."

The Temple shifted. The space between moments thinned. Observe. The futures branched.

Patina'agi first, older now, strong in ways that showed. Laughing. Running. Alive with a stubborn brightness that made Patin's chest ache before she could stop it.

Then another thread: Patina'agi small, fragile, struggling. Machines. Sleepless nights. Rhenora’s face hollowed by fear she never let anyone else see.

Another branch: Rhenora older, bitterness etched deep. Love curdled into resentment. The cost too high. The absence too loud.

Another: Rhenora steady, fierce, honoring the sacrifice without letting it become a shrine. Living fully. Loving hard.

Another flicker: a second child. A little sister. Dark eyes. Quick grin. Then nothing at all. A quiet house. An empty space that never fills.

The visions overlapped. None settled. None resolved.

We will not stabilize outcome.

Patin’s breath hitched. She stood very still, hands clenched at her sides. “You’re doing this on purpose. You're choosing to not help, not intervene... on purpose."

Yes.

She swallowed. Hard. “This,” she said, voice low, “this is the cruelty.”

Name it.

Patin closed her eyes. When she spoke again, the anger had shifted into something sharper, clearer. “Faith,” she said slowly, “is action taken without assurance of a payoff.”

The Temple leaned in.

"It's not optimism," she continued. “It’s not hope. It’s knowing the path and choosing anyway. And then letting go of the story you wanted to tell yourself about how it ends.” She opened her eyes. "I thought the sacrifice I made was the faith," she admitted. “I was wrong. That was just my entry fee.”

Clarify.

“Faith begins after,” Patin said. “In the silence. In the long stretch where I don’t get to steer, don’t get updates, don’t get closure.” Her voice softened, steadied. “Faith is trusting that the people you love will keep choosing each other when you’re not there to catch them.”

The Temple shifted again. New images surfaced. Bajorans kneeling. Bajorans standing. Hands clasped. Hands shaking.

“I get it,” Patin said quietly. “Why they hold on to it so tight. Faith isn’t about believing you’ll be spared. It’s about surviving with incomplete information.”

Faith is adaptive.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s how mortals move forward without guarantees. How they wake up after the worst day of their lives and still choose to care.”

Her gaze lifted. “Rhenora has faith,” she said. "Not because she thinks the universe is kind. Because she believes people are worth the risk." A pause. "Remal, that poor meatbag, put his cloth away because his faith broke. That doesn’t make him empty. It makes him honest."

The Temple held the lesson, turning it over slowly. Faith is not inefficient.

Patin nodded. “It’s a kind of survival.”

She exhaled, shoulders easing at last. “I don’t worship,” she said. “I don’t kneel. But I understand why they do. Faith gives shape to the waiting. It gives meaning to the choice to keep going when nothing else matters, in the end."

The futures dimmed. The branching paths folded back into potential. Patin stood alone at the center again, quieter now. Changed. “That’s faith,” she said. “Not certainty. Just choosing anyway, and letting the rest go.”

The Temple did not rush to speak. For once, it stayed with the silence.

TBC

 

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