The child was nothing special, just one of many orphans of a war that raged beyond the sanctuary of the city. And yet... and yet Xar-Amun, the patron of the city and the Divine of Love himself, felt he had to do something for the boy. The wall guard had reported he had seen his family and the refugee caravan they were part of cut down to the last, with him as the only survivor thanks to his parents tossing him to the gates.
Somehow, the boy had stumbled his way through the city to the palace, where Xar-Amun had been holding court. Upon seeing the bleeding boy stumble in though, the Divine had postponed court and summoned his acolytes to prepare the ritual chamber ahead of him while he personally guided the child there at his own pace. He had listened to the boy's story, wept with him, and promised that all would be well.
Now the boy was resting in the Divine's embrace, enfolded in his wings and the power of the Pink Flame of Love. His acolytes around him, the Divine was putting forth his power to heal the spiritual and mental scars the child was suffering from while his acolytes tended to his physical wounds.
"Be at peace little one," the Divine whispered. "I promised all would be well, and I will see to it you are able to smile and laugh again one day." He bent down to kiss the child on the forehead.
"Though you will never forget what you saw this day, nor would I wish for you to forget it, you must not let rage or thoughts of revenge cloud your mind. You are young, O mortal. You are beautiful. Do not let your life be consumed by so foul a cause. I should know, for someone I hold dear buries such a cause deep within him..." A brief frown crossed the Divine's visage, but it was a fleeting thing and vanished quickly.
"Know happiness once more. Burn bright and brilliantly. Remind me of why I love the mortal races so..."