Hades waved his hand, and Thomas's screen disappeared into nothing. Another screen enlarged in its place.
A beggar in tattered, ragged clothes sat on the footpath, his hands spread to beg.
Suddenly, a noble's cart crossed at speed. From it, a golden ring dropped and rolled on the ground.
The beggar looked right and left; no one had noticed the ring.
His throat tightened. Just one step, he told himself. Just to return it. Surely no one would blame me.
He ran and grabbed it. His eyes and mouth opened wide. His vision focused only on its shining surface. As he was about to put it on his finger…
Neigh!
A horse pulling a heavy carriage ran over him. The heavy wooden wheels crushed his neck.
Even in his final moment, the beggar looked at the blood-dipped, shining ring. He extended his hand to claim it, but someone else picked it up.
The screen froze on the candidate's death.
Hades waved his hand; the screen disappeared.
"Wait!" Hecate interrupted. Hades turned to her and asked, "What is it?"
"Shouldn't we give him another chance?"
"Why should we?" He raised his shoulders slightly.
"Perhaps that candidate was the best among them all. And his trial ended before it even began," Hecate answered.
Hades moved his head from side to side in denial. "Once death is claimed, there is no return. Even if he were far more valuable."
Another screen enlarged in its place.
Hecate squinted her eyes and said, "He is my devotee."
"And he is the candidate."
She glared at him. "You know I have only one devotee in the whole world."
"Who said there is only one?" he said, his lips lifting slightly.
Her cheeks reddened, and she turned her head away in embarrassment. "Fine. But make his trial lighter."
"I cannot. But I will test him myself."
He snapped his fingers. A black mist entered the screen.
---
Under a full moon, the temple lay steeped in shadow. Before the stone statue of Hecate, the priest knelt and began the ritual. He traced symbols into the dust with a bone-white finger, each mark deliberate, each breath measured. A low chant slipped from his lips, uneven and ancient, as incense burned down to bitter ash and the shadows along the walls stirred, as if listening.
Suddenly, clouds blanketed the moon. The temple's fires extinguished and then flared up as demonic flames. The atmosphere became eerie and chilly.
"Aoooooo!!!" "ROAARRR!"
Roaring and howling rose from the nearby forest, indicating the arrival of demonic beasts near the temple. Several venomous snakes with rock-like scales and gleaming red eyes in the darkness climbed toward him.
A snake appeared in front of him and glared. The priest met its gaze and kept reciting. The snake flexed its fangs, warning that to continue was to welcome death.
But even so, his eyes did not waver, and he continued his recitation.
The snake struck.
Pain exploded as venom surged into his neck. His veins darkened. His vision blurred. Foam crept to his lips.
Then came the whisper—not from the snake, but from within.
Stop.
Call her name.
Beg.
His lips trembled. He swallowed the scream and continued.
More snakes struck. More venom burned through his blood. His skin turned pale, then purple-red. His body collapsed to the stone floor.
Yet the chant never broke.
"Wake up, Pharon."
A gentle feminine voice pulled back his consciousness. He slowly opened his eyes. The demonic flames rose high and took a shape similar to the statue of Hecate.
His eyes opened wide, and tears flowed. His lips flickered.
He quickly knelt. "Your devotee greets your holiness."
"Pharon, stand up."
He stood but kept his head down, not daring to meet her divine gaze.
"I am very delighted with your devotion. Tell me, what do you want?"
"Please do not embarrass my devotion, your holiness. I have never prayed for any desire."
"Hmm… but I cannot leave empty-handed."
The demonic flame then swirled around him and formed a vortex. "I gift you arcane power," a voice whispered in his ear.
He bowed deeply. "I am very grateful, your holiness." And he let the demonic flame embrace him.
---
Sunlight passed through the gaps in the stone wall and fell directly upon Pharon, who was sleeping on the ground.
He opened his eyes. A little squirrel was the first thing he saw that day. He groaned and massaged his temples as a severe headache struck him.
He looked around. The ritual materials were in total disarray, and even the symbols were smudged.
"Argh! I have to clean this mess. But first, I must freshen up."
He walked toward the nearby small stream that flowed through cracks in the walls.
He looked at his reflection. Everything remained as it was—his bipolar red and purple pupils and face—except his skin had become ghostly pale and his blonde hair had turned obsidian black.
Then he remembered the whisper: 'I gift you the arcane power.'
"Water…" he whispered, but nothing happened.
"Fire…"
"Air…"
But nothing happened.
"Arcane power does not work like that." A voice came from behind. He turned around and saw an old man sitting on a rock, leaning on a long staff. His long white beard was bound at the end with a golden ring, and he wore ragged clothes.
"Who are you, old man? What are you doing here?"
"Me? I am just an old man who travels from one place to another in search of truth." He glanced at his surroundings. "I am here to rest. May I not?"
"Yes, you may. This temple of the goddess Hecate exists to provide sanctuary to every being."
Pharon then picked up the materials, twigs, and collected them into a corner.
"You could use arcane power for that," the old man said.
Pharon smiled and continued picking up the twigs. "I could. But this is the work of a priest. Every task has meaning. If I take a shortcut with power, then it loses the meaning behind it."
He picked up the last twig and placed it in the corner. Then he turned to the old man. "And also, I do not know how to use such a grand power."
The old man whispered, "Gale…"
A small vortex collected all the dust and settled it in the corner.
"This old man can teach you."
Pharon's brows arched sharply. He stared at the small vortex collecting dust, then looked at the old man. "Old man… no, sir. Please teach me."
The old man smiled and stood up. He walked toward the door. "The road has taken its due from me. When the day loosens its grip, we will speak."
Pharon bowed deeply. "I am very grateful, sir." Suddenly, he frowned. "Wait. I never spoke of the gift. How did he…?"
He looked up at the door and ran toward it. He looked around but did not find the old man. "Strange. He was just here. Now he is nowhere to be found."