Welcome to Hojungcheon (壺中天)1). Ye ignorant ones who would call the fountains of Poseidonia and the subterranean labyrinth of Crete miracles.
Behold the columns of Delphi that reach the clouds. Behold the mist laid mystically like the hem of a goddess’s robe upon salt-white stone buildings. This is divinity. Behold the sunlight sprinkled like gold dust upon this beautiful land. This is blessing.
I dare say that apart from Oceanus, nowhere that Ananke’s warmth reaches can compare to Delphi. Other marvels are naught but unholy deceptions.
The god skilled in cunning sits with his chin resting upon the tripod, beholding all things. With blazing gaze, He looks into all things. Through radiance, He hears all things.
Thy past, thy future, thy sins, thy love—all are tightly tangled within the thread of fate.
The tapestry containing thy life is woven true upon the loom before Ananke, moment by moment according to her transient fancy. Do not act rashly. All is being recorded. It is before the loom where the God of Fate sits.
Now then, ye who have come seeking the Oracle of Delphi. Offer flawless sacrifices. Bring a pregnant she-goat or a newborn pig. Forget not the fresh wine and a handful of salt for the offering.
Drink deep of Kykeon, the fermented liquor mixed with mint and barley. I shall grant thee the power to warm thy body and pierce through the sacred flames.
Go to the Castalian Spring and purify thyself through ablution with a clean heart. Sweep thy feet with fresh laurel branches bound by sacred cord, and tread silently upon the damp floor as thou comest.
The gods abhor clamor. Though their voices are like earthquakes and thunder, their ears are accustomed to silence. The converse of the gods is oft exchanged through glances alone.
This is the land where light and darkness cross, where day and darkness fall in love and share a kiss. It is the place where the serpent that has shed its skin many times swallows thy sins and desires, repaying thee with treasures hidden within its scales.
But mark well that they can never become thine. Its venomous fangs shall target naught but thy wrist, overcome by greed. In Delphi, all is a gateway and all is a trial.
When the pine torch is lit, the sanctuary gates shall open and a staircase flooded with light shall be revealed. It is the carpet for Ananke, God of Fate—wash thy dirt-caked feet in the water held in jars and ascend reverently.
Bow before the great tapestry and ask thy wish carefully.
The divine breath surging from the split earth beneath the Omphalos shall answer thee through the Pythia’s song.
Loxias, Loxias…2)
Now lend thine ears to the voice of the priestess filled with smoke and vapors.
This is the Oracle of Delphi.
Ψ
The sanctuary of Delphi was a city carved from the cliffs traversing Mount Parnassus. Located deep within layers of mountains where valleys connected one after another, this city was shrouded in fog for half the year, and of that half, rain drizzled for yet another half.
Upon the Pente (V)3)-shaped gorge slope, like the vulva of the Mother Goddess, stood the sacred precinct of the chief god Ananke and the festivals honoring her, built with Delphi’s superior architectural skill.
Ananke’s sacred precinct consisted of a temple heaped with offerings and various sculptures; beyond it, narrow stone steps led upward to a brilliantly unfolding stage built upon the inclined slope.
Behind the stage stretched the Aeatos Mountain Range, called the waist of Uranus, so vast that one felt as though standing piercing through the clouds above.
The sight of eagles soaring through the mist-laden vapor and dew was enough to set any observer’s heart racing. Some might feel at this very spot as though they had become gods themselves.
Utilizing such geographical effects, the priests and priestesses of Delphi promoted major festivals and presented various performances and concerts.
The land received little sunlight due to the shadows cast by the gorge, and with the addition of the rainy season, nothing grew well but damp moss; yet thanks to the offerings pouring in from all corners of the world, the people of Delphi lived in abundance, their pet dogs and cats plump and well-fed.
Though colossal statues personifying the gods and towering altars cast long shadows over the city following the sun, they regarded nothing as remarkable, so accustomed were they to luxury.
When a gemstone embedded in a certain maiden goddess’s pupil was stolen overnight, by the next morning a gold ornament had already been affixed in its place.
“Did you hear? The Daphne Festival is to be held starting a fortnight from now.”
“Already? The season of earth is still far away…”
“It is all according to Ananke’s will.”
“I can hardly wait. We’ll be able to enjoy meat and drink for once.”
From somewhere, the sound of golden trumpets rang out. People resting head-to-head beneath stone columns draped with awnings quickly removed their sandals and threw themselves to the ground, holding their breath.
It was the passage of a Sibyl.
Young priestesses adorned with lilies and black narcissus upon their heads surrounded a palanquin draped with pink veils, moving at a brisk pace.
Behind them, Delphi’s soldiers in golden armor formed two long lines, composing an escort procession.
Delphi, with its steep roads winding left and right like a zigzag, was so narrow that pedestrians had to take care not to collide even when mindful of one another.
Nevertheless, famous Sibyls often made splendid outings like this, leading small priestesses and gracefully extending their hands beyond the veil.
To the devotees of Delphi, the Sibyl was a being that inspired all manner of illusions, and even a fleeting brush with their fragrance played no small role in ensuring continuous offerings and tribute.
From her palanquin, the Sibyl’s gaze turned to the backs of the prostrated hands. The passersby who had been chatting excitedly moments before clamped their mouths shut like clams.
The people of Delphi knew well that the proxy of a god could at times be far crueler than the god herself.
Thus Delphi was also a city of silence. Its citizens knew much but pretended ignorance.
Little did they know that this would bring yet another storm.
Ψ
The sun over the mountain ridge rose and set swiftly.
A fortnight passed in an instant, and finally the first day of the month on which the Daphne Festival was to be held drew near.
“It’s a city even smaller than Cocytus.”
Asteril, resting briefly on the ridge with only the last peak remaining, gazed down at the view of Delphi beyond the slope and murmured.
Delphi, nestled glittering like a pearl amid blue mountain forests, was a small city even among small cities.
“But it looks wealthy. There seem to be many people as well… How much gold have they plastered upon the streets? It glitters with reflected light even from here.”
The closer one drew to the sanctuary, the more one could feel the festive atmosphere.
Oaks planted along the Hiera Odos had bright yellow flowers strung upon threads hanging in clusters from every branch, and rocks appearing here and there were painted with colored depictions of the men and women attending the Daphne Festival.
The supply convoy, required to transport the Resurrection Device, could not but travel slowly. They continued moving with minimal personnel even while Kalian and Asteril performed the Gamos.
When the Gamos ended and Kalian and Asteril headed toward the Hiera Odos, the remaining members of Hecate hurriedly departed to catch up with the supply convoy.
They too would likely arrive in Delphi by tomorrow at the earliest, or the day after at the latest.
The narrow, steep road passing through the gorge was equipped with a channel on one side, seemingly in preparation for rain.
Within the waterway, barely as wide as an adult man’s thigh, a milky-white liquid shimmered and flowed down like freshly squeezed milk.
Was it rainwater? Or had some goddess seated her cow and was milking it?
Those who looked up at the clouds with puzzled faces were relieved for the moment. The mirror-clean sky could not be more serene.
If not rain, then what?
A few men with keen noses approached the channel, bent down, and began to sniff. It smelled sour and sweet. Someone fearlessly dipped his hand into the flowing liquid and tasted it with his tongue.
“It’s sweet. Deliciously sweet!”
People gathered with wide eyes. They cupped the endlessly flowing beverage in both hands and sipped it.
As Asteril approached curiously, Kalian grabbed her shoulder to stop her. His gaze sent a quiet warning.
“I won’t drink it. I’ll just go look.”
Up close, she smelled a sharply piercing mint scent.
Like pigs trapped in a pen, people buried their noses in the channel and guzzled the drink. Their numbers swelled. They cared not if the liquid entered their eyes and noses. Their reason lost, their appearance was horrifying.
“It smells similar.”
Kalian, standing guard behind her lest anyone harm Asteril, spoke so that only she could hear.
“That?”
“Ergot.”
Asteril looked at the ditch with a horrified expression. To sprinkle such a dangerous thing so freely—was Delphi truly in its right mind?
“Move aside!”
“You move!”
Excited people began rampaging and even fighting to claim the front of the channel.
More than half the couples heading to the festival broke away from the group to drink the beverage flowing from the channel.
Those who drank their fill tore off their clothes into strips and stumbled atop one another’s bodies, naked.
Bushes spread like blankets, and panting breaths began to be heard. Rubbing their naked bodies together without knowing who the other was, cries of ecstasy and shouts rang out.
The remaining people retreated in alarm at the wet slapping sounds of flesh colliding. Looking at the shadows cast by the sun upon the forest, they quickened their pace.
O beautiful Daphne! Stay thy flight. If thou dost flee in fear that my radiance may harm thee, pray calm thyself and hearken to my words. I beseech thee, do not flee from me. I fear lest thou trip and injure thy foot upon a stone.
The legend that Daphne, who had been a forest spirit, transformed into a laurel tree to avoid the sun god’s courtship was famous within and without Delphi.
Though she took root in the earth and her arms became stiff branches, the sun god who favored her continued to send heated gazes. Thereupon Daphne decreed that her festival be held only after sunset.
The vigil began at dusk, and the entire city surged with anticipation.
Sibyls emerging from the Pompeion4) wore thin, fluttering garments designed to appear beautiful even in darkness. Golden and copper ornaments coiled around their necks and arms as they moved busily about.
Young priestesses wearing silver jewelry carried baskets at their sides or embraced huge jars large enough to cover their faces in their arms, each heading somewhere.
Elder priestesses in robes covering them to their foreheads stood spaced apart at intervals and watched over them as if managing them. Young priestesses who erred occasionally had to endure scorching glares like whips.
Young couples who had passed the Hiera Odos walked, following a young Sibyl who had come out bearing a torch. The golden dusk illuminating the tops of their feet was as gentle as the guiding hand of Hemera, easing their tension.
Above the hill, a gable roof decorated with flowers came into view. Upon the red-painted pediment was carved a laurel wreath—so perfect in form that it would not disgrace the brows of the gods themselves.
Now before them waited the Hiera Gate, decorated with fresh laurel branches and leaves. An ash gate painted with red and blue dyes. It was the sacred entrance leading into the Daphne sanctuary.
One by one they crossed the worn threshold with careful steps, and a well-swept circular dirt yard welcomed them.
Elm trees decorated with red and blue cloth held the torchlight with their backs turned. Verdant leaves embroidered patterns upon the ground with their shadows.
The Sibyl opened the bronze tripod cauldron set in the center of the yard and threw the pine torch she carried inside. Turning, she spread her arms wide, glaring with reddened eyes, and shouted:
“It is Daphne!”
Surprised by her charisma, the youths swallowed dryly.
Having overwhelmed the assembly, the Sibyl lowered her arms, revealing twisted gold bracelets clattering within her wide sleeves. The murmurs subsided.
“Originally the Daphne Festival was held at the time of the grape harvest to supply fresh wine that would warm your blood, drawn taut upon Eros’s bowstring; but this year the festival has been moved up, and regrettably the harvest season has not yet arrived. Instead, we promise sweet mead and fragrant cider—may the couples who have found the sanctuary enjoy them to the fullest.”
Exclamations of admiration flowed forth. Everyone’s expressions brightened considerably.
“Ye who have walked the Hiera Odos, you have overcome the temptation of Kykeon and endured the ordeal. Having passed the most sacred gate5), Ananke shall bless your union and your will.”
Kykeon… a fermented drink farmers consume at harvest festivals. So that was why it contained mint. And they had laced it with ergot fungus.
“Ananke cherishes wisdom and cunning. The couple possessing the most outstanding intellect shall receive the blessing of Delphi—who among you shall truly please Ananke?”
Red lips twisted in a smile.
All the Sibyls had painted their lips blood-red. It was to naturally draw the devotees’ eyes toward their lips.
Thought follows the gaze as a matter of course. The assembly would concentrate more on their voices and lend their ears.
The sun had set.
Braziers installed here and there and torches greased with pig fat were lit.
The Sibyls approached the couples who had entered the sanctuary and checked that they wore leather bracelets.
These bracelets, given by each village chief to only one couple among those who performed the Gamos, granted qualification to participate in the Daphne Festival’s vigil.
Ordinary citizens could enter the sanctuary only after dawn. Only the men and women representing each village could participate in the night festival.
Couples enjoying fragrant drink, various foods, and cakes filled with fruit and honey turned their heads at the sound of a sharp, forceful clap.
“Delphi is the city of wisdom. The God of Fate never lets go of sparkling insight even when intoxicated.”
It was the voice of an elderly woman. Standing before the largest elm tree, she focused all attention with words steeped in experience.
“The Goddess of Fate, Wisdom, and the Loom whispers that she wishes to see your wisdom.”
A sacred atmosphere spread like smoke. Kalian and Asteril, who had been playing around, also reined in their laughter and gazed toward the nearby elm tree.
The elderly priestesses were retired Sibyls who had withdrawn from official occasions. Weren’t Sibyls said to be short-lived? And what reason had they to serve in the temple until such an age?
Was there work that only those who remained—old but experienced and tight-lipped—had to continue performing?
“Ye who have come seeking the Sibyl’s blessing, a small task has been prepared for you. Pray take a look.”
Upon closer inspection, each of the elm trees planted here and there had a jar suspended by a sturdy rope.
As the youths gathered beneath each tree in curiosity, she explained the rules as if she had been waiting.
“Unfortunately, only a single fortunate couple shall receive the Sibyl’s blessing at the Daphne Festival. You must compete with your wisdom and rightfully claim the Sibyl’s blessing. Drop the jar suspended by the rope within the time limit, but do not spill the water inside.”
Everyone stirred. As if granting a favor, she added:
“For your reference, you may use any tool—bow, spear, or stone. It matters not.”
“May we use our bare hands?”
“Of course. If you are able.”
The water-filled jars appeared by rough estimate to weigh at least as much as a wild boar.
Asteril’s eyes, studying the jars suspended by taut ropes, sparkled as if she had thought of something.
She stood on tiptoe and whispered into Kalian’s ear. His eyes widened slightly as he listened. He spoke, filled with admiration:
“Does your head contain all the schemes of the world?”
“A priestess must necessarily be so.”
She was unusually strict and harsh with herself in her position as priestess.
He couldn’t guess what they taught priests in Demeter to give her such thoughts, but…
“Only then can I monopolize the love of a certain male god who finds everything in the world tedious.”
Kalian was momentarily at a loss for words. Though she had striven her whole life to be loved, he wished she would not do so before him alone.
“That god’s love is all yours. All the authority, blessings, and even the divinity bestowed by the Father God have been placed in your hands.”
Her eyes widened slightly. He could see her slender throat swallowing a dry breath.
“Is it alright to give all that away? What if I take it all and go somewhere?”
Kalian looked at her as if to say, “Hmm.” As if to ask if she dared have such thoughts.
Then Asteril replied as if asking if he didn’t even know that.
“Even if I leave, you need only find me. What is the use of authority if left idle?”
“Your cunning is truly astounding—was it not enough to evade even the gods’ eyes?”
“You exaggerate… yet you fall for it every time.”
Kalian gazed at her lower lip as if to devour it. His downcast eyes, befitting a god of the underworld, were layered with a deep whisper.
“Was that not what you wished for?”
“…”
“You covet my authority. To you, mortal men are far too trivial.”
Asteril opened her lips blankly, then quickly closed them as if she had revealed her inner thoughts.
“My lord speaks overmuch.”
“Only then may I taste the inside of my priestess’s mouth many times, may I not? For when you are at a loss for words like this, it is easiest to exploit your weakness…”
Kalian raised his hand and caressed the cheek of Asteril, who wore an expression as if trapped within his pupils.
He had the look of a male god consumed by the urge to taste her lips, drinking in his lover’s scent. Gradually bending his body, he finally grasped her chin and overlaid her lips.
His hand, which had been caressing her heaving collarbone, embraced her waist as if binding her in his arm, breathing hot sighs between her parted lips in a moan.
The thirst that had pressed and parted their lips repeatedly was gradually slaked. Having sated his hungry desire to some degree, he released her lips and wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of his hand.
Asteril reddened, combing her hair over her shoulder, and tried to feign composure. Kalian lightly caressed her earlobe and whispered something. Asteril glanced at him, then laughed.
While they exchanged such banter, the other men and women stood beneath their respective elm trees, gazing up at the jars and devising ideas.
“Ah, and… it is said that the couple selected as the Laurel Lovers at this Daphne Festival shall receive Pythia’s blessing, so you must all do your best.”
At the old woman’s words, which struck like a spark lighting a late fire, a brief silence fell within the sanctuary.
“Pythia… the oracle priestess?”
“We can meet Pythia?”
Pythia’s blessing, granted by a being considered as difficult to approach as the hem of a goddess, was a reward dazzling enough to make even drunkards cast aside their cups and rush over.
Rumors circulated among commoners that Pythia need only place her hand upon one’s forehead for them to live long without illness.
The areas beneath a total of seven elm trees quickly grew boisterous.
Kalian and Asteril selected the elm tree at the far right end, where the jar hung highest. They had focused on choosing a spot that would not attract attention rather than the height of the jar.
At Asteril’s request, young priestesses brought shovels and pickaxes piled in a cart. The rule was to supply participants with whatever tools they desired without limit.
Kalian, standing before the pile of tools stacked like firewood, spotted a man gawking a few paces away and gestured to him with an overbearing air.
The moment their eyes met, the man felt something he could not refuse; frozen, he shuffled over timidly.
“M-me?”
“Dig a hole here.”
“What?”
The narrow-shouldered, gaunt man was likely a shepherd from the highlands, judged by his muscular build and body odor.
Kalian stared fixedly at the man scratching the back of his neck with a “what do I do?” expression. This fellow alone was sorely lacking in labor.
The hesitant man swallowed dryly as his eyes met Kalian’s unwavering gaze. An indescribable sense of pressure lay within that gaze demanding why he wasn’t already working.
He gripped the shovel handle with a disgruntled expression. And stepping on the shovel blade to dig, he cast the dirt aside as if clearing space.
Meanwhile, Kalian captured another man craning his neck in curiosity. With a beard as lush as clouds, he was short and pot-bellied but had a body that seemed capable of great strength. The man had been watching from afar a group of women that likely included his wife, sipping drink.
Presently he dropped the cup he was holding with a clatter. Kalian, who had appeared behind him, seized him by the nape and was dragging him away.
Beneath the elm tree at the far end, a spectacle was underway where men who had been idling about, now captured without knowing why, dug holes.
Behind them sat Kalian, elegant with his legs crossed like an obsidian statue—a cedarwood chair that the Sibyls sat upon having somehow been placed there—resting his arm on the armrest and supporting his temple with his raised hand as he languidly looked down upon them.
The shovel-wielding men, having forgotten this was the Daphne sanctuary, threw themselves into completing the shadowed earthen pit like stonemasons building a temple.
They cast sidelong glances at one another with terrified faces.
“Is he still watching? Of course he is. If I even lift my head, he looks like he’ll kill me. If our eyes meet one more time, I might faint. I’ve had chills since earlier, as if a three-headed wolf from the underworld is licking my back. Right, don’t you feel the chill? It’s eerie how cold air keeps pouring from beneath his feet… His visage is as beautiful as an incarnation of the sun god, but what’s with those purple eyes? I’ve never seen eyes like that. They say the black gods of the underworld have eyes like that. What? Really?”
Meanwhile, young priestesses requested by Asteril began filling jars with water.
Beside the gradually deepening pit, a mountain of dirt piled higher. And water jars lined up in a row next to it.
They had been told to drop the jars hanging from the branches—what in the world were they doing?
Everyone watched with curious eyes. The greatest spectacle among them was naturally Kalian’s noble figure, seated before the pit and supervising the digging men.
His profile, with long hair loosely tied and his eyes half-lidded, was so sensual it took one’s breath away.
Everyone busied themselves debating who he was and which village he hailed from; whenever Kalian cast his gaze their way, the women made expressions as if they might faint from rapture. Even the men seemed overcome by strange emotions.
The pit had been dug quite deep, reaching the men’s shoulders. The gaunt man who had first begun digging, seemingly exhausted beyond his stamina, suddenly flung down his shovel.
He shouted that he was done now and began climbing to the surface. Having escaped the pit, he stood up boldly, pressing his hand against the ground. Then he spotted a foot approaching as if to step upon the back of his hand.
Raising his head, he saw a crooked gaze glaring down at him ferociously.
“Ah… w-well…”
Before his words could finish, Kalian kicked him squarely in the chest. With a cry of “Gwaaah!” the man crashed back into the pit with a thud, groaning as he rubbed his hip and waist.
The other men looked up in alarm. The gaze that turned away was throwing murderous intent, eyes that said if they climbed out again, he would kill them for good.
“Representative of Phrear Village, what in heaven’s name is the meaning of this?”
Unable to bear the situation any longer, one of the elder priestesses approached and rebuked him. She looked at the men digging the hole and glared at Kalian with an incredulous expression.
Kalian answered leisurely from his seated position.
“Did she not say any tool was permissible?”
“Indeed, you may use whatever tools you wish, but why people…”
“These men are my tools.”
Kalian spoke with his chin resting on the armrest. The languid gaze and drawling tone habitual to him looked unusually, unrealistically dignified today.
The elder priestess was speechless and turned around.
The woman with black hair who appeared to be his wife sat with her legs together beside the line of erected water jars, dozing off as if she had no interest in the atrocity he was committing.
Clang! Shhhhhhh.
Just then, the sound of a jar breaking and water pouring out echoed forth. Asteril, who had been taking a short nap with her cheek upon her knee, cracked open her eyes.
Crash! Crack!
Another jar shattered into pieces, water gushing out with a splash.
“Fail!”
“Ugh… no good.”
“Disqualified!”
Discouraged voices rang out in succession.
“How are we supposed to drop that without spilling the water?”
“Right? They should try it themselves.”
Truthfully, they didn’t need to receive a Sibyl’s blessing. The majority of newlywed couples participating in the Daphne Festival had come mostly to enjoy the alcohol and food, and if they had any greater ambition, it was merely to take a look around Delphi while they were here.
But now the Pythia, whom they hadn’t even expected, was offering a blessing; they couldn’t help but be tempted. And for free, at that. It didn’t cost anything, so why not give it a try? It was with such thoughts that people recklessly rushed in from all over.
When a jar broke, a new one filled with water was hung by a rope. The broken pottery was swiftly swept away with a broom.
Meanwhile, Kallian rose from his chair, gauging the distance to the jar hanging by a rope from the elm tree as he measured his position.
The old priestess, who had been watching from the side the whole time, finally couldn’t stand it and approached him testily.
“Will you stop trying now? If you fail, you must hang upside down naked like them.”
Kallian looked at the couples hanging completely naked where the jars had been. In their haste, they had only broken the jars; now they were taking turns being displayed naked, paying the price for having furrowed Ananke’s brow.
“And if I succeed, will you hang instead?”
When Kallian replied nonchalantly, the old priestess blinked her eyes in disbelief. The young whelp had been getting on her nerves for a while now….
“Listen here, young man. Do you know how old I am to keep speaking down to me like that?”
“Whatever your age, it matters little to me. Go fetch me a spear.”
The old priestess’s face flushed red. She turned sharply and walked away as fast as she could, returning with a sharp-tipped long spear.
“H-here you are.”
Her protruding cheekbones burned. Wh-what was this… Why was her heart racing for such a young, pale-faced man…?
At Kallian’s signal, Asteril, who had been pouring water from jars into a pit, nodded and stepped back.
She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand, looking satisfied. The deeply dug pit was more than half filled with water.
Grasping the spear shaft, Kallian flexibly stretched his shoulder back. Everyone watched him, forgetting to even breathe, as he assumed a javelin-throwing stance like a god of war.
Whoosh.
The long spear flew in an arc. The spearhead whirled like a tempest as it flew, striking the center of the taut rope with pinpoint accuracy.
Twang.
The rope snapped, and the jar, swaying in the air, plummeted. Its heavy body fell into the pit with a heavy splash, the glazed pottery clattering as it shattered into fragments riddled with cracks.
The old priestess’s eyes went wide.
Crouching at the edge of the pit, Asteril peered inside and beamed.
“Look. The jar fell, but the water didn’t spill.”
A few onlookers approached and checked inside the pit. The broken jar was floating atop the water.
“But the jar is broken.”
“Isn’t it supposed to not break?”
“No one said it couldn’t break. They said the water mustn’t spill.”
“But if it breaks, of course the water would….”
The people arguing with puzzled expressions suddenly paused. A profound realization washed over them like a wave.
“Ah, I see.”
“The water inside the jar is still contained.”
“Because it’s submerged.”
“So that’s why they dug the pit like that… what a marvelous trick.”
The Sibyls with their red eye makeup gathered in a circle before the great brazier at the central altar. They seemed to hold a brief conference before nodding and reaching a conclusion.
The robed old priestess returned. She glanced at Kallian’s face, cleared her throat, and spoke.
“Representatives of Prear Village, please come this way.”
They walked toward the great brazier standing in the middle of the courtyard. The bronze circular brazier burned warmly, and before it stood an altar decorated with flowers and laurel leaves.
A wide cedar table stood before the altar, reaching up to their navels, laden with an abundance of various foods.
Besides the two of them, another couple appeared to have passed the first trial as well. The four of them stood in a line before the table.
Asteril glanced sideways at a man with shoulders spread wide and a woman no less physically imposing.
They had used a straightforward method.
The woman had climbed the tree and untied the rope to lower the jar, while the man climbed onto a platform made of stacked wood and caught it. The man then shouldered the water-filled jar and somehow managed to set it safely on the ground.
The two couples representing their respective villages gave off completely opposite atmospheres at a glance. Unlike Asteril and Kallian, who showed little change in expression, the opposing couple was brimming with confidence.
At that moment, a Sibyl wearing a golden bracelet appeared on the altar before the brazier, raising her arms.
“O Ananke, bless these ones!”
She briefly praised the gods, looking up at the sky, then swept her gaze over both couples.
“Both couples have accomplished the first trial admirably. Now, the next trial is a question.”
Tension settled over them. The people who had momentarily set aside their drinking and settled here and there to watch the contest on the altar likewise grew solemn.
“What is the sweetest yet bitterest, sourest yet spiciest, bitterest yet most astringent food in the world? The answer is among these, so choose what you think it is.”
All four of their gazes turned to the table at once. Fruits, cured meats, cakes made of honey and jujubes, roasted cheese, well-fermented bread, fragrant wine, and more covered its surface.
The opposing woman walked out confidently first and picked up a cup filled with wine. The man, large as a giant, smiled with satisfaction.
The assistant officiator, the old priestess, approached from below the altar and asked quietly.
“Representatives of Prear Village, what will you choose?”
Asteril, who had been examining the food on the table one by one, smiled with her eyes gently curving.
“We will answer here.”
Kallian raised an eyebrow. When she made that expression, it meant she was hiding some confident weapon.
“You will speak from there? Then please tell us which food you choose.”
“Ah, we will not choose a food.”
“You will not choose?”
“Yes. The thing that is the sweetest yet bitterest, sourest yet spiciest, bitterest yet most astringent in the world.”
A smile rose to Asteril’s lips as if to say, isn’t it obvious?
“It is human speech.”
Someone muttered in the shadows, “Oh, my heavens…” in admiration. Others murmured at the unexpected answer.
“So if I must choose an answer here, am I to cut out my tongue and offer it?”
At her reply, laughter burst out among the participants.
The opposing woman’s face turned red as she stepped back. The man crossed his arms in apparent anger, pressing his lips into a straight line.
Meanwhile, the man in priestly garb who had been listening silently below the altar removed the robe from his head. His blond hair gleamed red in the firelight. A smile hung on his lips, as though he had discovered an unexpected treasure.
“Young ones of Prear! Ananke is pleased!”
The Sibyl who had asked the question shouted, raising both arms high.
“O Goddess of Wisdom and Weaving! Do you see the discernment of those who have been washed in the Kallirrhoe? A noble laurel wreath, kissed by Helios, would not be ashamed to adorn their brows, for such an answer has come forth!”
The flames in the great brazier erupted with a boom. The fire roaring up toward the black sky was so enormous it momentarily seemed to obscure the Pompeion.
The Sibyl laughed, mouth gaping wide as if she had heard the goddess’s answer. Her tongue flicked about joyfully, as though a snake were about to slither out.
Wearing laurel wreaths, Asteril and Kallian received applause on the altar.
The thoroughly intoxicated newlyweds sang boisterously to the sound of the aulos, bringing the eve festival to a magnificent close.
It was a night that satisfied everyone.
“Ah, it is the tear of Eos.”
Someone spoke as if ringing a bell, and as though it were the hour Hypnos had engraved upon a water jar, the lit torches began to go out one by one.
Ψ
Everyone was too drunk to control their bodies.
Participants lay using each other’s bodies as pillows, deeply asleep. Even if a passing shadow accidentally stepped on their noses, they would only groan, unable to open their eyes.
Wearing laurel wreaths, Kallian and Asteril moved following the gestures of the young priestesses.
Going around behind the extinguished altar, they saw a giant laurel tree standing in the darkness, casting a deeper shadow.
At the cave entrance hidden by bushes behind the tree, Sibyls stood holding young laurel branches. They gestured for the two to pluck leaves and place them in their mouths before handing them over.
Asteril and Kallian placed laurel leaves in their mouths, ducked into the low cave entrance, and entered one by one.
Seeing the fluorite illuminating the cave interior, Asteril made an expression of wonder. Blue lights fell in circles upon the ground, lighting the way forward.
Kallian slowly surveyed the cave interior and became puzzled. Strange. Despite having definitely been here before, it felt remarkably unfamiliar.
The two soon arrived before the statue of Cronus symbolizing the entrance to the sacred domain.
Asteril stopped. She stared at the old man’s right arm holding the scythe. The ancient letter carved on the back of the old man’s hand caught her eye even in the darkness.
Upsilon (Y).
Everyone’s expectations were correct. This was the entrance to the fourth ancient temple. It was the last ancient room she had been searching for, and somewhere here, Gaia’s legacy would lie dormant.
“Lovers of the laurel, enter within. The Pythia awaits.”
A Sibyl draped in black cloth whispered, raising a torch upward. Following her instruction, the two squeezed through a rock crevice.
As they splashed across the damp floor, a clanking sound came from outside. It was the sound of something heavy grinding and scraping as it moved.
They glanced back, but through the rock crevice that served as the entrance, only pale beams of fluorite light filtered through like bars; there was nothing else.
After walking briskly through the darkness for a few steps, an astonishing sight appeared.
The place before them had a structure similar to the underground temple of Nysa, which had been Hecate’s refuge. After passing through a narrow tunnel like an anthill, a room opened up like a gourd.
Before a cliff-like wall rising in the distance stood a stone monolith reaching the height of a giant, covered in mysterious letters that announced its presence with authority. The straight path leading up to it shone golden, as though depicting the majesty of the Sun God.
The Pythia, the oracle priestess, stood before that golden path. Wearing a black robe that covered even her forehead and the bridge of her nose, she stood straight as a goddess, greeting them with a posture more dignified than expected.
She opened her lips, painted with gold. Perhaps due to the cave’s structure, her calm voice echoed clearly despite its quietness.
“Those who have received Ananke’s blessing, come this way.”
Kallian, who had been checking their surroundings with a sideways glance, stopped at an eerie sense of wrongness. Asteril also paused. She looked at him with a questioning expression.
The Pythia gestured for them to come closer. Kallian stared intently at her.
They had hidden their vocal range relatively well, but…
He stretched out his arm to block Asteril protectively. The Keton’s Eye could not be deceived.
“That is a man.”
The priestess’s lips slowly split into a grin. She seemed surprised at having been found out so quickly.
“As expected… you are no ordinary people.”
He removed his robe, revealing dazzling blond hair like ripe wheat grains.
The young man resembled an unrecorded male deity—mysterious and beautiful. Kallian narrowed his eyes at an inexplicable sense of déjà vu. An indescribable wariness brushed past the nape of his neck.
“I apologize if you were looking forward to meeting the Pythia.”
The young man’s voice was bright and cheerful. There was even an unblemished innocence to it.
“I am Eleusis, a priest of Delphi. On behalf of Delphi, I express my infinite respect to you wise and keen ones.”
Eleusis, meaning liberator.
Hearing that name, Asteril clenched her fist. She had never imagined they would meet so soon.
“Until now, most couples who received the Sibyl’s blessing at the Daphne Festival passed by offering bribes. So I was truly astonished to see people who cleared the second trial by their own ability. I am amazed and delighted.”
“We are honored to hear that.”
Asteril responded with a composed smile. Eleusis’s expression, which had been smiling brightly, shifted into various shades of interest.
Her demeanor in accepting his praise as if it were natural exuded an undeniable nobility. She was a woman of high status.
The man standing beside her was even more so. Simply standing and breathing, he radiated an irresistible dignity and intimidation. His gaze, accustomed to looking down on others, naturally exuded the charisma of one born to command.
Their status was not merely high… they were certainly figures revered even within the privileged class.
“It has been my lifelong wish to visit the Daphne sanctuary. Now that I am actually here, it is more mysterious and beautiful than I had heard; my heart surges.”
“Haha, you are a person of intellectual curiosity. Most dream of visiting the Delphi temple where the oracle priestess resides, rather than the Daphne sanctuary… but you are indeed keen. The real treasure vault is here.”
“Treasure vault?”
“Because here lie the relics and legacies left behind by the ancient gods.”
Asteril loosened her lips, putting on an entranced expression. She pleaded with the face of an innocent girl.
“Relics of the ancient gods… golden-haired priest, might I see them just once? Even from afar?”
“Of course. Someone as wise and beautiful as you has the right.”
Eleusis readily agreed. It was almost disconcerting how easily he granted permission.
He gestured this way. They walked along the golden path. Kallian held Asteril’s hand tightly as they moved.
Eleusis went around behind the stele standing at the end of the golden path. The soaring wall rippled with faint waves of light seeping from the ceiling. There, the massive wall was covered in ancient murals similar to those seen in the Library of Alexandria.
Asteril tilted her head to look up. It was a magnificent sight. The countless murals, the myths within them, seemed to cascade down like rain.
Among them, one painting stood out. Located dead center, it was rendered larger and more prominently than the others.
A pitch-black night. People thrown into a fire pit. A giant eye seeming to watch over them from above. A branch sprouting over the burning people.
Asteril’s gaze moved to the right. The paintings connected as if continuing a story.
The sprouted branch twisted and lengthened, and a tender flower bloomed at the end of the old branch. Moving further to the side again, she saw the blossoms turning into fruit.
As if they had been waiting, a hand reached to pluck the fruit. A massive hand grasped the fruit, and behind it, people could be seen smiling with satisfaction.
They were drawn far larger than the humans depicted in other murals. Their appearances were similar but far more splendid and beautiful.
They were the ones in authority. Omnipotent beings called gods.
The hand that had picked the fruit distributed the round fruits one by one, and they ate with joy.
It was the scene of Gaia giving ambrosia to the Ketons. The mural she had seen in the ancient temple of Cocytus suddenly came to mind. It was the same content but expressed differently. What was it trying to say?
Asteril’s gaze returned to the central mural. The people burning, the branch sprouting as if budding over them.
“Is it not truly terrible?”
Eleusis asked in a sorrowful voice from behind her.
“However much they are sinners, to burn them alive like that… it is truly cruel.”
Eleusis murmured pityingly, caressing the people flailing in the fire pit with his hand.
“Mother Gaia is known as a god of great compassion. Why in the world did she do such a thing?”
Asteril’s pupils trembled finely. Something flashed in her mind.
Sparks scattering like embroidery across the dark blue night sky. Inns screaming and flailing, trapped in the flames. The King of Hades watching coldly as he pushed them in, observing them burn to death.
Her gaze suddenly turned to Kallian. He was staring at the mural with narrowed brows.
“Well… it is but a story from myth, I suppose. Perhaps it was meant to teach a lesson: do not live committing sins.”
Thinking Asteril had gone quiet out of fear, Eleusis laughed and brushed it off as a joke.
Eleusis continued his explanation, pointing to each mural one by one with his hand. When asked jokingly if his eyes could see, he boasted that he had memorized the exact location of every mural.
The young man who held Delphi in his grasp was more erudite than expected, and his depth of knowledge regarding ancient mythology was so outstanding that one might dare compare it to the Library of Alexandria.
The kind of stories that would have the usual Asteril unable to tear her eyes away poured from his mouth, but she could not easily lose herself in them.
Thinking back, it was strange. Why had he burned the inns? Had there really been a need to draw attention with such a loud method? Of course, he had erected a barrier while doing it… but it didn’t match Kallian’s personality, which detested anything troublesome.
“Now, have all your curiosities been resolved?”
“What? Ah, yes…”
Before they knew it, they had circled the entire ancient temple and were standing again at the start of the golden path.
Eleusis raised his chin and looked above his head. No, he had merely raised his head to scratch his neck for a moment. Asteril also looked up absently at the dome-like rounded ceiling.
The ceiling clearly showed signs of artificial modification. It had been structured so that the priestess’s voice would carry well during rituals.
What is that?
As Asteril continued to stare holes into the ceiling, Kallian also looked up, sensing something strange. Looking closely, he saw jewel-like sparkling things embedded throughout the ceiling. Something sharp and pointed….
“My my.”
Eleusis burst into a hearty laugh. He had already walked far away to the middle of the golden path and was looking back at them. Not a single footstep had been heard, just like when the Hecate tribe ran wearing the deer-hide shoes made by Circe.
“You truly are perceptive people.”
He clapped his hands once, and the ground shook.
At the vibration felt beneath their feet, Kallian snatched Asteril into his arms. Asteril also wrapped her arms around Kallian’s waist as if seizing him.
Screech, clank!
The floor beneath them fell away. No, the ground underfoot vanished. Asteril screamed. Their bodies fell terrifyingly downward. It was a hidden trap—and an endlessly deep one.
Midair, Kallian held her protectively and spun once so that his back faced downward.
Thud!
Dust billowed around the two as they hit the ground. It was covered with unsettled dirt and small pieces of stone.
Having cushioned her with his arm wrapped around her head to minimize the impact on Asteril’s body, Kallian let out a low groan, some bone apparently crushed.
Safe in his embrace, Asteril raised her head.
She looked up at the hole they had fallen through. A sound like a pulley was heard, and the floor above opened wide like a door.
They had fallen into a planned trap. They had deliberately been lured to that spot.
The temple itself was so dark it was hard to tell, but they could feel the pit was considerably deep. It was a height they could never climb without a rope or ladder.
“Did you know? There are no young people in Prear village fit to hold the Gamos. The village headman’s son hasn’t been able to marry for years because there is no bride candidate. At first, I thought you were spies sent by the elders’ council. Or perhaps a newlywed couple who failed to be selected in another village had bought participation rights from another village.”
Because he was blind, Eleusis had sharp ears and could discern much from afar: flustered breathing, the sound of pushing against dirt to stand up, and such.
“But the moment you ascended the altar and answered the second trial’s question, I knew. It felt as though a dark night was brilliantly illuminated. The miraculous power you possess felt to even my blind eyes like a waterfall of light. Only then did I realize. That you are the ones Epas spoke of.”
Epas? Why is Lord Epas’s name coming up here? Kallian also rose at the familiar name. He looked up at the pit, dug deep like a well, his expression sharp.
“The miracle of Cocytus, Asteril, the blessed daughter of Anasa whom the Demeterians cherish like a deity. Rumors of you have reached even this oracle’s land. They say you possess miraculous healing abilities. Might I see them?”
Asteril bit her lip. She glanced to check Kallian’s condition.
“Could you not heal something like this easily?”
His right shoulder was cracked and his shinbone broken. In truth, falling from this height would normally result in death. Fortunately, Kallian’s body was far stronger, more flexible, and sturdier than an ordinary human’s.
“I’ll fix it right away.”
Asteril whispered, gathering warmth in both hands. Kallian gave her a look saying he was fine. Despite the considerable pain, he was as composed as ever.
She straightened his broken leg bone and placed her hands over it. As warm energy seeped in with his exhaled breath, he flinched and squeezed his eyes shut, having been clenching his teeth.
Kneeling, Eleusis craned his neck to peer inside the pit. His expression turned strange, and a hollow smile formed on his lips.
“It’s true. You are the real one.”
Asteril glared upward for a moment before focusing on healing again. What was he doing when he couldn’t even see?
“Now I understand. The new ruler of Poseidonia was dragged into the Valley of Death but then flew up from a cliff—that was your doing as well, was it not? Am I right?”
“….”
“Aah, what a remarkable person we have here. The miracle of Cocytus… you are truly a lovely person.”
Being called “lovely” by someone she had no desire to be lovely for was highly unpleasant.
“But you are too threatening. Miracles should exist only in Delphi.”
Then the sound of footsteps approaching was heard. Eleusis, who had been staring down at Asteril and Kallian, glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, you’ve arrived just in time,” he welcomed.
The old sage was dressed exactly as they had seen him in the Library of Alexandria. He knelt in a respectful posture as if standing before Tethys and reverently kissed the back of Eleusis’s hand.
“You… were you from Delphi?”
He had claimed to be from Aphrodisias. Had he said he grew up on Mount Parnassus? Mount Parnassus was near Delphi.
“I am from nowhere. I am merely a foolish one who chases knowledge.”
Asteril made an expression of disbelief. Now she understood. The Delphi relics Epas had brought to Alexandria were not smuggled. They were what Eleusis had given in exchange for the information he passed on.
“Lord Tethys trusts you so much….”
He had followed and revered him as a lifelong teacher, praising him to no end. Unaware that he was selling out Poseidonia for shallow intellectual desire.
“I know. But Lord Tethys knows nothing, so do not worry. As long as you do not go to him and speak nonsense, this matter will be buried forever.”
“Epas said you do not seem to be ordinary humans. I too sense an unusual aura….”
This too was a laughable statement. What would a mere mortal sense? Kallian sat comfortably with one leg propped up, looking at them pathetically.
“Well, I shall find out in time. In any case, if one wasn’t human, one couldn’t have entered this place.”
If one wasn’t human, one couldn’t enter? What did that mean? Kallian checked their surroundings with a sideways glance. Particles of light similar to fluorite floated around them like salt powder.
“Right now, this place is protected by the barrier of the Scythe. For we have placed the Scythe of Cronus up above. You saw the statue of the robed old man at the ancient temple’s entrance, did you not? The scythe the old man holds bears the power to strike down the force of Erebos. It prevents beings originating from Erebos from entering. When the barrier of the Scythe is deployed, they cannot even perceive this space itself.”
“If you mean them… are you speaking of the Keton?”
“You know of them as well, Lady Asteril. This place is a shelter Gaia begged Cronus to create. A place for humans to hide from the Keton.”
Kalian drew the sword tucked into his belt. The rusty, dull blade revealed a miserable sight. His breath that had been coated over the blade’s surface had vanished entirely.
This was a place where all powers evaporated.
Only then did Kalian realize why Hanpung hadn’t answered no matter how much he called. The sense of dissonance he’d felt drawing closer to the ancient shrine, the eerie chill at the back of his neck.
His instincts had detected it. That this entire space was a trap.
The power of the lesser deity Chaos was fundamentally destruction and annihilation. He split open Erebus’s belly, and from his stomach tore free a tough, sticky hide; into it he imbued the breath of destruction and eternity, and with the terrible scythe he ground from it, he created a barrier that nothing could penetrate.
Kalian looked up from the pit with a stiffened face. Finally realizing the severity of the situation, his lips cracked like dry paper.
“Lil.”
At his low call, Asteril quietly cast her gaze.
“What of Bukpung? Does he not answer?”
“There is no answer at all. More than that, it feels as though Cheongeum itself isn’t working. Is it the same for you?”
Asteril discovered the sword he held in his hand. Her eyes trembled at the sight of the rusted blade that looked ready to snap at any moment. She grasped the situation. All of Kalian’s abilities were sealed by the scythe’s barrier.
“Ah, Lord Eleusis. As promised, I have given you information regarding the princess, so….”
“Ah, right. That was the agreement, wasn’t it?”
Epas looked down at Kalian with an excited expression.
“Very well. You may have the man, Lord Epas. I am interested only in Lady Asteril.”
“Thank you, Lord Eleusis.”
“Hmm… I thought you liked me, Lord Epas? Has your taste changed so quickly?”
When Eleusis asked indifferently, Epas replied without taking his eyes off Kalian.
“Not at all. I simply look forward to what unknown realm that man’s existence might lead me to. That does not mean I do not admire you, Lord Eleusis. You are always the most noble and beautiful one to me…. It’s just that that man over there clearly feels as though he possesses some special power. I shall take him and examine every inch of him. With his arms and legs bound, thoroughly, one by one, ah….”
It was then that Epas’s face, which had been curling up in delight at the mere imagination, turned ashen.
“L-Lord Eleusis, danger…!”
Spotting the bolt flying from below the pit, Epas threw himself toward Eleusis. But it was impossible to avoid.
“Ghk!”
The rusted sword precisely pierced Epas’s throat, and crimson blood began to gush like a fountain. Trembling, Epas stared downward with rolled-back eyes.
Kalian, who had raised himself up, glared upward with a repulsed expression as if telling him to shut his mouth. But the one he had aimed for was not the old man, but the blond priest.
As Epas, who had protected him, collapsed convulsing, Eleusis raised an eyebrow.
“El… leu… sis… my… lord….”
As Epas murmured, stretching out a blood-soaked hand, Eleusis stepped back in revulsion. Then, seeing the wound on his own cheek, he grimaced and flared up in anger.
“Did you not even trim your nails! Causing a wound like this, you incompetent fool….”
It seemed Epas’s nail had accidentally scratched his cheek as he rushed to protect Eleusis.
“I-I’m… sor… ry….”
He wanted to say that he usually took care, that his appearance was ordinarily neat, that he had just run a long way, that he had forgotten to groom himself in his excitement at seeing Lord Eleusis after so long, but…
Eleusis’s closed eyes turned away coldly. Epas breathed his last with a bitter expression.
“You.”
Kalian, who had been staring fixedly at Eleusis from below the pit, realized something and opened his mouth.
“Don’t tell me you’re a child of the Keton?”
Eleusis silently rubbed his bleeding cheek with the back of his hand. His closed lips were silent.
“The blood drop in the cosmetics—was it yours?”
Eleusis turned his head slightly toward the bottom of the pit. His expression asked how Kalian knew.
“You… what are you?”
“A being you cannot fathom even if you knew.”
“If I, who interpret the words of the gods, cannot fathom you… then you must be a god?”
“If you think so, should you not crawl down here on all fours and bow your head?”
“Ha… haha! Hahahaha! Ah, is that so?”
Eleusis laughed sharply. He looked as though tears might fall from how funny it was.
“You see, I have always wanted to kill a god, just once.”
“….”
“I do not know exactly what you are, but if you were a god, you shouldn’t have been able to enter this place. And seeing that perverted old man obsessed with knowledge come running with his mouth open… could it be that you are a being similar to me?”
The temple of Cronus was a place neither Nyx nor Seate knew. He had sent the servant woman they sent inside as a test, but Nyx’s flock of crows could not enter the cave and only waited outside.
“This works out perfectly. I too have been curious. Am I truly immortal? Or merely ageless? But then, I cannot very well die just to test it.”
“….”
“I suppose I can confirm it through you.”
From the ceiling, blocked with stone like a cave, something clinked and the scraping sound of something being pulled taut echoed. Kalian’s eyes widened at the sight.
The things glinting on the ceiling.
They were sharp arrows loaded onto bowstrings hanging from the ceiling.
Kalian hastily turned his shoulder and embraced Asteril as if to shield her. He spoke firmly.
“Close your eyes.”
Swish.
Swish!
Arrows poured down like rain. Asteril froze in shock, and Kalian yanked her face toward him, burying it against his shoulder.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
Kalian’s body shuddered from the impacts as arrows struck him. He spread both arms and wrapped them around Asteril like armor, holding firm.
The rain of arrows stopped.
Asteril, who had buried her face in Kalian’s shoulder, groped through empty air with her hand and touched his back.
She flinched and jerked her hand away as if she’d touched a burning coal. Arrows… countless arrows were embedded in him.
“Stop! This person is just a human! An ordinary human!”
“Then are you saying that an ordinary human spoke to me in such a manner? To me, Eleusis? To the Lord of Delphi and the son of Nisa?”
Son of Nisa? The Lord of Delphi was one thing, but the son of Nisa? He couldn’t mean he was the son of Dadukos… for a moment, a hypothesis flashed through his mind. The hairs on his nape stood on end. No way, surely not….
“The gods have no mercy. Therefore, I too should have none.”
Eleusis smiled as if he were a different person than before. It was an arrogant, stiff smile, intoxicated with his own power.
Ψ
Asteril trembled with clenched fists. Kalian’s broad shoulder against her nose twitched intermittently. She raised her hand and stroked his firm back. There was no space to caress. There was no space left; arrows were embedded so densely. Her hand came away soaked in bright red blood.
“The arrowheads I fired just now were coated with serpent venom and scorpion venom.”
Asteril’s lips trembled. “Kal… Kalian?” she whispered his name. She could feel his breath, reaching the top of her head, gradually weakening as if burning away.
The hand embracing her back fell away with a thud. Beyond Kalian’s blood-soaked shoulder, Eleusis’s blond hair was visible. Had he not been blind, his two eyes would likely be gleaming like torches right now.
“Your focus is fading. I always find eyes steeped in death beautiful to behold.”
There was no strength in Kalian’s pupils looking upward. Even as he imagined hundreds of ways to beat that blond madman to death in his mind.
“The poison should start circulating soon. I modified it slightly, so it works a bit faster than natural venom.”
His entire body began to burn unbearably. His internal organs melted, unable to endure the acidic poison, and pain severe enough to make his teeth chatter enveloped his whole body.
“Kuk….” Kalian pressed his hand to the ground. The veins on the back of his hand swelled darkly.
“Usually by this point, people beg to be saved or plead to be killed….”
He was like a cruel young deity, yet innocent. In some aspects, he was certainly similar to the Keton. A merciless nature that could be mistaken for purity, for instance.
Yes, he resembled the Keton of Nisa.
Asteril bit her teeth together. Kalian’s wounds were severe. Perhaps they had already passed the point where anything could be done. But if she used her abilities now, she would be on the verge of losing consciousness.
Then something flew down from above.
Thwack!
Struck by an axe to the back of his head, Kalian collapsed helplessly. Asteril, drenched in his blood, was struck dumb.
“Haha….”
Eleusis laughed, pressing a hand to his forehead. Kalian’s left hand, which had held Asteril’s shoulder until the very end, was sliding down toward his chest.
“The ending was a bit anticlimactic, wasn’t it? He held out too stubbornly, so I grew bored.”
Asteril, sitting blankly, suddenly came to her senses. She hastily embraced him and rubbed her cheek against his. With their hands tightly clasped together, she poured all her strength into sending him warmth.
He was still breathing. Still.
It’s okay, this isn’t his real body so it can be fixed. If only I don’t disturb his breath, if only I can keep his form completely contained within….
“Kal… Kalian….”
Asteril sobbed and caressed his face. Why was his body so cold? His once-soft skin was hardening like stone, as if petrifying.
His gradually paling skin took on a yellowish gleam. His face, with eyes heavily lowered, withered in an instant like a corpse.
“What sort of ability is that?”
Eleusis tilted his head from above, thinking Asteril was doing something.
“Do you perhaps have the power to revive the dead?”
“Please… be quiet.”
She felt like grabbing that smug jaw and smashing it with a mallet.
His breath did not return. The warmth had grown cold. Their clasped hands had stiffened to the point of being unable to bend. When she tried to force them open, they even broke with a sharp crack.
Watching the hand fall away, she made an expression of speechless shock. This body could no longer be used.
Kalian… are you still here?
Asteril gazed at his back as he lay face-down against the floor. His back, densely embedded with arrows, was drenched in blood. The agony he must have suffered was horribly palpable.
Yellowish particles of light floated around Kalian’s fallen body like fireflies.
Poof.
The light, floating without taking form, soon scattered as if chased by something, then disappeared as if being sucked away somewhere.
Cronus’s scythe.
The power to sever beings rooted in Erebus. Had he been banished outside the barrier?
Asteril clutched her chest. Her breathing became rough and rapid. Perhaps from overusing her powers, her body swayed like a sheet of paper.
Sweating cold sweat, Asteril barely pressed her hand to the ground and looked up.
Eleusis was crouching down, looking into the pit with a face still full of curiosity.
Asteril spoke.
“You… you can actually see everything, can’t you?”
“….”
“You seem to be blind… but from whom did you beg for what power?”
“I am not a Maenad. I do not beg for impure power.”
He did not deny having received power. Nor did he deny the fact that he could see everything despite being blind.
“Then how can you see everything? With your eyes closed like that?”
“I ate.”
“You ate… what?”
“The spiritual fruit of the gods.”
Eleusis opened his closed eyelids, and Asteril clenched her fists. The blind man’s pupils were white and opaque, as if clumps of white snowflakes had been pressed together.
He stuck out his tongue and licked his lips. As if recalling the taste of biting into a sweet, crunchy fruit.
“Ambrosia.”
And then he smiled eerily.