Pharon placed a candle on the altar. Suddenly, his hand slipped and struck the glass chalice. The chalice fell; he extended his hand to catch it, but his hand slipped due to spilled juice. The chalice shattered as it hit the ground.
This shook him to his core. It was not an ordinary chalice. It was a gift given to him by the old Hermit himself.
He quickly crouched down and began picking up the glass pieces. His hand froze over a single shard on which a scribble remained:
[Greatest Priest Pharon]
Tears collected in the corners of his eyes. He closed them. Memories of the old hermit echoed in his mind.
"Here, this is for my greatest young priest." The hermit presented a gift wrapped in paper.
Young Pharon gently held it and unwrapped the gift. A shining glass chalice emerged. He looked at it with brightening eyes. "Thank you, old man. I will cherish it my whole life."
His finger grazed over the scribble. He asked, "Old man, what does 'greatest Priest' mean?"
"Hmm…"
The old man squinted his eyes and stroked his white beard. After a moment's thought, he answered:
"God may abandon divinity.
A temple may abandon sanctuary.
People may abandon faith and virtue.
But a priest never abandons his duties."
"That is the true priest. The greatest Priest."
"Cough! Cough!"
The child's violent coughing pulled him back to reality. Pharon abandoned the glass and walked toward the mother and child.
The mother's eyes were dry; no more tears were left to flow. She looked at him as though he were her last hope. She gathered all her remaining strength and muttered with pale lips, "Please… save… my child."
He raised his right hand, palm directed toward them. Arcane energy collected in his palm, turning into a pure white orb. Pharon whispered, "Your plea has reached the goddess. I will act as the medium."
The white orb unraveled into an intense, blinding white light. It showered over them. White light rays pierced through their skin and eliminated the golden particles from existence. It not only purified but also healed their damaged organs.
The white light dimmed over time. As the blinding glow faded, she slowly opened her eyes. The first thing she saw was her child, sleeping soundly, his skin and breath returned to normal.
"My son! My child! Awww…"
Tears flowed from her eyes—not tears of sorrow, but of happiness. She hugged him tightly and kissed his forehead.
Then she looked at Pharon. Her smile froze.
Pharon stood there looking at them, but his right hand was completely burned away. Only the skeleton remained, smoke rising from its hot surface.
"Y-Your hand…"
As she pointed, he glanced at it but gave a subtle nod, as if he already knew the consequences. He walked toward the gate and said, "You both should rest."
Her hand clenched the hem of her dress. She asked hesitantly, "Are you going to use that… on the whole village?"
His steps halted for a second, then continued. He gave no reply, but that was enough for her to understand.
"But this will destroy you."
"This is my duty. It does not matter whether it destroys me or not." He stepped outside and beat his grey wings. He flew high into the sky and looked at the temple one last time.
He took a deep breath and flew to the center of the village. He closed his eyes and slowly raised his hands. Arcane energy from all directions collected in both palms, turning into pure white threads. The threads gathered together, creating a giant white orb.
Its intense, blinding white light became a second sun in the moonless night. This light purified everything it touched—including Pharon himself.
His skin dried and broke apart like drought-stricken earth. His wings ignited, and he began losing altitude.
The giant white orb completed its formation in his hands.
"Farewell, beautiful world…" As his final words escaped his lips, the giant white orb burst and engulfed the whole village in blinding white light.
---
Pharon slowly opened his eyes. His vision was hazy. Voices were unclear. But in this blurred sight, he saw someone standing before him, speaking words his senses could not yet grasp.
He slightly lifted his body. Suddenly, cold water splashed over him. The sudden shock jolted him fully awake.
The abrupt action sharpened all his senses, as though he felt a dangerous presence.
"Now, you are awake."
He wiped the water from his face and looked at the speaker. The figure resembled a Daimon, except his hair and wings were jet black. "Who are you?"
He looked around. The place appeared to be a grand and majestic hall of some castle. Obsidian marble pillars were adorned with golden designs. A large chandelier of gold and crystals hung from the ceiling.
"Where am I?"
His eyes fell upon two other beings sitting in the corner: a demonic owl and a human who appeared to be of high status. Their eyes held the same look as his—confused, curious, but aware of something he was not.
"I am Dire, and you are in the Underworld."
His breath hitched. Memories of the grand purification rushed back, washed over with cold realization. I am dead.
He looked around again. This place seemed like a castle or palace. But if he remembered correctly, a soul was first reaped by Thanatos, guided by Charon and Apate.
He had missed that—perhaps because of his background and his meeting with the old man. Then he looked at the others and thought, Their cases must be similar to mine.
Knock! Knock!
"Sir, it is your turn for an audience. Please come to the gate."
The voice came from behind the door—old, elegant, and respectful.
"Hmm."
Dire nodded and gestured to them all. "Follow me."
They followed him silently.
They walked down the corridor, their eyes lost in admiration of the castle's richness. Soldiers and servants were stationed at regular intervals.
Pharon leaned forward and asked, "Sir Dire, are you a Daimon?"
"No. A devil."
He squinted his eyes. "Don't devils have bat-like wings and long horns?"
Dire glanced back and smiled. "Those are demons. Devils, angels, and Daimon are not so different.
"Devils embody mind and darkness. Daimon wield necromancy and magic. Angels possess healing and light."
Pharon nodded and committed all this to memory.
They stopped before a giant closed door. Dire turned to them and said, "We are going to meet the crowns. Do not be discourteous, or…" He made a cutting gesture with his hand.