Chapter LXXXII

Whit looks around, unable to fully understand what's happening. In his mind, stands the image of Mira walking away after attacking Adar and Nero, in a mad attempt to obtain the temple’s blessing.

On the other hand, he remembers when they first met as novices in the priesthood — the cheerful and radiant smile she had while helping him find his way around the temple where they began their journey.

Yes, she had at times shown a certain restlessness about her own progress and some resentment about how things seemed to be going a bit easier for him. But he had never thought she could act the way she just had.

Maybe he should have realized something was wrong when he discovered the codex. He had wanted to show what he had found to their superiors, but she had insisted that they try to find the temple themselves.

“Medishe revealed this to us for a reason,” she had said firmly. And he had agreed, more for the chance to live this adventure with her, than for any other reason. Did her change begin there?

Seres helps Adar stay on his feet, while he holds his ribs, which still seem to hurt from Mira’s blow. When she was halfway to the temple, Nero shrugs, as if making a decision, and starts also heading toward the temple.

This leaves Whit, Seres, and Adar looking at one another, trying to decide what to do in these circumstances. In the end, they simply follow Nero — after all, what else could they do? As he walks, Whit remains troubled about what to do, to the point he feels his legs falter.

Should he stop Mira from taking this risk? But on the other hand, this is her choice. And he understands — this is no ordinary opportunity for her.

Up ahead, Mira reaches the columns that lead to the door and stops momentarily, as if thinking — or perhaps admiring the temple, which really is impressive and hard to describe.

Nero, meanwhile, raises his hands to his face as if preparing to shout, and says:

“When you're inside, you’ll have to choose between three doors. Pick the one in the middle.”

Mira hears him and turns around to see them approaching, staring at the mage, intrigued and seemingly struggling to understand him.

“And then be sure to follow the black stones,” he continues talking. Seeing her persistent expression, he adds,

“Don’t worry — you’ll understand once you’re in there.”

“What do you want from this all? You must want something!” she responds spreading her arms, her voice tense but more curious than suspicious.

Nero stops, placing a hand on his chest as if wounded. “Is that what you think of me?” His voice carries a tone of fake hurt, but he doesn't even try to hide his amusement at her comment.

While Mira keeps looking at him expressionless, he resumes walking, now speaking more seriously.

“All you can give me is for you to survive as long as possible. Fortunately, that's exactly what I want. So follow what I told you because it's your best shot, to get what we both want.”

“But why?” she asks again.

“Because. Unfortunately for you, I don’t remember any other tips I could give. So remember — middle door and follow the black stones,” he repeats as they approach, not truly answering her question.

For a moment, Mira looks directly at him. A look so familiar, so ordinary. Like when they studied the scriptures and she’d glance at him as if to say, “And you, what do you think?”

But that moment passes, as if she remembers what happened, causing her to look down — sad and ashamed.

Whit, for his part, studies the strange mage before him. Remembering the odd young man who had appeared out of nowhere at an inn, asking if they were talking about the Temple of Divine Trials. Then claiming, with some arrogance, that he knew exactly what the temple was and how to get there.

And looking around, there’s no denying this powerful mage hadn't lied or exaggerated. Because, well, here they are.

So, fortunately, when Mira lifts her gaze again, Whit manages to catch her eye and offers her all he can now — his friendly advice. Moving silently his lips as if helping answer a question her in class: “Do what he told you.”

And to his relief, she seems to understand, giving a faint, sad smile and nodding before turning to walk through the temple’s open doors.

The moment she disappears into the darkness of the entrance. Two stone doors, previously hidden in the shadows, move forward closing behind her.

“Well, I guess it’s started. Come on. I don’t know how much time we have,” says Nero in a calm but almost cheerful tone. Making Whit think again about Mira’s question: What does Nero want here?

Nero approaches the temple’s entrance but keeps walking, moving to the left side of the temple. This strange course leaves Whit puzzled — and from the exchanged looks between the mage’s companions, he’s not the only one.

Finally, he stops between the first and second columns from the left, turns to them, and waves them over. “Come, come.”

Despite his curiosity, Whit doesn’t feel capable of asking his questions. Thankfully, Seres has no such problem.

“Why are we here? What’s so important about this place?” she asks.

The mage focuses on Seres, and pointing with his thumb, replies:

“Temple exit.”

Seres gestures toward the stone doors Mira just went through, clearly confused. “But—”

“Yeah, I know. Kind of dumb, but someone decided this was the exit. What do you want me to do?” Nero interrupts, shrugging.

“What matters is that you come here,” the mage continues speaking while waving Whit closer. Which he does, hesitantly, still not understanding what’s going on — though that’s pretty much how he’s felt since they got here.

“Perfect, perfect,” says the mage as Whit reaches his side. He places a hand on Whit’s shoulder, guiding him toward the temple’s stone wall.

“Look there,” Nero says cheerfully, pointing at a crack in the wall. “Inside there, you should be able to barely see an iron chain.”

Turning to him and now looking more serious, he says intensely:

“Whit, my friend. You’ll have to pull that chain.”

Whit stares at the mage, still not quite understanding, but Nero keeps going.

“You’ve no idea what a relief it was to find out you know telekinesis. I was almost planning on using a hook and rope to try pulling that damn thing. But then you showed what you can do.”

As he speaks, the mage keeps pointing toward the space ahead, prompting Whit to move closer and look into the crack. It appears to be an opening into a large cavity. However, the darkness makes it hard to judge the size. Looking carefully, there really does seem to be an object inside.

He glances back at the smiling mage, still gesturing toward the hole, as if saying “Go on, get to it.”

He turns back to the crack in the wall, whispering inwardly: I hope this helps Mira.

Then, joining his hands in a silent prayer, he whispers,

“The Divine Hand of Medishe.”

From that point on, as usual, he feels both joy and fear as the divine power spreads through him, To then form like he grows another arm extending from his chest. This invisible 'arm' stretches through the stone wall until he senses the object, which does seem to be a chain. He grabs it and begins to pull. At that moment, he really starts to feel the divine energy draining from him. But it doesn’t stop him from pulling.

And the chain moves, until he feels resistance. But he persists, and the chain gives.

In this moment a noise breaks his concentration, and the power he had called forth vanishes.

Behind him, however, the mage seems unbothered, exclaiming happily, “Yes!!”

Taking a step back, he watches as the wall before him shifts aside, revealing a passage.

“Wow!” says an impressed Seres, while Adar asks,

“How did you remember how to do this?”

Nero walks past Whit and answers, still in good spirits:

“Oh, the idea’s not mine. I saw some guy do this on You—”

He suddenly stops, as if realizing he’s said too much.

“Well, doesn’t matter. I stole the idea from someone else,” he admits, then extends his hand and says, “The Last Light of Magic.”

A glowing orb of light illuminates the area ahead, revealing what looks like another cave. But carved into the far wall is a stairway leading up, vanishing into the distance where the spell’s light cannot reach.

“Let’s go,” orders the mage, heading up the stairs. The command rouses them, and they follow.

As they begin climbing, Whit hears Seres say:

“Nero, I’ve been thinking.”

This elicits a frustrated sigh from Adar and a playful but amused,

“Oh really, Blondie?” from Nero.

“Yes. If divine powers don’t work on you, why do you have blessings? Shouldn’t they be useless?” he asks, his doubt and curiosity clear in his voice.

Nero suddenly turns around, almost shocked.

“That’s… a good question.”

He gives a small amused smile before saying. “Are you feeling okay?” he jokes.

Before anyone can reply, he continues:

“But to answer you — they’re different systems. That’s why blessings — or at least most of them — work without being affected by the faith system.”

Having said that, he turns back and resumes walking.

“If you want to ask why — don’t bother. I don’t know why. I just pla… use the systems, I didn’t make them.”

Nero casts another light spell to illuminate more of the staircase. Seeing he’s in a responsive mood, Whit risks his own question.

“Hum... Lord Nero… what are Mira’s chances?”

Nero stumbles on a step but continues walking as if nothing happened. Without even turning around, he begins to speak.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know.”

His voice echoes down the staircase, heavy and somber.

“The path I gave your friend is the one that seems best for her. But it’s not a route I’m very familiar with. So the help I gave is the best I have.”

And Whit understands. It’s not the answer he wanted, but it’s the one he expected.

“She’s on her own now,” the mage adds, as if trying to comfort him — though not very successfully.

“And us, where are we going?” asks Adar, who had remained silent until now.

“Ah, right. We’re heading to the final chamber—the end of the temple. And the place of the final test.” answers Nero more cheerfully. And as he speaks, they seem to reach the top of the staircase.

“Nero, what does that mean?” asks a more anxious Adar.

The chamber opened around them like one of the large temples carved from stone. Light shimmered faintly along the ceiling, though no source could be seen. And then… a presence.

A figure—radiant, beautiful, impossibly composed—stood waiting.

Beautiful and intense, she looks at them, confused, and asks:

“What are you doing here?”

Upon hearing her powerful and almost energetic voice, Whit’s legs buckled before the figure of light. For the image before him—radiant, serene, unmistakable—was the same as every statue of Medishe he’d ever seen.