"Not just a pendulum," the man replied, his gaze fixing on the bronze weight with an intensity that seemed to pull the light from the room.
"This is a seeker. It doesn't care about your promises or your 'interest.' It only cares about the resonance of your Qi. If the world has a place for you, the needle will swing. If you are a dead end... well, I could use the warmth of a fire."
The bronze cone began to move, a slow, microscopic tremor that defied the steady vibration of the train. Thomas watched, breathless, as his entire existence was reduced to the oscillation of a piece of metal.
Thomas had encountered pendulums like this before. Back on Earth, during the desperate years when he had travelled to every specialist and spiritualist imaginable to "fix" his emotional void, he had seen practitioners dangle stones over maps and charts.
Seeing one now brought back a haunting nostalgia; back then, the silence in his heart had been a curse he wanted to break.
Now, facing the literal spark of life and death, he realised how blessed that emptiness had truly been. It was much easier to face a needle when you didn't care if it pierced you.
Realising the identity of the item didn't settle his stomach. He couldn't fathom how his survival was suddenly linked to the centrifugal force of a bronze cone.
"It seems you recognise this tool," the superhero said, his tone shifting to one of mild surprise. "I'm sure you're asking yourself how the hell your fate is tied to a piece of metal on a string, right?"
Thomas nodded slowly, his eyes locked on the swinging weight.
"Let me teach you another fundamental truth of our world," the man said. The pendulum continued its rhythmic, hypnotic pace.
For a second, Thomas felt his eyelids grow heavy, the rhythmic motion tugging at his consciousness like a siren's song. He bit his tongue, using the sharp spike of pain to resist what felt like a hypnotic spell.
"In this land, we understand that 'trivial' things like fate and divination are the only things that keep us from the abyss.
Prying into the future isn't a parlour trick; it can save your life. There are a dozen ways to read the threads—runes, stars, the marrow of beasts—but for me, this little seeker is more than enough."
A vicious, predatory smile spread across the man's face. The metallic gear on his cheek caught the dim light of the train, making him look like a clockwork monster.
"I am going to consult the resonance," the man whispered. "I'm asking if I should take your life right here, or if fate has a longer, more agonising script written for you."
Before Thomas could find a breath to protest, the man's good eye snapped shut. He began to mutter under his breath, a low-frequency hum of words that didn't sound like the language Thomas had "learned" from the scroll. It was ancient, guttural, and cold.
Suddenly, the silver light erupted again. It wasn't the violent lightning of the battle, but a soft, glowing mist that flowed down the man's arm, through his fingers, and into the bronze chain.
The bronze turned to shimmering silver. The pendulum, which had been swinging casually, suddenly froze in mid-air. It hung at a dead stop for several agonising seconds, trembling with a frantic, unseen energy. Then, it began to move.
It didn't swing; it floated. The cone-shaped tip rose, defying gravity, and pointed directly at Thomas's chest. The chain went taut, stretching toward him as if the metal were a starving beast trying to leap at his heart.
'Sh*t! Sh*t! Is this it? I survived the hospital, I survived the transfer... just to die on a train truck because a piece of metal pointed at me?'
Thomas had never truly feared death before. On Earth, a diagnosis was just a change in schedule.
But now, with the wind howling through the broken car and a god-like man deciding his worth, a raw, unprecedented terror flooded his soul. He felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest—a phantom heart attack born of pure panic.
The needle-sharp point of the pendulum remained fixed on his heart, persistent and threatening. Thomas squeezed his eyes shut. 'It's over. Even the universe wants me gone.'
"Phew!"
The sound of a long, tired exhale broke the tension. Thomas opened his eyes to see the man releasing the chain. The silver light vanished, and the pendulum returned to its natural state, swinging lazily from side to side.
"You passed," the man said, sounding almost disappointed. "Fate seems to have a perverse liking for you."
"W... What?" Thomas gasped, his lungs finally expanding.
"You heard me." The man sighed, expertly winding the bronze chain around his gloved finger before tucking it away. "Fate decided you are worthy to live. The pendulum pointed to you—it recognised a resonance, a future. It didn't signal for your end. Tsk."
For the first time in his two lives, Thomas felt the sheer, intoxicating rush of survival.
The anxiety evaporated, replaced by a warmth that spread through his limbs like fine wine. He had faced the void and been spit back out. It was the magic touch of luck—the realisation that he was still a player on the board.
As Thomas bathed in the relief, the man began to mutter to himself, clearly annoyed by the result.
"I personally can't see the significance of letting a weakling like you breathe my air. I don't need a seeker to know your future. A pathetic, jittery youngster like you... You'll be lucky to score an E-grade in the upcoming trials. It would be a literal miracle if you ever touched the ceiling of D-rank."
Thomas didn't mind the insults. The man could call him a worm as long as he didn't turn him into ash. He was alive, and his "sentence" had been commuted by the universe itself.
"You should find yourself a seeker once you have the coins," the man added, storing the item in his coat pocket. "It works on Qi resonance. In a world this chaotic, it's the only compass that doesn't lie."