Inside the temple, Pharon was collecting dead leaves and twigs as usual, placing them in a corner.
"You still do it physically."
He jumped, startled by the sudden voice from behind. The twigs slipped from his hands. He turned around and found the old man sitting on the stone, as usual.
"You startled me."
He picked up the fallen twigs and asked, "Master, are you really human?"
"You appear and disappear suddenly. You even know arcane magic that no one else knows. Who are you?"
"A ghost. A devil. A spirit…" He paused and took a breath. "Or a god."
The old man smiled at his question. "Why don't you guess for yourself?"
He nodded and went to the corner, placed the twigs and dry leaves there, but his mind was lost in deep thought. As his lips moved to speak, the old man stopped him.
"If you are sure, then speak. But do not say random words." He glanced at the Hecate statue. "Every word and action is counted."
A sense of dread crawled up Pharon's spine. His body stiffened as if bracing for the inevitable.
Suddenly, the old man's gaze shifted to the exit door and he said, "Once, a hungry beast took a child and fled. The father hunted it, killing many beasts, until he finally slew the right one."
Pharon furrowed his brows. Another sudden riddle. But what does he mean? Is he indicating something? He also looked toward the door.
Villagers were walking toward the temple, farm tools and lamps in their hands.
Something is wrong.
As he stepped out of the temple, several men hurled lamps at the wall and at him. A lamp stopped just a few inches from his face. His pupils dilated, and his body moved on reflex. "Gale…"
A small vortex of wind suspended the lamps in mid-air and slowly lowered them to the ground.
The villagers took a few steps back, their hands tightly clutching sharp farm tools and wooden sticks. Their eyes showed a mixture of anger and fear.
His hands clenched into fists, teeth bared in a wordless snarl.
He glared at them and murmured, "You dare to burn the temple in my presence."
The atmosphere suddenly changed. Clouds covered the sun. Turbulent air flowed with dust and torrents.
Everyone trembled before his pressure—except one person. The chief stood at the front, meeting his gaze.
"A ruin that shelters demons and witches can never be a temple."
His jaw clenched, his breath measured; fury was pressed down and caged behind stillness. Endure. Breathe. No bloodshed allowed in a temple.
"A temple is for everyone, whether demonic or holy, as long as they abide by the rules."
"Bullshit! I know you are hiding that old man behind the blanket of customs and temple." He pointed his finger at the old man sitting on the stone. "Hand him over."
"Why should I?" Pharon slightly lifted his chin and crossed his arms over his chest.
"Why… HE KILLED A MOTHER AND A CHILD. TODAY THEY DIE. TOMORROW MAYBE US!" The chief shouted at him, his eyes red with rage. "I can't take my people's lives lightly."
"You'd better hand him over, or… die with him." He grabbed his scythe, ready to attack.
Seeing his courage and rage, the others were also motivated. They pointed their farm tools toward Pharon, ready to hurl another batch of lamps.
Pharon stood at the door like a gatekeeper. Suddenly, the old man's words echoed again.
A hunted beast.
Pharon's fingers tightened. His gaze drifted to the villagers, then back to the old man.
So, that's what he was warning me about earlier. But could it be possible that he is the actual killer?
After a moment of silence, he said, "What evidence do you have that proves he is the killer?"
"We don't need evidence to purge demons!"
"The whole world knows demons are evil. Even the gods agree with that."
A man near the back hesitated, his grip loosening on his hoe. "Chief… what if we are wrong?"
Another villager lowered his lamp, eyes darting toward the child.
"Wrong?" someone spat. "Did you not see the blood?"
Shouts increased from the crowd. Their voices held no restraint, united by a single purpose and rage.
Their every word hit him like a spear to the heart. He had spent his whole life near demons and ghosts. He knew what they were, how much they suffered, and yet they still tried to live modestly.
"Evil, you say? Then justify this: Is killing a newborn baby not evil? Is burning a whole family alive not evil? What about the harassment you've subjected me to?"
No matter how much he held back, the frustration built up in him over many years was released like a flood. All the harassment from the village flashed before his eyes: destroying his garden, throwing feces and trash at his door.
For a moment, the thought crossed his mind—how easy it would be to cleanse everything.
Massive lava spears manifested in the air and pointed at the crowd. His hand stopped mid-air as he spotted a crying small boy among them, his hand tightly gripping his mother's hem.
He looked down at his reflection in a puddle. His face was not much different from a monster's. What has happened to me? I was about to massacre the whole village. No matter how bad they are, there are still innocent people here.
He pulled back his hand. The lava spears diminished into nothing. He turned and walked toward the door, saying in a low voice, "Leave before I lose control."
"You dem—"
"I SAID LEAVE!" He thrust his hand forward, and a giant wave of water formed, dragging them down the hill.
He entered the temple and sat on the ground. He poured cold water over his head. His hands trembled in fear—fear of himself, fear of his unrestrained power.
His eyes half-closed as he looked at the old man.
"Today, I learned a very new lesson."
"I spoke of humility when I was weak. When I gained power, I remembered every insult."
The old man's lips lifted slightly. He said nothing, his gaze lingered briefly on the empty space where the lava spears had been and nodded.
Pharon asked, "Is there no value in virtue?"
The old man sighed and looked upward, his eyes fixed on something distant—something that couldn't be seen but existed. "Virtue has value only when it costs you something."
Pharon leaned against the wall and glanced at his reflection in the small pond. I will not become what I feared. I will remain what I originally am.