Evening lay heavy behind the temple, the last light thinning along the stone. The old man faced Pharon in silence.
"You felt it, didn't you," he said at last. "The gift, but not its path."
Then he raised his hand. "Energy exists everywhere." Different types of minute, glowing orbs clustered in his palm.
Pharon sat silently, his gaze sweeping over every motion—nothing escaped him.
"Matter is merely its condensed form." As he spoke, the cluster of energy condensed into a cube. He passed it to Pharon.
The cube was glass-like and weightless, its interior glowing with a faint azure hue.
"Close your eyes and feel the flow of energy in your body."
Pharon did as instructed. He closed his eyes and relaxed his body. He let his breathing settle, slow and measured. He reached inwards, searching for the flow of energy.
Lub…dub…! The sound of his heartbeat was clearly audible, but the flow of energy was nowhere to be found.
"Let me help you." The old man placed his palm on Pharon's back.
The air against his skin felt heavier, every sound sharper. A warmth gathered in his chest, steady and alive, then spread outward—threading through his limbs, slipping past muscle and bone, until it leaked from his skin in faint, crawling waves.
"Now, hold the cube and tell me what you feel."
The cube appeared solid, but when it touched his fingers, impressions formed on its surface. "This is no longer solid but like clay that can be molded into anything."
"Make something."
His fingers traced the surface and molded its edges into smooth rounds. He thought about moulding it into a statue, but it resembled nothing of the sort.
"A baby never starts with running. First, he starts with crawling."
Pharon understood: start with something simple and easier. He moulded it again and turned it into an irregular sphere.
The old man nodded and said, "Arcane energy is the most flexible form of energy. It can change into any type of energy."
"To alter reality, allow your imagination to move freely—then bind it into a single word within the mind."
Fire… no, then earth… He forced his mind to imagine an element, but as unstable as his thoughts, the sphere remained equally unstable. It kept shifting between various elements, never completing any form.
The old man lifted his chin and stared at a leaf.
A leaf bent slightly, and a drop of water fell onto Pharon's face. The chill of the water calmed his racing mind. The drop flowed down his cheek and stopped at the tip of his chin.
"Forget everything. Focus completely on the drop."
His focus shifted to that drop, and he imagined a raindrop falling onto a still pond—that one drop disturbing the whole surface.
The sphere in his hand stabilized and slowly converted into a sphere of water. Water overflowed from it and fell over him. Feeling the wetness, he jerked his eyes open. His lips curved upward—not in joy, but in certainty. It worked.
But the sphere did not sustain its shape and burst into a water puddle.
"If focus falters, control follows."
He nodded and stared at his wet hand. Minute glowing orbs clustered on his palm and condensed into a sphere.
"Water…"
His lips moved on their own, as if he had experienced this thousands of times. Was it because of the gift?
"Impressive. You are a very fast learner."
He reduced the water sphere to nothing and gave a slight bow to the old man. "Thank you, Master, but this is the result of the gift and your excellent teaching."
The old man did not answer immediately. His gaze drifted past Pharon, lingering on the cracked pillars, the collapsed roof, the weeds growing between the stones.
The old man sat on a stone and asked, "Humans of your age enjoy their lives. Why are you, a priest, living in ruins?"
Pharon sighed and looked at the broken temple. His eyes were steady and unblinking, holding a depth of feeling that needed no words.
"These ruins are my home."
"What about your family?"
"Family? I don't know. But there was one." His face softened, and his eyes filled with tears. "An old hermit, just like you. He raised me."
"He taught me how to live, the meaning of responsibility, and humanity."
He turned to the old man and said with a smile, "Do you know what? He was also the reason—through him, I learned about the goddess Hecate."
"He must have been a great person."
"He was."
Both of them sat on the ground and watched the last ray of sunlight fade.
Suddenly, the old man stood up and walked toward the forest.
Pharon stood up and frowned. "Where are you going, Master?"
The old man glanced back and answered as he walked, "I go where answers are collected, not where they are given."
Then his figure was lost in the dense bushes and shadows of the trees.
Pharon's brow furrowed. What does that mean?
"Well, leave it. Everyone has something to do in their life. For now, I will focus on my practice."
Pharon sat down on the ground and became engrossed in his practice.
---
Down the hill, a modest village clung to the land, its scattered huts gathered near a solitary monastery, fields stretching outward where livestock grazed.
The night grew louder as the village settled—crickets rising, cattle shifting, the forest breathing beyond the fields. But one house's door remained open. A lamp hung from a wooden post.
Under the lamp's light, a boy was carving wood into a bow.
"Jeremy, come inside!"
"Yes, Mom!"
Even after that, he still sat there and set the string.
"Complete." The child stared at it with wide eyes, a grin breaking free as he held it up carefully, pride bright and unmistakable on his face.
Then he set a wooden arrow, stretched the bow to its full length, and aimed at an earthen pot a short distance away.
He released the arrow. The arrow flew in an arc toward the bushes, landing a short distance away from them.
He stood up and walked toward the arrow. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his ear.
"Where are you going? Did you not hear me when I called?" His mother twisted his ear and pulled him toward the house.
"Mom, let go! Argh! It's painful."
The door shut closed.
"Grrr…"
A low groan arose from behind the bushes.
Snap!
A muscular paw with shades of black and grey stepped on the arrow.
Bleat! Bleat! Moo!
Goats and cows mooed and pulled at their knots.
"Grr…"
The unknown beast stepped backward and vanished into the bushes. But the goats and cows did not stop mooing and pulling at their knots.
Suddenly, a dusty wind blew, forcing them to blink. When they opened their eyes, the knot lay severed, not broken. One of the goats had disappeared, along with its knot. Their bodies shook in fear.