The Divine Court. It's where deities gather to guide their followers to a path of their choosing. However, to get to it, their followers must first traverse harsh environments and face tribulations on their own.
Those who persevered are the only ones worthy enough to gain the audience of gods.
However, the Divine Era has long passed. Now, the only Divine Court left was owned by the Empire, and even that was ruled by no gods.
Instead, the Empire gathered a group of powerful magicians to learn the rules that goverened the Divine Court.
It had nine pillars, with a staircase spiriling down toward the floor. On each pillar was a throne flanked by two angel statues on each side, all made with ordinary white stone. Yet, no matter how hard they tried, the magicians couldn't move these objects.
After countless nights of tireless studies, they learned that only those of divine blood can sit on the thrones and use the power of faith. As for what that is, no one knew.
Until now.
The Divine Court was empty, except for nine figures sitting on the thrones.
No one spoke. No one could. They couldn't stand, let alone open their mouths. After the man in the black cloak introduced each of them, they'd been dragged into this place and forced to sit on the thrones.
The walls of the Divine Court was solid, coated by a thick fog of white that made it seem like the place stretched to infinity. Or like they were in the clouds. With the open roof that cast sunlight upon each of their faces, the illusion coulnd't be more refined.
'...Someone's watching,' Jeffrey took a deep breath, trying to calm his rapidly beating hard to no avail. 'I can't see who… no, there's not just one. I bet everyone back in that party is watching us right now,' his brows ached. He wanted to frown, but his face remained impassive no matter how hard he tried.
'What a strange game,' he closed his eyes.
Footsteps echoed.
Jeffrey lifted his eyelids and squinted. 'It's noon already?! I just blinked!'
Regardless, he couldn't help but look at the ground. At the very center of the Divine Court, surrounded by the nine pillars, was an aging man.
It was a farmer, adorned in shabby garb and a straw hat tucked in his arms. Each wrinkle on his face told years of joy and wisdom, while the callouses on his palms and feet told decades of hardships.
With cautious steps, the farmer walked toward one of the pillars.
Percival's pillar.
The boy flinched, and slowly, he rose to his feet. He wore a loose robe of gold and crimson fabric, and underneath was a white, silk shirt, paired with cream-like pants. His bleached hair was slicked back, his face long and sharp. With the same icy blue glare as his twin, he eyed the farmer below his feet.
"Speak, peasant." Percival gulped, though no one heard nor saw.
The farmer bowed his head and lifted his straw hat, revealing a basket of fruits hidden underneath. Slowly, the old man knelt to place his offerings to the floor.
"Please, accept this humble basket," the old man whispered. Whether Percival heard him or not, the boy didn't move.
The old man stepped back, before kneeling on both knees and putting his palms on the ground, his head still lowered. "Oh, Lord, this farmer has a wish."
Percival's eyebrow twitched, and so did his lips. Yet, his throat didn't move.
"My wife has left me for a man of unknown origins," the old man's hands clawed at the marble tiles. "She says she seeks a stable future, but I know the truth. The man harbors vile thoughts! My wife took our children with her. A boy and a girl. My lord," he raised his head, his wet, earthy eyes staring right into Percival's gaze.
"Please. Save my children. That man's gaze is anything but pure. Please, please! I'll give you anything of me, just spare my children!" He lowered his head and nearly slammed his forehead on the floor.
The silence stretched. Seconds, minutes. Percival's mouth opened and closed multiple times, but no words came out.
'What's he doing?' Jeffrey stared at Percival, who seemed content in just standing there. 'Why can't I speak? Damn it!'
He tried, but he couldn't even shift his body, nor could he lift a single finger.
Sweat gathered on the farmer's face, his heart sinking lower than an iceberg. His hands lost their grip, and he dreaded to lift his head.
Maybe he was impatient.
Maybe he needed more time.
Maybe…
A dozen minutes had passed.
The farmer couldn't wait any longer. "Lord? Were my offerings too little? I-I apologize, forgive, me," his words shook.
"I'll offer my sheep! All my goats, and even my dogs!" The farmer yelled, yet Percival's mouth remained sealed.
"Why? Speak to me! Tell me! Am I not enough?!" Anger rushed through the farmer's brain. "ANSWER ME!"
A smirk played across Percival's face. He narrowed his eyes, his voice low. "You wish to gain a god's help, yet you dare to raise your voice? You are too arrogant, mortal," he spun around, waving his hand.
"You have failed my trial."
Except, there was no such trial.
The farmer wanted help, but how could he possibly help? He wasn't a god. He was just a pretender.
The farmer watched with frozen eyes as Percival sat on his throne, legs crossed and chin resting on the back of his hand.
"B-but! My, my family! They're in danger! PLEASE!" The farmer slammed his head on the floor. Blood stained the white marble tiles.
Percival scoffed, his gaze barely able to catch the farmer's trembling figure. "If you are truly sincere, you will sacrifice yourself. Go back."
The farmer raised his skull. He slammed his head on the floor, over, and over, and over, and over again. Each impact resounded with a loud thud that echoed in the Divine Court. Before long, scarlet had pooled on the floor.
Percival failed to see it. But when he caught the splash of red that splattered into the air, he shot to his feet, his face coated in cold sweat.
"STOP!"
The farmer cackled. He slammed his head on the ground one last time before he stopped. He laid there, his entire frame shaking.
"Hmph. Leave this place. Your charade does not entertain me," Percival clicked his tongue and sat back on his throne. The moment his rear touched the stone seat, he found himself unable to move.
He tugged on his arm, but they remained frozen. He tried to look around, but his neck was stiff. At the bottom of his vision, the farmer remained on the ground, motionless. His eyes widened.
But it was too late; he could no longer speak.