The courtyard held its breath in somber silence, lit only by dancing torches that seemed to cast dancing shadows on ancient stone walls. The crowd stood within a few feet of the middle, their eyes turned toward Kami-sama and his messenger, Raven.
Kami-sama sat cross-legged, as always, his eyes closed deep in meditation. He sat with a peaceful calm that seemed to say he was master of himself-thus mastered the moment. His hands were lifted ever so slightly in some silent gesture towards calm authority. Hanging around his neck like a grotesque pendant was the heavy necklace of skulls, signs of his divine insight. And the faint glint of gold behind him gave him that look of something which is greater than mere men.
Beside him, Kasha stood. Raven, Akshran's shadowed figure, his face hidden by the hood that obscured his features, silently waited. The power, for one of Kami-sama's messengers, allowed the god to speak through him, and divine wisdom would be conveyed to the waiting followers. A moment of anticipation waited as he was silent before the ritual could begin.
Rashkal and Wisteria knelt on the stone cold floor before them, their heads bowed low in devotion.
Almost inaudible, Rashkal whispered out his praise, placing his forehead against the earth in deep reverence. As The Original Son, he had developed his belief to such an extent of fanaticism that it had become alive. He could barely suppress his excitement; for he well knew that every single word spoken tonight would be carried by them as divine truth.
Wisteria knelt beside him, fingers grasping the folds of her robe that concealed the glowing All-Cure pill. Tears streaked down her face as she murmured prayers, gratitude and awe upon her lips.
The crowd stood still otherwise, eyes reflecting the flickering light of the candle flames, their ears straining to await the divine words. The air vibrated with tension as each breath silenced into mere whispers of anticipation.
Raven stepped forward.
The crowd shifted, all whispers ceasing as they turned full upon him. Now, in this instant, the boy from the Shaded Quarter streets is no more: he is instead the tongue of Kami-sama, keeper of their futures.
"The Great Sage," Akshran's voice low, even, "sees you all.".
He hesitated, giving the enormity of the words to settle in. The crowd was silent, breath locked on every syllable. Rashkal and Wisteria stood transfixed, faces still buried against the stone in submission.
"Those who kneel before him," Akshran went on, his voice thundering across the courtyard, "are seen, judged. The way ahead is not for the meek. It is for those who will sacrifice, who will believe in him unflinchingly.
A murmur ran through the crowd, but no one dared speak out over a breath.
"You have come seeking salvation," he said, his eyes passing over the sea of expectant faces. "But salvation is not freely granted. To walk this path is to yield all that you are to the whim of the Sage. Only through faith will the curse be broken. Only through faith can you be saved.".
Wisteria gasped softly, raising her tear-streaked face, but she kept her gaze lowered, too awestruck to look directly at Raven. Rashkal clenched his fists tighter and began to quiver with devotion.
"Offerings of wealth, of loyalty," Akshran continued, his tone unwavering, "are the first steps. But the true offering is your spirit, your willingness to surrender to the Sage's wisdom.".
The crowd shifted, glances exchanged, as the words of Raven took hold. Akshran saw the flickers of doubt in some faces, but in others-especially the desperate, the lost-there was only belief. It was the same fire he'd seen in Wisteria and Rashkal when they first came to him, the same fire he would use to build this cult into something unbreakable.
"Today, the believers will step forward," he said softly now, but no less mightily. "You will offer your coins, your hearts, your faith. And you will drink from the cup of salvation."
He gestured to the side of him, where there rested a large, crude chalice. In it was a simple concoction, harmless but mixed with herbs that made it taste bitter. Akshran had prepared it carefully, so it seemed to have properties almost mystical—something that would bring them closer to the Sage.
"This is your initiation," said Akshran, never letting his gaze blur away from the crowd. "Those who drink will be bound to Kami-sama. You will be his chosen. And in time, you will see the truth that lies beyond the mortal world.".
The first few followers—the ones whose faith had been shaped by Rashkal and Wisteria's testimonies—came forward one by one, heads bowed, reaching into their purses for offerings.
The sound of coins hitting the bowl was more than just an offering—it was the sound of desperation, of people offering what little they had left in the hopes of redemption. For many, these coins represented their last chance at finding meaning, a final bet placed on the promise of salvation.
One woman's hands trembled as she reached for the chalice, her lips quivering in silent prayer. Her eyes, filled with hope and fear, darted nervously to Akshran, as if seeking a sign that she would be saved. When the bitter liquid touched her tongue, her face twisted in a mixture of disgust and awe—but when she handed the chalice back, there was a flicker of relief, as though she had just passed some divine test.
Rashkal reached for the cup first.
He finally stood up, his hands quivering, and took the cup from Akshran's outstretched hand. The moment the bitter liquid touched his lips, his eyes fluttered closed in a mix of awe and submission. When he handed the cup back, he bowed deeply and returned to his seat beside Wisteria, the step sealed in faith.
Wisteria followed, wiping her face with streaks of tears, and she drank with wobbly hands, and her lips kept speaking the silent prayer.
One by one, the others followed until the courtyard was filled with the sounds of offering, spoken vows, and the soft hum of faith building into something more.
Akshran could feel the spark of satisfaction well up inside of him. This cult was no longer a disjointed and whimpering collection of desperate souls; instead, it had become something much, much more.
A force that would only grow in strength.
The flickering torchlight cast deep shadows as the gathered crowd held its collective breath, waiting for Raven, the enigmatic messenger, to speak once more. Akshran, cloaked in shadow, stood as the vessel for Kami-sama's voice, observing the crowd with cold calculation. Many had fallen to their knees in reverence, but others remained upright, their skepticism hidden behind carefully controlled expressions.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
Among them was Luuda, another merchant like Lauda but richer and greedier
Draped in fine silks and adorned with glittering rings, the merchant's fidgeting betrayed his lack of faith. His fingers constantly traced the gold bands on his hands, his gaze darting from the ceremonial chalice to the pouch of coins at his waist. Every few moments, he would glance around, as if weighing whether this supposed divine ritual was worth his investment.
Akshran, hidden beneath his hood, observed the man closely. His years as a street thief had taught him how to read people—the small tells, the unconscious behaviors that spoke louder than words. The merchant's impatience was clear in the way he shifted from foot to foot, his eyes narrowing at the mention of offering coins as part of the initiation.
"Does this windfall come quickly?" the merchant asked, his voice dripping with thinly veiled skepticism. "I've no patience for vague promises."
The murmurs from the devout fell silent, all eyes turning toward Raven, waiting for his response.
Akshran, keeping his voice calm and measured, spoke with the authority of Kami-sama. "The Sage sees all, even those who doubt His words. He sees your path, Merchant, and the obstacles you seek to overcome."
The merchant's fingers stilled on his pouch, his gaze sharpening. "And what obstacles would those be?"
Akshran smirked beneath his hood, though no one could see it. Greed. "You seek wealth," Raven continued, his voice smooth. "But true wealth does not come to those who hesitate. It favors the bold, those who dare to risk. There is a windfall in your future, Merchant—but only for those willing to pay the price."
The merchant's eyes flickered. Akshran could practically hear the man's mind turning over the words, weighing the risks, considering the rewards. 'He'll pay more, but only if he thinks the payoff is worth it,'. Akshran knew this game well.
"You speak of boldness," the merchant said, his tone cautious but intrigued. "And what price must be paid for such fortune?"
Akshran stepped forward, his figure looming over the crowd. "The Sage requires offerings not of coin alone, but of faith. Only those willing to give both will see the windfall that awaits them. For you, Merchant, the reward will be great—but your offering must match your ambition."
The merchant hesitated, his hand once again tracing his gold rings. "And how will I know that the Sage's words are true?"
Akshran tilted his head, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "The Sage does not deal in certainties. Only those who believe will find what they seek. If you are unsure, leave now. But if you wish to seize your fortune, step forward and offer what is required."
The merchant's face hardened, the greed in his heart warring with his skepticism. After a tense moment, he stepped forward, dropping a handful of coins into the offering bowl beside the chalice. His eyes met Akshran's briefly, a silent acknowledgment that he had bought into the gamble.
As the merchant stepped back, Akshran's gaze swept over the crowd, catching sight of another non-believer— Clong Man The Guard
Clad in a worn uniform, the guard stood with his arms crossed, his face rigid. His eyes were narrowed in suspicion, watching the proceedings with a mixture of disdain and wariness. Unlike the merchant, he wasn't here for wealth. No, his presence reeked of investigation. Perhaps he had been sent by someone—an authority figure, a crime lord, someone looking to expose this growing movement.
Akshran observed the way the guard leaned forward slightly whenever he spoke, his gaze keen, as if waiting for Akshran to slip up.
'This man doesn't believe a word of this,' Akshran thought. 'He's testing me, waiting for me to falter. His posture, his lack of reverence—it all spoke to a deeper agenda.'
Without a moment's hesitation, Akshran, as Raven, addressed him directly.
"You seek something, Guard," Akshran said, his voice cutting through the murmurs of the crowd. "But it is not salvation."
"I've seen dozens of men like you," the guard sneered. "Charlatans and false prophets. They come through these streets peddling salvation, then disappear when their followers have nothing left to give. Tell me, what makes your Sage any different?"
Akshran paused, letting the challenge hang in the air. "The Sage doesn't need to prove himself," he said, voice calm but firm. "Those who seek truth will find it, those who doubt will only find walls. You say you've seen men like me—but I have seen men like you. Skeptics who think their questions make them wise. But you will find only what you're willing to see."
"You think you're clever," Akshran's voice cut through the silence, sharper now. "You think you'll catch me in a lie. But the Sage sees your arrogance, your petty games. He has no time for those who hide behind masks of authority."
The guard stiffened, his face hardening. Akshran stepped closer, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You want the truth, Guard? You'll find it—but only when you stop looking down on those who already see it."
Akshran allowed himself a cold smile beneath his hood. "The Sage offers nothing to those who refuse to see. If you seek proof, you will never find it. But if you seek wisdom, open your heart. Stay, if you dare. But know this: those who deny the Sage's sight find their own paths blocked. Perhaps you will too."
The guard shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the crowd's attention heavy on him now. He said nothing more, but Akshran could see the tension in his posture. 'Good. Let him stay, let him listen—but let the fear grow. He'd be easier to manipulate once he started doubting his own skepticism.'
A third heckler made herself known—a woman,Cynical Lawrence. Dressed in fine, tailored clothes, she stood near the back, arms crossed, her sharp eyes watching the proceedings with barely concealed disdain.
She let out a derisive snort when one of the followers made their offering, shaking her head as if the entire ritual were beneath her.
Akshran's gaze fell on her, his voice as cold as the night air. "And you, Noblewoman—what brings you here, if not belief?"
She raised an eyebrow, unbothered by his direct address. "Curiosity. Nothing more."
Akshran tilted his head slightly, gauging her. Arrogance, superiority—she viewed herself as above the others. Perhaps she had come to mock the proceedings, or perhaps she was testing the strength of this so-called cult, thinking herself clever.
"You stand in the presence of the Sage and yet mock his wisdom," Akshran said, his voice smooth and unwavering. "But know this: those who come only to ridicule will see nothing but their own reflection in the darkness."
The woman's lips curled into a slight smirk. "And what does the Sage see in me, Raven?"
"You carry yourself with such confidence," Akshran said, his voice softer, almost admiring. "But the Sage sees deeper. He sees a woman who has always known her place in the world, yet still wonders if there's something more—something even you cannot control."
The noblewoman's smirk faltered ever so slightly, and Akshran seized the moment. "Curiosity is no weakness," he continued, lowering his tone. "It's the mark of someone truly seeking power. But power, real power, comes from seeing what others cannot."
"Perhaps you have come here not to mock, but because you are searching for something yourself," Akshran said, his voice softening slightly, drawing her in. "But you will not find it until you let go of your arrogance. Step forward if you wish to see what lies ahead."
She scoffed but did not leave. 'Good, let her simmer in her own doubt.' She may not believe now, but Akshran knew that even the most cynical could be worn down by time and pressure.
Akshran, as Raven, had quelled the non-believers, manipulating their fears, doubts, and desires with ease. Whether it was greed, arrogance, or suspicion, he played into each of their weaknesses, guiding them deeper into the web of belief.
The crowd, watching the exchanges in awe, only grew more reverent, more convinced of the Sage's omniscience. Every word Akshran spoke as Raven, every glance, every silence, only deepened the illusion that Kami-sama saw all, knew all.
The hecklers were silenced. The faithful remained.
Akshran's gaze swept over the crowd one final time, his voice carrying a weight that seemed to press on their very souls. "The Sage sees all. Those who stand in doubt will see nothing but shadows, but those who step forward in faith will see the light. This is your test, your path. The road ahead is long, but for those who believe, there is no darkness—only salvation."
He stepped back, letting the silence fill the courtyard. The weight of his words settled like a thick fog over the crowd, who now looked to him with a mixture of awe and fear. They had been judged, seen, and found wanting or worthy. And now, they had no choice but to follow.