The sound of the water dripping into the Baptismal Pool now echoes in time with the footsteps of the person in the silver robe.

  They slowly step into the Baptismal Pool, the blood on the edge of their robe swirling away from them in hypnotizing patterns. They stop when they reach the center of the pool, where the water reaches their knees. The drips resounding through the temple are once again the only sound, except now the water droplets spsh onto the figure’s forehead before running down their body into the pool. The feeling drills into the mind, causing the person to shiver. Silver eyes slowly close as they fall to their knees, the water at the level of their neck. Their head flings back, facing the oncoming drips of water and allowing the drops to still nd on their forehead at the location that spiritualists once called the home of the third eye.

  “Silnarion, you have done well”

  “…”

  “You may rest.”

  “…”

  “My child, you have served me well, you have followed my will and sacrificed your own. You may speak to your Spirit, the lone creature to whom you may express your full being.”

  “…”

  A wistful sigh is followed by more words. “I command you to speak as one of the Transcendent Realm, Guardian Spirit of Maharnak’s Lonely Souls, Named Deity of this Temple.”

  “I speak, as the Instrument of Divine Will, humble personage in service of the Spirit of Lonely Souls.”

  “Must I command you to speak words which have meaning, rather than these soulless refrains?”

  “…”

  “I will, if I must.”

  “I, Silnarion, follow your will. I shall speak.”

  “Goodness, it is about time you did, young one.” The voice belonging to the Spirit of Lonely Souls seems to glow with warmth.

  A hint of ughter can now be heard in the voice of the Holy Imanjar. “I read that in the nds of the desert sands, djinn once granted wishes to the letter of the word. Forced to do as their master commanded, they did it too well.”

  “I had no idea my precious Silnarion was a djinn.”

  “It would be news to me if I was. I am the one begging for a wish, after all.”

  “But also the one fulfilling that wish. What a silly universe this is.”

  A small, timid smile appears on Silnarion’s face. The blood in the water is slowly clearing away alongside the guilt of leaving humanity behind. The Spirit is always right. The Spirit knows best. The Spirit is the only one that knows and loves them. Silnarion will stay loyal until the day they die.