The temple was built from white marble, polished until it gleamed like bone beneath the eternal sun. Towering columns stretched toward the heavens, their intricate engravings whispering forgotten hymns to gods that may or may not have ever existed. Light filtered through the stained-glass windows, painting the interior in hues of crimson, gold, and violet—holy colors, or so the people believed.
The air inside was thick with the scent of burning incense and melted wax, a cloying aroma meant to disguise the stench of desperation. Worshippers gathered in hushed reverence, their footsteps echoing across the polished stone floor. Their robes were simple, their hands empty save for the few coins or offerings clutched in trembling fingers.
And at the center of it all, Erasmus stood behind the great golden scale.
His fingers brushed the edges of the cold metal, a tactile reminder of the illusion he maintained. The scale was a symbol of divine judgment—or so the faithful believed. In truth, Erasmus had ensured that he alone decided which way it tipped. Beneath its golden frame, a hidden mechanism allowed him to shift the balance as he pleased, unseen by the masses who placed their fates in his hands.
This was power. Not miracles. Not divine will. But control.
He let the silence stretch, watching the flickering candlelight dance across the upturned faces of the gathered worshippers. Some were haggard and gaunt, their eyes filled with hunger and desperation. Others were proud and adorned in fine robes, seeking absolution without true sacrifice. They all stood before him as equals in this moment—because only he would decide their worth.
Finally, he spoke.
"Faith is measured not in words," his voice carried through the chamber, smooth and deliberate, each syllable weighed for impact. "But in action. In sacrifice."
The crowd murmured among themselves. He could hear their thoughts before they even spoke—fear, hope, doubt, the quiet, gnawing need for certainty. They wanted him to tell them their suffering had meaning. That their faith would be rewarded.
And so, he would.
A woman stepped forward.
She was frail, her frame thin from weeks—perhaps months—of starvation. Yet, despite her weakness, her lips were set in determination. Her trembling hands reached out, offering a small handful of copper coins.
"I have given all I can," she whispered. "Please, tell me… is it enough?"
Erasmus let his gaze linger on her for a moment. The scale gleamed beneath the temple's flickering torches, waiting.
Slowly, with measured precision, he placed the coins on one side of the scale.
The weight tipped—but only slightly.
The fear in her expression deepened.
Erasmus remained silent, letting the moment stretch unbearably long. Let her doubt. Let her suffer.
And then, with a subtle flick of his fingers, the hidden mechanism beneath shifted.
The scale balanced.
Relief broke across her face, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She fell to her knees, forehead pressed against the cold stone floor in gratitude.
Erasmus barely spared her another glance before shifting his attention to the next worshipper.
This was how faith worked.
Not through truth.
Not through gods.
But through perception.
He controlled who was worthy and who was not.
And they believed.
—
The ceremony continued—one after another, worshippers approached, pleaded, and gave. Some were granted absolution. Others were denied, forced to depart with hollow expressions, their faith shaken but not yet broken.
The temple thrived on this delicate balance—hope and despair, certainty and doubt, reward and punishment.
And Erasmus?
He watched. Calculated. Controlled.
Then, in that moment, he felt it.
A shift.
A tremor in the air, subtle but undeniable.
His heightened senses sharpened immediately.
The torches did not flicker. The air was still. And yet… something pressed against it.
It was faint, like a whisper just beyond hearing. A presence. A disturbance.
Then—
Darkness.
It was only for a brief second, but he saw it.
Not clouds. Not a celestial movement.
Just—a shadow that passed and was gone.
A handful of worshippers gasped. Others blinked in confusion, uncertain whether they had truly seen something.
But Erasmus had no doubts.
His fingers tightened around the scale, his mind already turning, dissecting the anomaly.
This was not natural.
And that meant one thing.
Something was coming.
—
Erasmus did not move, but inside, his thoughts churned.
The anomaly was subtle—far too subtle for anyone else to comprehend. But he had trained himself to notice the imperceptible.
It wasn't just darkness. It was the absence of something fundamental.
Light. Time. Reality.
He turned his gaze back to the gathered faithful, noting the rippling uncertainty among them. It wasn't fear—not yet. But if this continued, if they started asking too many questions, it could spiral out of control.
That could not be allowed.
He could use this.
Slowly, he raised a hand, commanding attention.
"Be still."
Silence fell immediately.
He let the pause linger, ensuring every eye was on him.
Then, he exhaled.
"This is a test."
The uncertainty flickered—doubt shifting into belief.
Erasmus continued.
"The gods weigh our devotion. Those who falter, those who question…" He let his gaze pass over them, deliberately slow. "Will find their faith tested even further."
The murmurs quieted. Some lowered their heads in shame. Others tightened their grip on their offerings, now even more eager to prove themselves.
Erasmus watched.
Controlled.
The disturbance had been real. That much was certain.
But the people? They needed a truth they could accept.
And so, he would give them one.
—
As the ceremony continued, Erasmus kept his heightened senses attuned to any further irregularities. He knew this was only the beginning.
Something had shifted.
Something was watching.
And soon—it would reveal itself.
When that moment came…
He would be ready.