"I am the Fool who does not belong to this era, the mysterious ruler above the Gray Fog, the King of Yellow and Black who commands good fortune."
"Your devout believer prays to you:
"Prays that you open the gates of your kingdom;
"Prays that you bestow your Gift."
As one Ancient Hermes syllable after another left Cyril's lips, the candle before him—the one representing the Fool—suddenly took on a grayish-white hue. Its dim yellow flame swelled in an instant, shooting two or three meters into the air.
The twisting flames were torn apart from within by an invisible force. They warped continuously, forming an illusory blue-black gate covered in countless mysterious patterns and symbols.
Amidst a phantom cry of dismay, the blue-black gate slowly parted, opening a gap wide enough for one person. A broad hand formed from the boundless Gray Fog reached out from behind the "gate" and slowly lowered itself beside his feet.
The hand formed from the Gray Fog vanished in an instant, and a glass filled with transparent liquid appeared beside his feet.
Glancing at the glass, Cyril snapped his fingers, extinguishing the two candles lit for the prayer ritual and bringing it to an abrupt end.
Above the Gray Fog, Klein watched the blue-black gate suddenly disappear before him. The corner of his mouth twitched.
"So I'm just disposable once I've been used, huh? Definitely."
"How practical. Before, in front of Mr. Fool, it was always 'Esteemed...' and 'You.' Now that I've come clean about who I am, I've gone straight to 'Hey, you, delivery guy.'"
Shaking his head, he glanced around the somewhat empty hall, then wrapped himself in Spirituality and simulated the sensation of falling, leaving the space above the Gray Fog.
In the attic, Cyril casually tossed the paintbrush in his