After the curtains were removed from them both, Hecate glanced at them. A voice, a superposition of three timbres, rang out.
The clarity of a young girl, the gentleness of a Mother, and the hoarseness of an old crone—the three voices spoke as one, without precedence.
"In the past, we were each our own maiden."
Her voice was not loud, but it didn’t need to be. The stone walls of the Divine Hall would carry every syllable to the Round Table.
"In the present, we are one another’s Mother."
Her gaze swept over Aries, then Dionysus, finally landing on Prometheus.
"In the future, we will together become the crones of this era.
The ones who still remember the truth when all others have forgotten."
When she finished speaking, Richard resisted the urge to frown.
’Is this some kind of psychological manipulation, or just a cringey play?’
’It sounds like she’s bestowing meaning upon the members, but if you strip away the sugar-coating, the Underlying Logic of those three sentences is:’
’Your past belongs to us, your present belongs to us, and your future belongs to us.’
’The three tenses bind you for life.’
Hecate’s gaze turned to the two of them.
"Newcomers, the tokens you used on your journey have already been replaced by me."
She raised her hand and pointed lightly.
"Those two clay coins were enough to bring you here, but they are not worthy of this table.
Before I explain the rules, allow me to first tell you where you are standing."
She stretched out her hand, gesturing to encompass the entire Round Table.
"This is a small gathering I have personally assembled. I call it... the Divine Pantheon Salon."
"The Divine Pantheon is just a salon, a gathering, not an organization," Hecate continued.
"An organization has bylaws, hierarchies, and a chain of command. We have none of these."
"There is only a table. On the table are the things each person brings, and from the table, each person takes what they need. No one commands anyone, and no one obeys anyone."
"The only rule is that if you are sitting here, it means you are worthy of sitting here."
She deliberately emphasized the word "worthy."
The emphasis wasn’t heavy, but it was enough to give those present a sense of superiority, of having been selected.
"Within the Imperial borders, there are tens of thousands of Cultivators. Most of them spend their entire lives spinning their wheels in their own little circles."
"The officials stick to their own, the academies to theirs, and the folk Guilds to theirs."
"Everyone is trapped by the system they belong to, unable to see what lies outside the box."
"But you..."
Her finger tapped lightly on the Round Table.
"You are the ones who have stepped out of the box."
After she said this, Prometheus gave a slight nod.
Dionysus saw this and nodded in Prometheus’s direction as well.
The two of them were clearly familiar with Hecate’s words.
Perhaps they had heard the same words when they first stood beside this table.
And now, hearing Hecate repeat these words to the newcomers was like seeing the door they had walked through all those years ago being pushed open once more.
Hecate was still speaking.
"This table does not guarantee anyone’s safety, nor does it promise anyone’s future.
It does only one thing... it gives those who are worthy of sitting together the opportunity to do so."
"The rest is up to you."
After she finished, her gaze fell upon the two of them once more.
Richard made the most appropriate gesture for the moment, inclining his head slightly toward the head of the table.
Nemesis performed the same action at almost the exact same time.
On Hecate’s golden mask, the horizontal line separating the maiden from the crone shifted. She was probably smiling.
She raised her hand, gesturing for them to be seated.
As Richard sat, the stone chair "caught" him with extreme precision.
The chair was a perfect fit, as if it had been custom-made for him.
Nemesis sat down as well.
Her posture was not as formal as Richard’s; she remained in a ready stance, prepared to get up at any moment.
After sitting down, the question in Richard’s mind still lingered.
’For mortals to call each other by the names of gods is blasphemy in mainstream Imperial culture. How dare they?’
Hecate seemed to have guessed the unspoken question on both their minds.
"You might be thinking,"
the three-toned voice rang out again,
"how dare mortals call each other by the names of gods."
Her gaze fell on Richard, then moved to Nemesis.
"Let me tell you, we are not overstepping."
Her hand lifted from the armrest of her chair, her fingers spreading wide.
"The names of gods do not belong exclusively to the gods."
"They are vessels left behind by the gods for posterity."
"When a mortal becomes great enough, they earn the right to temporarily inhabit a divine name and bear the Strength of that archetype."
She drew her hand back, lacing her fingers in her lap.
"We call each other by these names because we are walking toward them."
After Hecate finished, Nemesis spoke, her gaze fixed on the ocher sand grains remaining in her palm.
"My father never used a codename when he was alive."
She shook the sand from her palm.
"He said a Hunter doesn’t need a name. What a Hunter needs is a sharp blade and a good pair of legs.
Names are for the living. A Hunter can become a dead man at any moment."
She turned her hand over. Her palm was face up, empty.
"So I want to confirm something."
Her gaze shot across the Round Table to Hecate.
"Are the people sitting at this table walking toward their names..."
"...or being devoured by them?"
The question was piercingly sharp.
Nemesis had flipped the concept on its head.
What if you aren’t walking toward the name, but the name is devouring you?
You think you’re wearing a coat, but the coat is also wearing you.
Richard’s estimation of Nemesis rose in his mind.
Hecate watched her for a moment.
"A good question."
"Whether you are replaced or not depends on whether you have a strong enough spine."
"The vessel is empty. It will not actively devour anyone.
But if your own will is not firm enough, you will get lost within it.
You will begin to lose the ability to distinguish which thoughts are your own and which are the echoes remaining in the vessel."
"That is why we have this table."
Her finger tapped lightly on the edge of the Round Table.
"The people sitting at the table watch one another, remind one another.
If one day you start saying things you wouldn’t say, or doing things you wouldn’t do, the others at the table will tell you."
Nemesis didn’t press the matter further.
Richard once again felt the depth of Hecate’s rhetorical skill.
Her answer was brilliant.
She admitted the risk existed but packaged "mutual supervision" as the very reason for the gathering’s existence.
The one at the head of the table never lied; she only distorted the truth.
’Strength and brains... she’s simply unfathomable.’
"Alright, Hermes, Nemesis."
Hecate dispensed with the pleasantries and got straight to the point.
"Since we have two new faces, I’ll go over the rules here again."
"The rules are simple."
"This Round Table is sustained by contributions. At each gathering, members bring something of their own.
Information, Techniques, items, clues—anything is acceptable."
"You place what you’ve brought on the table, others do the same, and everyone takes what they need."
"First-timers don’t need to bring anything. Tonight, you need only watch and listen."
After saying this, her tone shifted from that of a "host" to an "observer." She gave a light push toward the center of the table with her hand.
"Let us begin."

Comments

Loading...