At that mont, he tried with all his strength to hide his tension.
The scene before him was too strange and stirred an unsettling feeling that twisted in his chest.
The dark at pulsed gently on the silver platter, causing him natural revulsion.
The guests, of various ethnicities, with pale faces, tanned skin, and sharp features, ate in different ways—so with refined delicacy, others with poorly concealed voracious hunger.
Their low laughter and whispered conversations created a disturbing auditory atmosphere.
He gripped the harp tightly, feeling the cold wood beneath his numb fingers, and advanced while pretending to have a serenity he did not possess.
He observed each guest for several long seconds, morizing details. The way their eyes shone too brightly under the candlelight, how so had small dark spots on different parts of their bodies.
The host, the Patron, watched him coldly from his listone throne. His smile was barely a line, but his hidden eyes followed every step he took.
Gabriel stepped onto the small circular stage in the center of the hall. The silence grew denser. He settled into the high-backed chair and carefully positioned the harp on his lap.
He was nervous. His heart beat hard against his ribs.
He caressed the smooth carved wood, feeling the silver inlays that seed to absorb the light. Then, sothing changed.
A revitalizing calm awakened inside him, as if the instrunt itself were transmitting an ancient musical mory.
His fingers brushed the strings.
The first note erged clean and crystalline, spreading through the hall. Then ca the chords, instinctive, flowing effortlessly from his mind.
It was a refined and serene lody, filled with deep nostalgia, capable of awakening in the spirit of n mories of lost hos, forgotten loves, and broken dreams.
The notes rose and fell like gentle waves, enveloping those present in a lancholic and beautiful veil.
He played for several minutes. Ti seed to stretch.
When the last note vibrated and slowly faded into the air, Gabriel looked up.
All the guests had beco motionless. Dead expressions, glassy eyes, mouths slightly open with pieces of at still between their teeth.
No one moved. The silence was absolute.
A cold sweat ran down Gabriel’s back. Had he done sothing wrong? Had he broken so invisible rule of the scenario?
His mind calculated possible outcos, rembering the quest notification: Survive.
Then the Patron began to smile. His mouth stretched in an unnatural way, far too wide, revealing teeth that seed too white and too sharp.
A deep, grave laugh burst from his chest, breaking the spell. Imdiately, the atmosphere regained its color and movent.
The guests began to applaud enthusiastically, laughing joyfully as if they had just witnessed the performance of a lifeti. So wiped nonexistent tears from their eyes.
"Magnificent... Truly magnificent," exclaid the Patron, clapping slowly.
Gabriel was imdiately invited to join the banquet. He was led to a seat of honor, right next to the host.
The previous occupant of that chair, a man with a thin mustache, began to lt inexplicably. His body softened like hot wax, sliding off the chair until he disappeared completely into the floor, leaving only a damp trail that evaporated in seconds.
No one seed surprised. But Gabriel had to sit down rigidly.
The Patron leaned slightly toward him. His presence was oppressive, like a physical weight on his shoulders.
"What is your na, harpist?"
Gabriel had to improvise in a fraction of a second. His mind searched for sothing poetic, sothing that fit the decadent and artistic atmosphere.
"My na is that of the harp itself," he replied in a calm voice.
"Its softness, its freshness, and its hidden aning between the strings," he continued.
The host seed delighted. He let out a grandiose laugh that echoed throughout the hall.
The guests imdiately nodded, murmuring approvals.
"What a delicious answer! A true artist among us!" exclaid the Patron, visibly pleased.
He publicly praised his musical talent in front of everyone, highlighting the purity of his lody and the emotional depth he had managed to convey.
The other guests nodded fervently, raising their glasses. Gabriel could only bow his head in thanks, maintaining a mask of noble humility.
At that mont, the Patron grabbed his silver cutlery. Everyone at the table did the sa, as if following a silent signal.
The host cut a piece of that dark, pulsating at and then turned to Gabriel with shining eyes.
"Tell , harpist... What is your spark to move forward in this world?"
The question completely caught Gabriel off guard.
His mind went blank for an eternal second. The Patron’s smile beca even more unsettling, curving at the edges as if he knew exactly the effect it caused.
The silence at the table was expectant.
Gabriel answered without thinking too much, while his eyes fixed on the dark at:
"I don’t want to obtain riches or power... Only control. Absolute control over what happens to . The power to overco adversity, no matter how twisted it may be."
His words fell like stones into a still pond.
The Patron lost his unsettling smile. The lights in the hall flickered and went out completely for three seconds before turning back on.
When the illumination returned, all the guests had disappeared. Only Gabriel and the Patron remained, sitting across from each other at the now empty table.
"To achieve that result," said the host in a low, deep voice,
"you will need to make sacrifices, harpist. Many. This is only the start of a long journey. A path that will test your virtues... Are you willing to pay the price?"
But he didn’t wait for his answer. He invited him to eat with a small grimace of contempt and amusent, like soone observing an interesting creature.
Gabriel hesitated. The dark at pulsed gently on his plate, emanating a sensation that turned his stomach.
Gathering courage, he cut a small piece and brought it to his mouth. It was disgusting.
Its texture was viscous, with a taste of rotten fruit and fish left in the sun. It caused intense nausea that rose up his throat.
But he endured it. It was only slightly worse than what he had eaten for years.
The table then filled with successive sounds: the precise cutting of knives and the clinking of silver against plates.
Slow and deliberate chewing. No one spoke. Only the sound of eating could be heard.
When they finished, the Patron wiped his lips with a black lace napkin.
"Good luck, harpist. You’ll need it."
With those words still echoing in his mind, Gabriel felt a deep dizziness. The world tilted and he fell into a heavy sleep, as if subrged in deep waters.
***
When he woke up, he was no longer in the hall.
He was lying on cold, broken stone. The sky was a ceiling of ancient ruins, with fallen columns and black vines.
Around him lay the other cultist mbers, nineteen in total, most of them still sunk in a sweet and deep sleep.
So murmured incoherently, others stirred restlessly.
The only one awake was the leader.
Still wearing his eclipsed sun mask, he stood beside a broken column, staring at him intently. His eyes shone with intensity through the slits.
"Welco," he said simply.
Gabriel stood up slowly, feeling the weight of the experience still clinging to his skin. The leader extended a gloved hand and helped him to his feet.
In the distance, strange noises could be heard.
"What was that?" Gabriel asked quietly, still disoriented.
"A test," the leader replied.
"The Door does not only open. It also looks inside you. And what it saw in you... it liked."
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