A path

Quickly, the two appeared at the Cemetery of the Innocents. The place was originally built on an old mine that collapsed; traces of that incident are still present to this day.

Althur led and moved swiftly along the rough and rocky path, paying no heed to the gravel that scraped his feet, while Peter stiffened and staggered after.

As the sun sank behind the towering mountains, only a few rays of light broke through the clouds to illuminate the chaotic burial ground. It was like a bell tolling the end of the day.

"You're killing your sister." Althur's voice was cold and flat, colder than the wind that blew from the slopes of Mount Imenso.

"You knew that, too!" He added.

"I'm a curse." Peter's voice cracked.

"Not just you. That house too." Althur revealed.

Peter felt a sharp pain in his chest, but he was powerless to change anything. It was like his heart had been pierced by thorns and someone was twisting them cruelly.

Althur turned to face Peter, who was much younger than him. He held a fog ball in his hand and looked at him with bitter contempt. They were standing in the cemetery, where gray tombstones surrounded them amid the burned and trampled blades of hay.

Peter listened with a pale face, as if an arrow had struck his heart. He spoke of the thought that haunted him like a towering shadow.

"I am a curse." His shaggy black hair hid his pale, freckled cheeks. As he spoke, the wind whipped his hair and chilled his skin. He repeated, "I am a curse."

"That's right." Althur confirmed.

"You can feel it, can't you? The evil inside you."

"You know the truth. You know how it's eating away at your sister's life."

"What choice do I have?" Peter shouted, "What choice do I have? To send her to those hellish workhouses where she'll suffocate and die under their rules? They'll sell Polly. My little sister will end up a ruined creature on South Street. They'll rob her of her dignity and everything she has.

"What can I do? I'm already dead walking." He spoke hopelessly.

"You're right."

"You see it clearly, don't you? Your sister is wasting away day by day. She'll be dead in a month."

The cold had numbed everything, but the sun still mocked him with its brightness. Peter stood frozen, like a corpse waiting for its burial, as he stared at the gaping pit that would swallow his sister. Polly's verdict. His sister. He had done everything he could. To save her from this hellhole. But he never stood a chance.

A lifeless husk. A cursed spirit. His job was in hopeless peril thanks to his dead father, whose body had been torn apart, leaving three wretched beings slowly decomposing outside their coffins. Now two. Then one. And finally none.

"Tell me." Peter shouted, "Tell me... this? What is this fate?" He stumbled, trying to reach Althur, who stood with his back to the mountainside, rays of light shining through him.

"Someone is behind all this."

"Who." Peter staggered. He was full of indignation. His voice was full of rage. How many times had he cursed his fatal destiny, those liars and false nobles? He doubted the goddess had forsaken her and that the sun god didn't care about this chaos and these fates.

Althur, who stood there, seemed to merge with the gray tombstones around him, his voice flat: "I don't know. That's why I'm here."

"It's hopeless." Peter muttered bitterly, "

"But not clueless. But things are still messy, and I'm not sure how risky it will be." Althur said he wished he could catch those fate-fakers, those frauds, to make his journey easier.

"First of all, you need to understand a few things. What's happening to you is called death. It's not the god of death that everyone talks about. It's a supernatural force far beyond our world, but it connects and influences us, usually in random ways. It's also known as "Forces" or Holy Places".

"Holy Places."

"That means the realm of the gods." He explained briefly.

"So these gods are also the source of evil." Peter said sarcastically:

"Something like that. There is a way for you, and I'm willing to help. I'm asking you to do something for me. Your fate can't end here."

"In return, I'll do a few things for you."

"Like what?"

"Both of you and your sister live."

"Tell me more about that."

"I suspect that a secret cult is secretly infiltrating this place."

Peter staggered like a frail bone structure. He knew what that meant, even though he wasn't a religious person of any kind, but he understood everyone's fear of forbidden cults. They were a bunch of madmen. Living sacrifice was their norm.

"How dangerous is it?" he asked anxiously, worried about his sister.

"We don't know what or who it is yet. There have certainly been many deaths in this place." He stepped on newly formed cracks that had once been traces of a mine collapse.

"The government can't reach the deepest part of the mine."

"Neither can the Church under the leadership of Bishop Colby."

"But your sister can be healed in time. Her vitality is corroded, but it can be restored. But you are the one who should worry the most."

"Why? I'm cursed."

"Death is the enemy of the Haya Church; if the Bishop of the Church sees you, he will bury and mutilate you on the spot. It's similar to the Temple of Lut; they just burn you to ashes, those who use black magic against people."

Althur sighed as he walked deeper into the graveyard, where the hole was most damaged. He looked at the scene, which was slowly turning gray, and said, ""As for how to break your curse, there is no way."

"We can only control what's inside us. I have two options for you. One is that I can help you go to Isandros Academy and perform the ritual there. That's where I had my awakening."

"Or we can perform a shortening ritual using my power. But that would be more dangerous."

"Why give me two choices?" Peter wondered if, if Althur really wanted his help, he could have given him just one option, and he would have had no choice but to accept it.

"Because choices are what make life meaningful. You'll understand when you start your mind journey."

"Mind journey, what is that?" Peter asked, feeling overwhelmed by the many strange things he had seen today. Even though he knew he was not normal, he was still shocked when the man suddenly teleported him somewhere.

"Something magnificent. You'll have time to learn more about it."

"I believe there are deaths caused by this force."

"That means..." Peter felt choked.

"A hell within a hell. But everything is still uncertain. After all, dying is no big deal, especially for this place." Althur said quietly, reaching forward and pointing directly at the boy in front of him, "And you."

"I."

"Yes. You're also a part of death. And death can't die."

"To explain, the rituals chosen are usually blood sacrifices; they can disguise and turn accidents into rituals without arousing suspicion."

"They seem very powerful."

"Yes. Someone could have died from touching them."

Peter looked at Althur doubtfully. "Who is that?" he asked in a low voice.

"An exorcist. James." Althur held up the map and showed it clearly to Peter.

"Your home. This place. It's all corrupted rooms."

"Don't you feel a connection? Even if it's vague, I can still make you feel it."

Althur reached out his hand as if searching for a clue, a thread in a web. He twisted and turned in a strange pose. Suddenly his eyes flashed, as if there were a crack in space, and dark energies began to leak out.