I squinted, muttered, "It amazes me how fluently they speak English."
Gerard didn't miss a beat, "It's easy. They don't."
"...come again?"
"It's the tattoo," he said matter-of-factly, tapping the mark on Felix's wrist. "The Holy Grail auto-translates everything to match your perception."
"Oh. So it's like Google Translate, but Holy. Holy Translator..."
Gerard gave him a pained look. "Please never say that again."
"I make no promises."
Gerard sighed, "For some, the Chalice serves as a reminder of personal beliefs. For others, it is a connection to the divinity. A symbol of harmony..."
[Thud]
—"Kyaah!"
A powerful earthquake shook the surroundings, shifting the cavern's structure like a massive machine reshaping itself. Darkness engulfed the space, save for a beam of moonlight illuminating me amid the abyss. The vibrations spread like rippling water with each step I took. Then, silence. An eerie hum filled my ears, faint at first but growing louder by the second. Just before it became unbearable, Gerard's voice cut through.
"Many relics were lost, neglected, or divided among humans for selfish reasons. False gods. Each relic has a purpose, a role to play. The Chalice is our only guide to restore balance and prevent the universe from ceasing to exist."
—"O-kay?" I was thoroughly confused.
Despite sensing multiple unseen presences, I felt no hostility and chose not to react.
"Felix…"
Gerard's usually gentle voice carried an intensity that made the name feel weightier than ever. The cavern echoed his words, bouncing them endlessly in the boundless dark.
"You are the key to an insurmountable mechanism spanning the cosmos and realms. The Holy Grail has chosen you as its holder—to protect and wield its power."
—"Well that... sounds cool."
[Fwoosh] [Fwoosh] [Fwoosh]
Immediately, the air shifted. One by one, silhouettes stepped into the moonlight—eight figures, forming a silent circle like some ancient summoning ritual. Their expressions were unreadable, carved from wisdom, war, and way too many secret meetings, I could tell.
An elderly woman spoke first, her voice soft—far too gentle for what I was standing in the middle of.
"Felix, I know this all feels like a fever dream dipped in prophecy, but I assure you… everything we say is the truth."
I blinked at her. "…Do I even have a choice?"
"Oh, you do." Her voice carried warmth, like a grandmother's embrace. But another, a stern-looking man, countered sharply,
"No, you don't!" snapped an elder who looked like he'd been surviving on raw onions and stubbornness. He coughed again—violently.
The group of eight erupted into chatter, then heated debate. Chaos loomed as voices overlapped. Trying to suppress a laugh, I imagined the old man losing -1 HP with each cough. But I quickly sobered up and asked,
"What if I refuse?"
Gerard responded without hesitation.
"Then we take the Chalice, erase your memory, and let you live your life as if none of this ever happened."
—"And what is 'this' exactly?"
"Something you're not yet ready to understand."
—"If erasing my memory is so easy, why are you so adamant on making me stay?"
"Because if you refuse, we must wait for the next generation, not knowing when or who will emerge as the new holder."
Questions flooded my mind, but before I could ask, an answer I hadn't expected came.
"You were not chosen by the Holy Grail. You were simply at the wrong place at the wrong time. The council recommended you—not because they believe in you, but because you were convenient. Frankly, I doubt you have what it takes."
One of the elders muttered the words with quiet disdain.
—"Wait, what?"
The insult was uncalled for, but I let it slide.
"If I join, what's in it for me?"
The elderly woman answered, her voice unwavering.
"This path is harsh. It won't bring you fame, nor fortune. Instead, it will burden you with unimaginable responsibilities. But I ask you to take charge of something far more valuable—"
I scoffed, feeling let down... but,
"—Take responsibility for your own happiness."
Her words struck a chord, differ from what I had expected. My expression shifted. She continued,
"I see the questions in your eyes. Some will find answers, others will not—because not all questions need 'em. More often than not, the answers already reside within...
I see it in you, Felix.
...Do you?"
Felix's smile trembled at her words, a nostalgic shiver washing over him, recalling an experience from long ago…
••••••
"Your son must apologize or face expulsion!"
—"He better!"
—"That's right!"
The principal's office was tense. Parents of the injured students demanded justice. The principal, calm yet firm, turned to John Brodny, Felix's father.
"Your son sent three children to the infirmary. We need to discuss his punishment."
John listened quietly, his face unreadable.
"Could we at least consider his reasons?"
—"Reasons!? That's just an excuse!"
"You should ask your children why they were bullying an orphan."
—"Hey! Don't talk to my wife like that!"
The woman's husband snapped, ego bruised.
"What did I do?" John shrugged mockingly.
"Please, let's stay civil!" the principal interjected. Then, she turned to John.
"Mr. Brodny, without an apology, we'll have to revoke Felix's scholarship. He needs to learn there are consequences to his actions."
John sighed the sigh of a man who knew this meeting could've been an email.
"I understand. Actions do have consequences. But I'm not going to force my son to apologize when he was standing up for someone else. I raised him to have a spine, not a script."
He looked at Felix.
"I want him to stand by his beliefs. To astonish a cruel world with acts of kindness. 'Till I die, I'll cherish his decision…"
Silence filled the room. The principal smiled subtly, watching the father and son leave.
••••••
They walked through the school garden as if the wind was applauding them.
"Sorry, Dad." Felix mumbled.
"Don't be sorry," John said. "Be better."
Felix shuffled awkwardly, kicking at fallen leaves.
"Are you… disappointed?"
John inhaled like he was preparing a great sermon.
"I am…" he paused dramatically, "quite displeased."
Felix's face fell.
"Displeased," John continued, "that I can't brag to my coworkers that my kid singlehandedly defeated a mini-boss trio before lunchtime."
Felix snorted. "So… you're not mad?"
"Pfft. Mad? You defended a friend and took out three kids. That's not a fight. That's team balancing."
They both laughed, the tension melting away like ice cream on a summer sidewalk. Then John turned serious again—Dad Mode: Engaged.
"Felix, life won't always go your way. Fighting isn't always the answer."
Felix nodded, a little embarrassed.
"But today... today was the exception," John added. "Don't believe in a system of rewards and punishments. Do what's right, no matter the outcome."
—"Un un!" little Felix, nodded in agreement.
"What's the other kid's name?"
"David. We're friends now."
"Of course you are. Nothing bonds two people like shared trauma."
As John hailed a cab, a voice called out from behind.
"Mr. Brodny!"
They turned to see Mrs. Bronson, the principal, speed-walking toward them like she just left a Zumba class mid-session.
"Huff—haa—I'm only 56… phew…"
"You have my number, right?" John asked casually.
"Do I?" she blinked. Awkward silence.
She handed Felix an envelope.
"This is a recommendation letter. For another school. Keep it safe. Be patient."
Felix beamed. "Un un! Thank you, Mrs. Bronson!"
John and Felix bowed politely. As they walked off, Mrs. Bronson stared after them, one hand on her chest, the other on her knees, wondering...