You're the Miracle from That News Article?
“You don't mean... that news article from back then was about you? Florence, Satanists, some miracle, hole punched through your gut and you came back to life?!”
“Yeah. You seriously didn't know until now? It was obvious it was me.”
“No face in the photo, fake name and all. And I don't read Romanica Church articles in detail anyway.”
“Why not?”
“Makes me wanna puke... Whatever, that's not the point. You almost died!”
“Came pretty damn close.”
I nodded, and Ha Su-yeong shot me a furrowed glare, her face screaming she couldn't comprehend me at all. Fair enough.
“...You're fucking insane.”
“Watch your mouth. A few months apart and you've gotten even ruder.”
“Am I wrong? What happens to the Voodoo Cult if you actually croak?”
“Am I dead right now? I'm standing here, aren't I?”
“Argh, fuck...! I'm talking hypotheticals. If you die, no more Loa powers, and the cult just vanishes!”
She wasn't wrong. Seven years ago, after the Second Cult Leader—my father—died in the Holy War and the prophetess—my mother—was captured, the Voodoo Cult collapsed overnight. If I'd reorganized things quickly as the next leader, maybe it wouldn't be this bad now. But I'd spent a whole year half-mad from the hallucinations of the Loa's voices.
A cult leader's sudden death hits hard. If I got exposed trying to rescue my mother from the underground prison and Ha Pan-seok's son, sparking another Holy War, I'd definitely die. According to my uncle, anyway. Not that I'd go down easy.
First, rescue Mom without starting a war. If that's impossible, save her even if it means war—and win it with everything I've got.
But death comes unexpectedly. No matter how resolved I am, it'll hit when it hits. I needed preparations. So my death wouldn't doom the Voodoo Cult.
“Legba, long time no hear. Mind saying something?”
I pulled out a ritual candle with restoration voodoo and set it on the floor. Then I called for Legba, who'd been silent since I landed in the hospital.
He responded with a low, rumbling hm.
“...You've rested long enough. Forgot my voice in the meantime?”
His voice after so long felt welcoming. I pulled out two more candles, lining them up in front of Ha Su-yeong. With each one, Legba's voice grew clearer—the connection strengthening through the flames.
“So, what's this about? You didn't call just to hear my voice.”
“I want to check succession compatibility.”
“Succession compatibility... Calling me after ages for something so tedious right off the bat. No hello?”
While Legba grumbled, Ha Su-yeong stared at me like I'd lost my mind. Natural reaction—she'd just see me muttering to myself.
As Legba selected his ritual language, she snapped out of it. “You talking to a Loa right now? Or just talking to yourself?”
“Not talking to myself. You think I'm crazy?”
“...Then what's this 'succession compatibility' crap?”
“Whether you can become cult leader or not.”
“And? You're the leader now anyway.”
I added two more candles. The tiny flames flickered toward her—no wind, though. Five seemed enough. Prep complete.
Finally answering, “If I die, you might have to take over.”
Her voodoo skills were second only to mine. She even knew how to cast on animals—arguably better in some ways. She acted dumb sometimes, but she wasn't stupid. I'd name her next leader. But first, confirm if her body could host a Loa as prophetess.
“...Die?”
She muttered, chewing on the words. After the incident, I'd been out for weeks. Shouldn't remember blackout time, but I did—my body in the hospital, mind in the crossroads.
“Why am I still here?”
Legba limped over, sighing deeply. “Dunno. Never seen a live soul here before.”
“Live soul?”
“The dead must pass through. Crossroads to the unseen world.”
“Ah.”
“But you're not dead, yet here. Weird. Baron Samedi might know, but he's no fun...”
He pulled a pipe from his lapel, puffing. Smoke rose, blocking the red moon or swirling toward me.
“Put that out.” I coughed.
He chuckled. “I'm older than you. Deal with it.”
“How old?”
“Two years older than Baron Samedi.”
“How old's he?”
“Two younger than me.”
Pointless. I sighed, sat, scanned the hazy crossroads—blurry boundaries of paths and non-paths, time slippery.
Legba set a huge hourglass before me mid-puff.
“Let's chat. You've been busy.”
“Yeah.”
“Ask away.”
He flipped it. Sand flowed. I felt time tick.
“What's this?”
“To feel time. It doesn't flow if you don't notice.”
“Got it.” Vague, but okay. Next: “All dead pass here?”
“Yes. Some notice, some don't.”
“Mom?”
Silence. “Came once. Didn't pass. Far as I know.”
“She's alive.”
“Depends how you see it.”
No more questions. Silence.
“Nothing else?”
“Nope.”
“Then I'm off to rest. Long sleep—even after you wake.”
“Loa sleep?”
“Sometimes want to. Won't talk while sleeping.”
“Boring.”
“Call if you are. Got stories.” He laughed, limped away puffing, vanished.
He really shut up after. Alone, I watched sand flow, thought of Dad's death, Mom alive, Holy War, Voodoo Cult, Romanica, Florence bonds, Gu Jun-hyeok who wrecked me.
Gu Jun-hyeok? Probably executed. But Mom's “dead” yet alive in prison—maybe same for him. Slim chance.
Clink. Flip.
Voodoo, Loa powers, Legba's “embodiment” realm. Mom's Loa vs. my puny ones.
Flip once, twice.
Death. Crossroads so close to it—I couldn't not think. I'd return here dead.
Clink. Seventh flip, I woke.
Dazed. Minutes or years there? First day: numb senses, one-lung breathing. Second: mulled crossroads, detached from much—especially death. That's when I thought of naming a successor. Irresponsible death repeats 7-year hell.
Accepting death shifted to post-death plans.
“What do you mean die? Why would you die?”
Ha Su-yeong clueless. Too lazy for long explanation: “Not now. Someday.”
“Someday? You got a terminal diagnosis or what?”
“No... Everyone dies eventually. Not scheduled.”
“Oh...”
She sighed, eyes down.
“Get ready.”
I offered my hand. She stared blankly.
“Hand.”
“No way!”
“Embarrassed?”
“Bullshit. It's just...”
She backed up, scanning me, eyes darting, then squeezed shut. “...Don't wanna hold hands with a perv exhibitionist.”
“You spied. Voyeur?”
“Ugh, seriously... Why hand?”
“Ritual needs it.”
Contact required—safer that way, though annoying.
“Hand.”
“Argh, I'm not a dog!” Grumbling, she gave it. Barely felt it—cool, light.
“Eyes closed.”
“Always bossing...” But she obeyed. I closed mine. Darkness overlapped crossroads. Legba's mutter sharpened, then stopped. Something drained from me, flowing through our hands.
“Beginning.”
Cold sweat down my spine.
*
Ha Su-yeong saw only darkness. Expected, eyes shut. Odd tingle in clasped hand—flowing in, electric buzz.
“...Not doing anything weird, right?”
Prayer eyes closed fine, but hand-holding? Pervy ulterior motive?
“...”
I gripped tighter. She flinched, shook off thoughts. No way he'd try anything, and even if, she couldn't resist.
Suddenly, eerie path under red moon flashed by.
“Open your eyes.”
Voice boomed in her skull, vibrating.
“M-Mom, what the...?!”
She yanked back, but I held her wrist. Eyes open: my cold stare, sweat beading, lips blue.
“Don't let go.”
“...O-Okay.”
Felt wrong to. Then, throat-clearing echoed, shoulders twitching, brain tickled.
“Sorry if startling... I'm Legba. Need intro?”
“...Legba.” Tremors stopped. Loa leader, crossroads lord. Every Voodooist knew. Surreal, thrilling.
“No need. Straight to compatibility check.”
She gulped. More nervous than exams. Glanced at me—steady gaze, firm grip oddly reassuring.
“Answer my questions.”
“Y-Yes.”
“7×8?”
“Huh?” Expected cult or faith questions. Times tables? Random.
“5—56!”
“Correct. 11×13?”
“Uh... 143?”
“Not bad. 142×1987.”
“N-No way! Mental math?!”
“Can't even do basic math... Answer's 282,154. Fail.”
“What?!” Absurd, she snorted.
“Snort... Mocking a Loa, eh?”
“N-No, that's not—”
“Not?”
“I-I mean...” Panicking, she glanced at me. Tales said Legba fun and kind, but terrifying angry. Divine punishment incoming? I smirked.
“Legba.”
Grinning at her freeze, “Why tease her?”
“Her reactions are hilarious. Unlike yours.”
He boomed laughter. She gawked sky-me, then narrowed eyes. “...You pricks tricked me!”
“Yep. Problem?”
“N-No... none.” Flustered scramble.
“Teasing again. Enough?”
“Yes, sufficient.”
“Good.” I released. Snap in head, headache, dizziness. Hazy vision flashed crossroads, cleared. All gone—dreamlike.
“...What? Done?”
“Yeah. Good job.”
Shrugged casual. She glared sidelong—no full glare guts.
“That compatibility thing. Result?”
He'd said fail—not prophetess/leader material. She knew, asked anyway—no disappointment show.
“Compatible.”
“Huh?”
“Bull. Legba said fail!”
“Joke. Hearing him means compatible.”
“Liar.”
“Why lie about this?” Staring ground like counting ants.
True. No reason. She was prophetess material—Fourth Cult Leader if I died.
“...Yeah.” Nodding slow, mixed. Accepted, but joy muted. Me dead first. Bittersweet.
Shook it off—distant future. Looked: still shirtless.
Sarcastic: “Hey, leader. Why no shirt still?”
“Reasons.”
“Not even impressive body to flaunt?”
“...Haven't trained. Hospital bound.”
Serious reply to joke. Decent build—fit enough. But scar bugged her—hers ached too. Cover it at least.
Ignoring, still ground-staring.
“Ugh, what're you doing? Shirt!”
“Ugly? Piss off... Nah, better show.”
Muttered, cast voodoo—Dawn Sword dagger. Inspected, eyed withered tree far off. Perfect execution—enviable mastery.
Then stabbed palm deep. Blood dripped.
Her limbs iced. “What the fuck?! Crazy bastard!”
“Watch. Might need it someday.”
Casual, like painless. Dipped finger in blood, drew on ground.
(To be continued)