As the leading priestess's voice echoed throughout the temple, participants sank to their knees in reverent anticipation. As she began to chant in a tongue foreign to most, the air seemed to pulse with the rhythm of her words.

Participants linked hands, bowed their heads, and joined in the ethereal song, repeating a single phrase in varying crescendos. The room vibrated with the collective cadence of their unified voices.

Maya could sense the subtle changes as if the air itself around them was coiling with power, drawn in by those simple phrases. It felt as if a thunderstorm could emerge inside the room. The hands of those beside her felt hot as if they were conducting magical power, channelling it through their collective circle.

The energy ebbed and flowed in waves, setting Maya's heart pounding with anticipation.

As they continued to chant, the priestesses ushered in a dark-cloaked figure that moved with slow deliberation as if in need of assistance. Maya sensed that the gathering power within the temple primarily surged toward this figure, who was rhythmically performing ritualistic movements. The energy seemed to be following in and receding as if closely tied to their every motion.

Torrents were passing through them, and it seemed like they were led by the cloaked figure's command. As the priestesses lifted the dark cloak to reveal the Harvester, Maya noticed Elena's intense focus. She couldn't afford even a moment's distraction.

It felt unscripted, as if Elena was simultaneously leading and responding, holding some sort of delicate balance no one but her could perceive. She was fully consumed by it, appearing more and more laboured as the power around them got denser and denser.

That must be it. The reason why the Harvester had to be the most powerful young mage was because the amount of power that would be brought forth depended on how much she could endure. And judging by the priestesses' expressions, the mounting pressure in the room already exceeded their expectations.

As Elena steadily advanced, unassisted, graciously stepping into the pool of water in the room's centre, Maya became suddenly aware of her appearance.

Elena was a vision of ethereal beauty, her silhouette adorned in a ceremonial gown of the purest white that seemed to accentuate her natural allure. Her brushed raven-black hair fell in a silky cascade down her open back, creating a stark contrast against her delicate porcelain skin that seemed to merge with the dress. Seeing such bright colours on her, and her skin glowing without traces of makeup, made her look refreshed and somehow much younger.

Maya's eyes widened as she realized the thin, almost translucent fabric had that effect even more emphasized as Elena ventured deeper into the pool. The gown clung to her beautiful figure like a second skin as the fabric was getting soaked.

It was clear the pinnacle moment was nearing as Elena knelt in the heart of the pool. The chants that filled the air gained a fevered intensity, matching Elena's rhythmic dance as she gracefully arched her back while leaning backwards. She faced the dome as if surrendered to some unknown force, and her arms seemed to be reaching for it at times.

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However, it was clear that the ritual was taking its toll, and her face betrayed signs of strain and concern. As the final verse of the chant echoed through the room, she twitched as if a jolt of pain coursed through her body, then froze in place. Everyone in the room struggled to breathe, suspended in that moment of anticipation.

Suddenly, Elena's body fell backwards, sinking to the bottom of the pool as if an invisible force pushed her down while all the pressure surged toward her. Just as she disappeared from sight, the water's surface hardened and transformed into a sheet of ice.

An eerie silence blanketed the room, the panic-stricken faces of the priestesses underscoring the fact that this turn of events had not been part of the plan.

One of them threw herself onto the ice in a desperate attempt to locate Elena.

Whispers, laced with fear and confusion, rippled through the crowd. Maya thought she glimpsed a hand thrashing against the underside of the ice. She sprang to her feet, a chilling realization dawning on her:

'Elena can't melt ice!'

Across the room, Keith mirrored her reaction. Elena had been submerged for too long. She was in danger of drowning.

A whirlwind of thoughts swarmed in Maya's mind, the most prominent being their conversation with Tanya about the fate of previous Harvesters.

'Is this how Elena meets her end? Is there some malevolent force targeting those who take on this role?'

But nothing about the ceremony had felt off. Apart from the gathering of power, there was no hint of anything sinister or foreboding, no otherworldly presence. Even the ghosts had kept their distance.

Maya's eyes darted around the room, frantically seeking a solution. No one could manipulate ice, the stone was too thick to use earth, fire wouldn't melt it in time, and air would be ineffective.

One of the priestesses resorted to smashing a candle stand against the ice. Its sharp end proved effective.

Cracks began appearing, and suddenly, a foot broke through. With a hole punched through it, the ice yielded more easily, and before long, Elena emerged, coughing and gasping for breath.

She was alive!

Like a chick breaking free from its shell, Elena knelt in the frigid water where shards of ice floated. She scanned the shocked faces surrounding her, then… burst into laughter.

'Did she do this intentionally?' A collective thought rippled through their minds.

Whether Elena's laughter was a mockery or a distraught stress response was unclear, leading to varied interpretations. It was not unlike Elena to engineer such a preposterous and dramatic spectacle just for the thrill of it, using her newfound power to mess with everyone.

Now, the whispers shifted focus to her appearance. Her drenched gown clung tightly to her skin, leaving little to the imagination.

Unfazed, Elena stood up and continued her raucous laughter. "How's this for a power, bitches?"

Keith hurriedly wrapped her in the discarded cloak from the floor.

With a flippant disregard for the formal conclusion of the ritual, Elena made her exit from the temple. Her strides were light and carefree, with the cloak trailing behind her, leaving a wet stroke like a brush dipped in ink.

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