As Lumian intoned the three lines of the honorific name, a faint gray fog materialized around him, radiating an unnerving aura.
The orange candle flame adopted a bluish tinge, casting a sinister, deep glow over the entire altar.
In that instant, Lumian's thoughts seemed to decelerate. He felt an itching beneath his flesh, as if something was on the verge of burrowing out.
A distant, inscrutable gaze from an unfathomable height appeared once more.
Collecting himself, Lumian resumed his prayer.
Adhering to Madam Magician's instructions and incorporating sacrificial knowledge from Aurore's grimoire, he recited in Hermes, "I implore you. I beseech you to lift this curse from me…"
In all honesty, Lumian yearned to request the great existence's protection for a year, shielding him from all harm. But that was clearly unattainable. He had not yet mastered the necessary Hermes phrases to counter the threat of the Montsouris ghost. Thus, he could only allude to the curse plaguing him.
