In Dim Halls, the trinity sat and watched. From a Steel, Copper and Stone throne, three men looked at a burning pyre. A festival, a feast, in honor of the gods.
"A day of joy. To keep people happy, one must give food and games." Said the the one on the Copper throne. He lit his torch with the flames of the pyre.
"But it is not a day for US!" said the one on the Steel throne. "All can claim glory an praise. They should worship us if they want our attention."
"Indeed, we would not want the outcast, the unworthy." replied the stone throne.
"But A Spark, it can leap from any fire, any pyre. Even those who do not believe can build and dream, can achieve." the torchbearer continued.
"Very well, brother, we will listen and see. Will you then create when one is deemed worthy?" the one on the Steel Throne pointed his sword to the stone throne.
"I will, as I have done before. Will he carry the hammer, the sword or the torch?" he answered, lifting a builders hammer.
"That is yet to be seen, we have no contenders yet."
The three looked at the pyre. The smell of roasted meat filled the Dim Halls.
"What about the goat farmer, the cook?" the builder offered.
"He is certainly skilled, but not fit for sainthood." the soldier commented.
"Then test him, for he stands in presence of death and fear. What would he do when not afraid?" The torchbearer raised his torch above the pyre.
"That we will. I shall grant him bravery. If he intrigues us more, we shall grant him more." the builder raised his hammer above the pyre.
"And if not, he will live his live as a noble carver, applying skill in his own way." the soldier raised his sword above the pyre.
In Misha's eyes, a fire started burning. Warmth filled his body and voice. He is not afraid, he can never be afraid again.