And the rest that follow, say as an initiate over his head, in a voice too faint for him to hear, anointing his face with the mystery. This immortalization happens three times a year. And if anyone, O child, should wish to disobey after the instruction — for him it will no longer be valid.

The teaching keeps a secret inside the secret. Even as you initiate another, part of the words is said atónōi phthóngōi, 'in a toneless voice,' deliberately hína mḕ akoúsēi — 'so that he may not hear.' The new initiate receives the god but not the whole formula; something is always withheld, spoken over his head into the air. Mystery guards its own even from the initiated. And then the human close. The ointment is called simply tò mystḗrion, 'the mystery' — the sacred stuff and the sacred knowledge share one word — and the rite is fixed to the calendar: trìs toû eniautoû, three times a year, a liturgy with a season, not a whim. The last line drops the priestly register entirely and speaks as a father: ô téknon, 'O child' — the same 'only child' the whole book was dedicated to at line one. And the warning is not a curse but a mechanism: disobey the instruction and the rite simply oukéti hypárxei, 'will no longer be available' to you. Not punishment — forfeiture. The power was a gift on terms, and the terms are the last thing the teacher says. The book closes the circle it opened: written for one child, guarded to the end, handed down not for sale.