The sweltering sun is high in the sky, and the engines in the distance are already revving heavily for the approaching race that Beat is preparing for with icy focus. Meanwhile, in the underground bathhouse of the mountain temple, the world is completely silent.
Aurelius still lies motionless, deeply immersed in the fuchsia candle wax. The viscous, warm grease envelops his pale body like a protective cocoon, pulsing constantly to manually repair the extreme damage from the energy drain. His eyelids are tightly shut, trapped in a deep, healing coma.
At the edge of the massive marble bath, Sergio Waxelton sits on his haunches, his legs clumsily crossed and a half empty mug of drink in his trembling hand. He stares with bleary eyes at the rising vapors of the honey sweet wax. He is practically talking to himself, muttering philosophically with the slow, slurred voice of a drunkard who possesses a gigantic heart deep within.
“Look at you lying there, little warrior…” Sergio mumbles, as he taps the mug softly against the edge of the bath, causing the liquid inside to slosh. “Everyone is just rushing forward in this life. Grind here, grind there. More power, bigger swords. ‘Look at me, being the man with my brute technique!’ But what is it worth, eh? What is power really when your soul is being completely sucked dry by your own steel? You are just like these candles here, you understand? We are all burning at both ends simultaneously just to provide a little light in the darkness. And when the wax is gone… well, then there is nothing left but a cold, hard spot on the floor. A memory of nothing. Life is a vicious cycle of melting and solidifying again, kid. You think you are the master of your own fire, until the fire decides that you are the fuel.”
He falls silent for a moment. Sergio takes a hearty swig, wipes the drink roughly from his chin with the back of his sleeve, and looks with a surprisingly soft, deep, and concerned gaze at the young, exhausted face of Aurelius.
“Shinto has high hopes for you. That old man never says that, believe me. He usually only sees weakness in the people who come crawling in here. So just regain your energy quietly, little man. Let that wax do its work and soak it all up. The world outside is cruel, it will wait. But Sergio will ensure that your wick does not go out for good in here. I promise you that.”
Meanwhile, thousands of meters higher in the freezing air, time on the snowy mountain peak stands still for a moment.
Silarias catches his breath after the brutal climb and pulls his undercover cloak tighter around his massive shoulders. The wind howls around his ears. He looks at the ancient monk, who stands so serenely in the cold, with a wary gaze. He must absolutely keep his true identity as the Bansaday Flying Lion a secret from the outside world.
Keep it low, Silarias warns himself in a fierce internal monologue. No lion power, no roaring distortion. If they find out who and what I really am, the entire mission is in danger. Play the game.
“Greetings,” Silarias speaks with a forced heavy, deep voice, as he pushes his impressive chest forward. “My name is Flamo. I am a traveler, simply in search of answers to unanswered questions.”
The monk bows his head again, a gentle, almost omniscient smile gracing his wrinkled face. “Pleasure, Flamo. A fiery name for a man who braves the cold. I am Makala Ah. And I know exactly what you have come to do here on this sacred peak.”
Silarias raises a thick eyebrow and looks at the monk with a laugh, although he feels the suspicious tension in his muscles immediately increase. “Eh… Yes, wonderful that you know that, old man. A clever bit of work. We will definitely talk about that in great detail soon. But there is one thing that strikes me… You just said in your welcome ‘we were expecting you.’ Who is ‘we’ for god’s sake? I only see a pile of snow and an old man here.”
Makala Ah nods slowly, his eyes glittering with pure appreciation. “Your attentiveness does you credit, Flamo. A strong spirit hears the nuances in the wind. Come, come, follow me… I have a teacher and a fellow student who have been waiting for you for quite some time. Do not let them wait in the cold any longer.”
The monk turns fluently and accompanies Silarias through the massive golden entrance gate into the temple. Inside, the icy cold has vanished in an instant, replaced by a serene, spiritual warmth that penetrates deep into the bones. In the center of the giant hall, filled with incense, an impressive man is hovering in the air in a perfect cross legged position, thirty centimeters above the hard stone floor. Directly in front of him sits a young disciple on his knees, who is also deep in prayer.
Simultaneously, without opening their eyes or breaking their meditative posture by even a millimeter, they call out with synchronous, heavy voices that echo through the space: “We have been expecting you.”
Silarias swallows the lump in his throat, takes a firm step forward, and repeats his cover story. “As I told the gatekeeper… I am Flamo. I have come here for training.”
Upon hearing that name, the young disciple immediately loses all his focus. His praying hands fall apart, his eyes fly wide open, and he bursts into a mocking, loud laugh. “Flamo?! Hahaha! Sure, mate! And I am the king of the underworld. What a bizarrely bad, obvious alias is that?! You radiate something completely different from every angle!”
“Jeshua, be silent immediately,” the hovering mentor speaks with a voice that enforces absolute authority, though a deep, warm brotherliness also resonates in it.
The man descends quietly in a fluid motion back to the stone floor. Before Silarias can even state his request, Master Malaka walks right up to the towering giant. Without a single word, the master places two fingers gently against Silarias’s broad chest, right over his heart.
Instantly, the raging, chaotic golden energy of the Flying Lion that usually thrashed wildly inside Silarias’s soul completely freezes. It is perfectly, effortlessly neutralized by that single touch. Silarias gasps, his eyes widening in pure shock as his internal burden is instantly tamed.
Malaka looks deep into his soul with terrifyingly absolute insight, leaning in close to whisper so Jeshua cannot hear. “The golden savanna is far away, my brother, yet your royal spirit still seeks to shake these mountains. Do not worry. Your secret nature is safe within these walls.”
Silarias stands frozen, entirely stunned by the sheer absurdity of this man's perception. Malaka steps back, smiling warmly as if nothing happened.
“Stand up, Flamo. We do not kneel here for anyone, neither for gods nor men,” says Malaka in a friendly yet urgent tone. “I will personally guide you on this difficult path. But first, we must start at the foundation. And he can help you with that.”
Malaka turns his head toward the young disciple who was just laughing so loudly. “Jeshua… Everything I have taught you so far about the flow of the soul, the energy channels, and the spiritual foundation of this temple… explain it to him. Take him with you, show him the halls, and show him everything we do here.”
The disciple steps forward, the mocking look on his face gone like snow before the sun, replaced by an open, warm, and sincerely hospitable smile.
“Flamo, pleasure,” says the boy with a clear voice, while he extends his hand firmly toward the giant man before him. “I am Jeshua. Jeshua of Naziri… Come with me, and I will show you around our world immediately. We have a lot to discuss.”
Jeshua turns around and begins to walk with calm strides through the temple corridor, while Silarias follows with a deep breath, knowing that his heavy grind to purify his soul has now truly begun.
The silence in the long stone temple corridor is almost palpable. The only sound is the rhythmic tapping of their footsteps on the cold floor. Jeshua walks a few paces ahead, but he keeps his head tilted back, watching the massive figure of the giant warrior with an extremely suspicious gaze. He scans the man’s undercover cloak and strange garments from head to toe.
Eventually, Jeshua breaks the silence with a mocking undertone in his voice. “So… yeah… really Flamo, huh? Are you absolutely sure you are not secretly someone else? Your clothing, your posture… it does not exactly scream ‘Flamo the everyday traveler’.”
Silarias reacts immediately, without hesitating for even a second, though he involuntarily tenses his jaw tightly. “No, no, you have got it all wrong. I am Flamo. Flamo of Wardia. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a traveler from the lower lands.”
Jeshua turns his head back forward and shrugs indifferently. “Sure… whatever you say, mate. If you say you are Flamo of Wardia, then I believe you instantly.”
They turn into a broad, monumental hallway. Here, the wall is covered with gigantic, ancient paintings of epic battles and legendary figures. Precisely in the middle of the hall stands a gigantic marble statue that reaches up to the high ceiling. It depicts a majestic, winged lion ruling over the hall with a terrifying, royal gaze.
Jeshua stops suddenly right in front of the statue, looks up at it, and nods slowly, as if he is one hundred percent certain now. He turns to Silarias, gives him a subtle wink, and says in a mysterious tone: “You know what… Never mind. You are probably not him.”
Silarias comes to an abrupt halt and follows the young disciple’s gaze. He looks behind him, up at the statue, and his jaw literally drops in pure, shocking realization. It is an exact likeness of the Bansaday Flying Lion.
At that same moment, his internal God burden and his curse begin to gnaw mercilessly at his soul. A heavy, pressing wave of spiritual energy hits inside his chest, and the information and connections become far too much for him in one single blow. Panic shoots through his veins, but he refuses to lose his cover. Without exchanging another word or looking at the statue a moment longer, he strides away with large, hurried steps, brushing right past Jeshua.
Jeshua notices the sudden, icy tense atmosphere and walks quickly after him. His mocking tone disappears immediately, making way for sincere empathy. “Hey, sorry man… I should not have pushed so hard. That was not cool of me. I saw that it got to you.”
He continues to walk beside Silarias as they move deeper into the temple archives. “Tell me honestly, what are you really here for? And are you absolutely sure this is what you are looking for?”
Silarias slows his pace just a little, looks at the disciple sideways with a questioning expression, and furrows his heavy eyebrows. “Eh… how do you mean that exactly?”
Jeshua looks seriously ahead at the burning torches on the wall for a moment. “Yeah, well… when I first came in here a few weeks ago, I was looking for pure enlightenment. And don’t get me wrong, I have absolutely received that here from Master Malaka in that short time. But… what I have really gained here in the end… Well, that’s a completely different story. It changes your entire view of the world, even though I have only been here a short while myself.”
Jeshua stops in front of an ancient brass incense burner resting on a stone pedestal. “Look, Flamo… to understand what is happening here, you first have to grasp how your own body is put together. There are invisible, spiritual paths running through your entire system. Think of them as rivers. The mana currents in your body are supposed to move freely and fluently, without blockages. If you learn to control those currents or synchronize them with your breathing, you can stabilize your soul against any form of external pressure or internal darkness.”
Instead of continuing his speech, Jeshua smiles and takes a deep, rhythmic breath. He raises his hand toward the thick, chaotic cloud of gray smoke rising from the incense.
As Jeshua slowly exhales, the scattered smoke suddenly snaps into a perfectly straight, razor sharp line. With a fluid flick of his fingers, Jeshua guides the invisible mana current through the air, causing the smoke to wrap around his wrist like a flawless, glowing ribbon. He shifts his breathing again, and the smoke instantly coils into a perfect spinning sphere before drifting away into the air.
“See?” Jeshua says, lowering his hand with an open grin. “The energy channels inside me shape the world outside because I control the flow smoothly. When your channels are aligned, nothing can shake your foundation from the inside out.”
Silarias listens in absolute silence, watching the remnants of the smoke dissolve, as the practical demonstration resonates deep within him and the calm in his chest very slowly begins to return.