Bastin and Baran ran behind Erythros, their feet moving fast on the cold stone floor. The temple was quiet except for the hurried footsteps and the faint sound of chants in the distance.
They reached the courtyard where a few disciples had gathered. In the middle, an old man lay on the ground—Master Jivyuj. His robes were slightly crumpled, and his hair, long and silver, spread on the stone. A wooden ladder lay sideways near him.
Erythros knelt beside him. "Master!"
A disciple spoke up. "He was trying to reach a book from the top shelf. The ladder slipped."
Jivyuj groaned slightly and opened his eyes. "I just wanted that book…" he muttered.
"Master, you shouldn't be climbing ladders at your age, you could have asked any student" Erythros said, shaking her head.
Jivyuj gave a weak chuckle. "Age is just a number, my dear."
A disciple handed him a tumbler of water. He sipped slowly, then turned his gaze towards Bastin. His eyes stayed on him for a moment longer than usual.
Bastin felt a little uneasy. "Is something wrong?" he asked.
Jivyuj didn't answer immediately. Then he said, "You feel… familiar."
Bastin blinked. "Familiar?"
Jivyuj nodded slightly but didn't explain.
Baran, standing with his arms crossed, finally spoke. "So, what is this place, really? And what are we supposed to do here?"
Erythros stood up, brushing off her robe. "You'll find out soon enough," she said.
And with that, she turned towards the temple, leaving them with more questions than answers.
Master Jivyuj adjusted himself slowly, with the help of a disciple, and sat upright, leaning against a stone pillar. His breathing was steady now, and he took another sip of water. The others stood in silence, waiting for him to gather his thoughts.
After a moment, he looked at Bastin, then at Baran and Drengvar. His gaze was sharp yet kind. "You three," he said, "you're not here just to wander. There is a purpose, and purpose requires a path."
Bastin glanced at Erythros, but she didn't say anything. She simply folded her arms and listened.
Jivyuj continued, "I will not hand you answers. Not yet. First, I must test you. See what you are capable of. Only then can I decide which path will lead you toward what you seek."
Baran, ever impatient, frowned. "And what exactly are we supposed to be seeking?"
Jivyuj chuckled softly, as if he expected that question. "That, my child, is for you to find out."
Baran exhaled sharply. "So, we're just supposed to follow orders blindly?"
Jivyuj shook his head. "Not blindly. With trust. If you are not willing, you may leave. But if you stay, be prepared."
The weight of his words hung in the air. Bastin, though unsure of what lay ahead, felt something stir inside him—a curiosity, a challenge. He exchanged a glance with Drengvar, who seemed just as lost but oddly excited.
Erythros finally spoke. "You've come this far. There's no harm in taking the next step."
Bastin looked at Baran, then at Drengvar. He wasn't sure where this was leading, but something about this place, about Jivyuj's words, made him want to see it through.
"Alright," he said. "What do we do?"
Jivyuj smiled. "Rest for now. Tomorrow, we begin."
The evening sky had turned a soft shade of orange, casting long shadows across the temple grounds. Bastin wandered aimlessly, his thoughts tangled. What was this test going to be? What path was Jivyuj talking about? He had no answers, and that uncertainty gnawed at him.
Just then, Baran's voice cut through his thoughts. "You're thinking too much again," he said, walking up beside Bastin.
Bastin sighed but didn't argue.
Baran, however, wasn't as calm. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "That old man didn't answer anything properly! He just spoke in riddles and left us hanging. How are we supposed to prepare for something when we don't even know what it is?"
Bastin understood his frustration. He felt the same way, but he didn't have the energy to be angry.
Baran exhaled sharply, then suddenly changed the subject. "Hey, did you open your gift yet?"
Bastin blinked. "Uh… no, not yet."
"What?" Baran stared at him in disbelief. "You had it all day, and you didn't even bother?"
Bastin shrugged. "I was occupied…"
Baran groaned. "Come on, open it now."
He didn't wait for Bastin to refuse, grabbing the wrapped bundle and shoving it into his hands. "Open it," he insisted.
Bastin sighed, but seeing Baran's expectant face, he gave in. Carefully, he unwrapped the leaves around the small package. As the final layer peeled away, a smooth black stone lay in his palm. On its surface, a sketch was etched using mashed rice—simple but delicate.
It was a drawing of the three of them—Yusuf, Baran, and himself—standing side by side. The lines weren't perfect, but the warmth in the image was undeniable.
For a moment, Bastin just stared at it. A soft smile crept onto his face. Something about it filled him with a quiet happiness, a warmth that reached deep inside him.
Bastin held the stone a little tighter, his fingers tracing the rough edges. A warmth spread through his chest, something he hadn't felt in a long time. He wasn't just happy—he felt... safe. Like he belonged.
For a moment, his mind drifted to a thought he rarely allowed himself to dwell on. If only my father were alive to see this… to see me grow up, to see me with friends who actually care.
He imagined it—his father watching over him, smiling at the way Bastin had found his place, how he wasn't alone anymore. The thought stung, but it was a good kind of ache, the kind that made his heart feel fuller.
"You like it?" Baran asked, breaking his thoughts.
Bastin blinked and looked up. Baran was watching him expectantly, a hint of nervousness in his eyes.
Bastin swallowed down the lump in his throat and nodded. "Yeah… I really do."
Baran grinned. "Good. Took me time to get it done."
Bastin exhaled softly, his fingers curling around the stone like he never wanted to let it go. In this unfamiliar place, surrounded by uncertainty, this small gift felt like an anchor, a reminder that he wasn't alone.
Erythros entered the room with Drengvar, her steps light but firm. The evening had settled into night, and the temple's chants had quieted into a distant hum. She glanced at the boys and sighed. "Enough talking for today. Go sleep at your allotted beds."
Bastin, still holding the stone, looked up with excitement. "Wait, Erythros! Look at this!" He turned to Drengvar, his voice brimming with joy. "Today was my birthday, and Baran gifted me this." He held out the black stone with the sketch.
Drengvar's eyes widened. "Oh! Happy birthday, Bastin!" he said, a bright smile lighting up his face.
Erythros' gaze fell on the sketch, and for a moment, she was surprised. A nine-year-old with this level of artistic sense… he could pass the artistic test without even needing the Syroche. She didn't say it aloud, but the thought lingered.
Meanwhile, Drengvar pointed at one of the figures in the drawing—the one Bastin and Baran hadn't mentioned yet. "Who's this guy?" he asked curiously.
Bastin smiled knowingly. "You'll meet Ani soon."
Before anyone could respond, Erythros suddenly felt a vibration. Her instincts kicked in. She pulled back her left sleeve, revealing a small sun-shaped handband. The sun emblem was glowing and pulsing steadily.
"Oh, I need to go," she muttered.
Baran raised a brow. "Where?"
Erythros didn't reply. Instead, she turned towards the boys. "You three, sleep soon," she instructed, her tone firm but not unkind. And with that, she whispered the incantation—
"Psychos Teleportus: Sun Veil."
In an instant, a crimson shimmer surrounded her, and then she was gone, leaving the room in silence.