The Merry Andro Temple manifested before them not merely as a structural compilation of masonry, but as an indomitable relic of a forgotten epoch, radiating a majestic, ancient aura that imposed a palpable gravitational weight of history upon any soul daring to stand beneath its shadow. Constructed in the distinct and alien architectural vernacular known as Kyoro Xikato, the edifice stood as a singular anomaly within the cityscape of Oktavira, for legends whispered among the common populace that its dark, shimmering walls were forged not from mundane clay, but from Falka Metal—a rare, hyper-durable alloy that gleamed with an ethereal luster under the solar gaze. Having endured the erosion of time for approximately fourteen millennia, the sanctuary was consecrated to honor Merry Andro at the precise moment of his ascension to the Third Order, serving as a sacred locus of unity for his fervent devotees. As the conveyance decelerated to a halt, the elite male guards abruptly arrested their momentum at the precipice of the entrance, bowing in deferential submission to the inviolable statute that governed this holy ground. Although Merry Andro was a potent Saint revered with fearful trembling, his Order maintained an absolute, sacrosanct prohibition: service was the exclusive province of the female gender, barring even the most loyal male protectors from violating the threshold upon pain of death.
Yet, in a brazen defiance of antiquity, Lady Agnes disembarked and imperiously commanded her personal female attendants to transport the unconscious stranger directly into the Maids' Quarters, bypassing the guest halls to deposit a male within the private, fragrant sanctum of the servants. Buzz. The instant the stranger crossed the forbidden demarcation, a seismic shockwave of scandalized whispers swept through the temple corridors, transforming the usual haven of silent discipline into a chaotic hive of dissonant speculation regarding this unprecedented heresy. Amidst the murmur of scandal and the perfumed atmosphere of the inner quarters, the comatose Xan Li Fang reposed upon a soft mattress, utterly oblivious to the fact that his mere respiration within these walls constituted the shattering of a fourteen-thousand-year-old taboo.The stranger's cranial movement was minimal, a mere tremor of life returning to a dormant vessel, but slowly, heavily, his eyelids fluttered open to reveal the world. The initial sensory input was not the claustrophobic stone of a sepulcher, nor the infinite, terrifying mirrors of the void; instead, he was greeted by a concentric ring of ocular scrutiny—dozens of irises fixed upon him with an intensity that bridged the gap between awe and unbridled curiosity. These were the Temple Maids, denizens of a sanctuary strictly segregated by gender, for whom the manifestation of a male was an occurrence of nearly mythical proportions. To the innocent, he was a biological anomaly; to the isolated, who had spent their existence within these walls, he possessed the fascination of a deity made flesh. The atmosphere in the chamber was saturated with a thick, blushing tension, and more than one observer bit her lip, harboring romantic notions should the heavens deign to permit such a transgression.
Xan blinked rapidly, massaging his optic nerves with clenched fists in a futile attempt to reconcile this vision with his last traumatic memory. "What catastrophe precipitated this...?" he muttered, bewildered by the soft illumination and the ethereal beauty surrounding him. A wide, stuporous grin stretched across his visage beneath the shadow of his pitch-black hat. "Did I expire and descend into Paradise? Hahahaha!" His laughter erupted with volcanic force, a boisterous, dissonant roar that ricocheted off the serene walls, filling the entire Maids' Quarters and startling the gathered women with its sheer, uninhibited volume. Yet, the mirth was extinguished as abruptly as it had ignited. Xan's survival instincts seized control; the grin evaporated, replaced instantly by a sharp, calculating scrutiny. He immediately palpated his chest and inspected his digits with frantic precision. "Space Ring... intact. Vestments... undamaged. Inventory... secure." Only upon confirming the retention of his illicitly acquired treasures did he permit his muscles to relax. "State my location," he commanded, addressing the sea of staring eyes. "And identify yourselves."
The dam of silence fractured, unleashing a chaotic torrent of overlapping voices. "He possesses the faculty of speech!" "Observe his phalanges!" "Is he of noble lineage?" To the unaided eye, Xan Li Fang's gender should have remained an enigma, obscured by the voluminous, polychromatic defensive robes and the shadowing brim of his hat. Yet, the women harbored absolute certainty regarding his masculinity, a conviction rooted in the reaction of the Saint Statue. For millennia, the effigy of Merry Andro had remained dormant at the entrance, but the intrusion of a male inevitably triggered a luminescence or vibrational alert; when Lady Agnes transported him across the threshold, the statue had signaled the undeniable presence of the opposite sex. While the women were distracted by their collective speculation, Xan executed a maneuver of terrifying velocity. Cognizant that he was still clad in the grim, funereal attire appropriated from the Forgotten Temple, his hands blurred into motion. ZHOOM. With a celerity that defied optical processing, he stripped the corpse's vestments and boots, replacing them with fresh attire from his spatial storage in a fraction of a microsecond. By the time the maids blinked, his sartorial presentation had shifted completely, yet he remained seated in the identical posture, appearing as though he had not moved a millimeter.
Finally, a maid possessing greater fortitude than her peers stepped forward to address his inquiry. "You reside within the Merry Andro Temple," she articulated with a trembling timbre. "Our Lady discovered you comatose in the Arnadu Forest and transported you hither." Xan froze. "Temple...? Forest...?" A sudden, bifurcating agony lanced through his cranium as the fragmented memories of the Mirror World, the Tomb, and the discordant timelines collided violently within his psyche. "Argh!" Clutching his skull with both hands, his visage twisted in a rictus of suffering. "So that is the reality... My cranium feels as though it is undergoing structural failure! Haaaa!" His eyes flashed with a sudden, paranoid fury, no longer perceiving beautiful women but potential adversaries. "You imbeciles!" he bellowed at the ceiling, hallucinating the Sovereigns or the spectral entities of the Ruins. "Do you hypothesize you can ensnare me with such a transparent stratagem?! Await my retribution!"