Thirin Laughed "Kuhahaha!" (2)
When she opened her eyes again, Thirin found herself standing outside the temple.
"......What the hell?"
Had she lost her memory? Or had she sleepwalked through the whole thing and somehow dealt with the God of Sand while she was at it?
"......"
No, that wasn't it. The space itself felt wrong. Thirin scanned her surroundings. The carriage that had been abandoned at the temple entrance was gone. It wasn't that Klaus had dragged it away, either. She could tell the difference. There wasn't even a trace left of where it had stood.
The hour was still deep night beneath a bright moon, yet the forest air that should have wrapped around her was completely absent.
Thirin let out a low whistle.
"Wow."
The landscape beyond the temple was shifting at blinding speed, like a video stuck on fast-forward. The lush green forest flashed into autumn with leaves spiraling down, then became a winter buried under pure white snow, before the ice melted away into a sea of mud.
"......"
Any normal person would have panicked at the sight, but Thirin only grew calmer.
This is an illusion. Classic cliché.
Fast-forwarding time itself? If this thing had power like that, it wouldn't have thrown a tantrum about kidnapping some kid in the first place.
Now that she thought about it, what exactly had that sand ghost said?
It would grant whatever I wanted.
Thirin ran a hand over her lower body.
"......"
Disappointing. Thirin exploded with anger.
"Hey, you cheating bastard! If you're going to show an illusion, at least do it properly! This is unfair trade!"
She screamed into the empty air, but no answer came.
"......"
Whether she shouted or stayed silent, time continued its relentless march. The world flowed past exactly like a video with the fast-forward button jammed down. The spectacle was so grand that Thirin forgot her rage and simply stared, mesmerized.
The forest dried out until it crumbled into dust. Trees sprouted, withered, toppled, rotted into soil, and fresh saplings rose from the decay. The entire vast woodland pulsed like a single massive heart, swelling and shrinking in an endless rhythm.
When she looked up, the stars were no longer pinpricks of light. They had become countless glowing lines streaking across the night sky.
Sensing something behind her, she turned. The enormous pyramid crumbled as if it had been made of mud all along, scattering into the wind. Beyond it the earth surged upward in furious waves before crashing down again and again, until at last it smoothed into tranquil stillness like a lake. Everything that possessed shape wore away, scattered, fluttered, and finally sank. All that remained was sand.
Thirin nodded.
"So that's how it is."
She spoke into the void.
"I misunderstood. It wasn't an hourglass."
The authority of the God of Sand and the Flowing River. It was time. More precisely, not time itself but the time that had already passed. When everything weathered away, only sand remained.
Thirin kicked at the sand on the ground.
"The divine artifact wasn't an hourglass. It was the sand itself. I figured you carried a bottle of sand because you couldn't afford to make a proper hourglass. Makes sense. Fallen religions are always broke, right?"
The sand ghost offered no reply, but Thirin kept talking anyway.
"Sorry for calling you the god of beggars, sand ghost. I've apologized, so how about letting me out now?"
Still no answer. Yet somehow Thirin got the distinct impression that the sand ghost was utterly dumbfounded.
A human so shameless it left even a god speechless. The greatest tongue-talent in history, capable of blaspheming against the divine itself. That was Thirin.
Just as she opened her mouth to say more, a voice rang out from the empty air.
You rootless wench. This is what you desired.
You wished to become anything at all.
"What kind of bullshit is that?"
"Didn't you?"
"......"
It wasn't as if nothing came to mind. Thirin really could become anything. She had been the Saintess of Mercy and the Saintess of the Whip. She had been the Saintess of Everland and the Saintess of Gacha. She had been half-Japanese, Swedish, and Chinese all at once. She had been a Confucian girl and an unyielding one. She could have become a painter, a stonemason, or a carpenter. Thirin could become anything.
Pitiful wench.
You wished to become anything.
Like a seed changing the shape of its roots to match the soil it burrows into, you kept changing your form, searching for a place where you could belong.
However, you are a rootless wench.
You will never find a place to take root.
You are not even a rootless weed.
You are a flame-like wench.
What does a flame leave behind?
You already know.
Thirin was about to spit another curse but closed her mouth. Something had occurred to her.
"......"
It was in this very city that she had attained the enlightenment of Samadhi True Fire. A life like flame. Once it catches, it burns wildly, dies out in an instant, and leaves only ashes behind for a long time. That cycle repeating endlessly. It was the perfect expression of her own self-loathing.
Samadhi True Fire.
"!"
Something stirred. Thirin looked up at the sky. The lines of light were vanishing one by one. The stars were reaching the end of their lifespan.
"......"
Her body felt strangely lighter. It wasn't an illusion.
She looked around. There was no wind, yet the sand was rising into the air. The grains floated upward, then scattered into nothing, not even dust remaining.
The end of time. The end of all things.
Something brushed against her fingertips. Thirin stared blankly at them. Her hand was crumbling away like dust. Then her wrist, her arm, her shoulder, her chest, her neck, and finally even her face disappeared.
Small flame that leaves only ashes.
Ashes and sand. They are not so different.
They are merely symbols.
The two are not different.
Didn't you desire unity?
Forget it. Forget the distinction between you and me.
Like a painter becoming one with the brush, a musician becoming one with the strings, a stonemason becoming one with the chisel.
Forget the distinction between you and me.
Abandon all desires. Abandon all consciousness. And become one. If you do so...
You will attain peace.
In the end, nothing happens. And nothing will happen.
The things that torment you will not occur.
Therefore you will feel no torment either.
That is the peace you have longed for so desperately.
Then you will no longer be afraid.
"......"
The sand ghost certainly knew how to strike at the heart of things.
Thirin was afraid. Afraid of losing her words again. Afraid of losing her sharp tongue again. Afraid she might never regain what she had lost. What if even Rebirth failed to restore her? Did something like Rebirth even exist?
Thirin was afraid. Like anyone else, she feared the unknown.
Peace without fear. The sand ghost knew exactly how to tempt a person.
"......"
But Thirin smiled.
"That isn't peace."
She knew what peace truly was. It was the sunset path she had walked beside a shameless old man in a nameless frontier village.
"I want."
Thirin desired many things. Temptation was Thirin, and Thirin was temptation itself.
"I want to eat delicious food. I want to lie on a soft bed. I want to beat the crap out of bad guys."
A spark flickered in the dark void.
"I want to see my friends again."
The spark began to burn.
"I want to find what I've lost."
Staring at the growing flame, Thirin continued.
"I almost fell for it."
This sand god, sand ghost, whatever it was, its tongue was truly impressive.
"I nearly got completely gaslit. First time I've met someone with a sharper tongue than me since coming to Fantasyland. I'm genuinely impressed. I'll admit it. You're not the god of sand, you're the god of silver tongues. No, the god of gaslighting fits better. It's obvious. The Pantheon must have unanimously kicked you out because your tongue is just that evil."
Dyeing the Unwished with what I wish,
Shaping the Formless into my True Form,
Filling the Void with my Will,
Finally birthing the True Flame.
Thirin's flame grew larger and larger. She laughed as she watched it.
"What? Throw away desire and become one? That's not unity at all."
For a painter to forget the brush, he must first paint with it. For a musician to forget the strings, she must first pluck them. For a stonemason to forget the chisel, he must first strike with it. For a swordsman to forget the sword, he must first take it in hand.
Then what makes one grasp the brush, the strings, the chisel, the sword?
Desire. The desire to improve. My desire.
What completes my desire? My will.
What completes my will? My consciousness.
What completes my consciousness? Myself.
Thirin smirked at the memory that surfaced. Back in the alley, carving a wooden statue to offer to the myriad gods. The moment when the realization of unity with the object had seemed within reach, the words she had heard.
Focus.
Whether they came from the priest or from some god speaking through the priest's mouth, they had not been meant to disturb her. They had been advice given to her.
Focus.
So that she would not forget she was herself. So that Thirin would not forget she was Thirin. The one who holds the sword must never forget why he swings it.
In the empty air the flame roared fiercely. Sand gathered once more around the blaze. The fire melted the grains and reformed Thirin's body. She could feel the flame burning inside her.
Vanity of vanities, all is vanity. In the end, only ashes remain...
Thirin ignored it completely.
"What? A flame leaves only ashes? Sure it does."
She looked at the fire burning within her body.
"But a flame also creates light and warmth. While burning the bastards who deserve it to cinders."
The flame inside her roared even hotter. It flickered somewhere below her navel. When she reached out, the scattered sand gathered again and formed a sword. Thirin swung it. She couldn't tell where the sand ghost was, but that didn't matter.
She drew flowers in the empty air, filling the space with their fragrance. A single plum blossom embroidered upon the void.
Yet this was not a moonlit forest. Unlike the woods where she had once used moonlight as ink, there was nothing here. Only cold darkness. A ruined universe.
Thirin smiled.
"Nothing? Hardly."
She moved the flame within her. It flowed down below her belly, climbed her spine, passed through her head and chest, and extended to her fingertips. Flames bloomed at the tip of her blade.
The burning sword slashed toward the darkness.
The embroidered flower petals turned into fire. Warmth spread through the ruined cold universe. The flame burned the darkness with light.
Light shines within darkness, and darkness cannot overcome it.
Thirin opened her eyes. The burning sword had pierced straight through the sand figure standing before her.
-Ding!
You have created your own Dantian through sheer willpower!
Through reasoning and insight, you comprehend the principles of Martial Arts with your heart!
On the path of Nothingness presented by the 'God of Sand and the Flowing River,' you have finally found your own answer!
You realize your personal understanding of Samadhi and, with your own will, ignite the True Flame!
Thirin grinned.
"The Flame Witch has arrived."