Part 8: Dimming Embers

The uncrossable river, the impregnable thorns, the unyielding boulders... They come in waves...
Nature stands bare before you with no one avoiding its existence.
You must wade in and touch with your own hands... You retreat in fear, knowing its essence.
Only when shattered does a stubborn rock know its toughness.
Only when nearly extinguished can a flame understand its brightness.
Once again, he finds himself in the same place. He feels the scorching air and hears the cries and wails echoing as flames gradually consume the house.
Shamane: ...I haven't been back for a long time.
"I called you back here." The once familiar voice says.
"It's collapsing."
Shamane: ...
"This is the last time. I won't bring you back here again."
"You can leave as you wish. Nothing will hinder you."

He is still lying by the corner, on his last breath.
Shamane: ...
He steps into the hall, standing before him, his shadow enveloping him.
This stubborn man shoulders the clan's burden, with no reprieve.
Now, his throat is unable to utter ringing rebukes; his calloused hands are no longer able to grip his son tightly.
As Shamane gazes upon his figure, it is a shadow of its former self.
Shamane: Father...
He gently lowers himself, placing his palm over the weathered hand.
Shamane's Father: ...
Shamane: I never succeeded in abandoning my guilt.
He looks at the aged face, yet it feels more like he is talking to himself.
Shamane: ...Yet, I failed to replace it with regret.
Shamane: I'm sorry ...
Shamane: To this day, my choice weighs on me.
He looks up, gripping his hand.
He doesn't try to pull him up. Rather, he just holds the old man tightly.
Shamane: I think I inherited your obstinacy...Father.
Shamane's Father: ...
Shamane's father embraces him, pulling him over and ruffling his hair.
He recalls such moments were commonplace before.
Shamane: ...
The father leans on his shoulder, lips trembling.
Shamane: ... Hm?
A heavy object is gently placed in his palm.
Shamane: This is your sister's...
Shamane: I understand.
Finally, weary yet reconciled, the old man lets go.

Like a candle swaying in the wind, she sits by the servant's corpse, serenely awaiting the flames.
Shamane: Mother...
This face that once made him weep, these hands that held him up... now, they are just withered remains, her gaze dim, eyes empty.
He still doesn't know how to face her.
Shamane: ...
She looks up, gazing at this strong, grown child.
Her face reveals a familiar smile.
He goes forth, embracing her body as frail as withered leaves.
Who are they? If it was the past him, he would cling to this answer.
Shamane: You always...protected me...
That was the final barrier between her and her son—knowing the truth would only bring unknown danger.
Now he understands.
Shamane's Mother: You've grown taller, Pushya.
Shamane: Mother, I...
She gently nudges him to stand, helping him away from the sea of flames.
Her smiling face gradually blurs, until it completely disappears amidst the flames.

Like dusk in autumn, the sacred fig tree silently burns, the woman gazing at it under the tree for a long time.
Shamane: ...It brought you here too.
She remains silent.
He reaches out to the figure below, opening his palm. A moonstone ground smooth.
Shamane: Is this yours, sister?
Kumar raises her eyebrows slightly.
Kumar: ...Where did you get this?
Shamane: I think you know.
Shamane: He said "sorry" to me—he never says that.
Kumar takes the rounded stone, gently tossing it into the air.
Kumar: Huh...
She stands, holding the pebble for a bit. Turning, she wanders towards the flames.
Shamane: Where are you going...!
Shamane: He told me to bring you back...
Shamane: But I think...you should decide for yourself.
She waves casually in a perfunctory gesture, or perhaps bidding farewell.
Shamane: ...
Shamane: You deserve your freedom, my sister.
He murmurs to her as she departs.

Going deeper into the sea of flames, the heat gradually dissipates. At the path's end, he sees a door enveloped in fire.
"This is the final stretch, Pushya."
"I will bid you farewell too."
Shamane: ...Why?
"I have protected every Sharma—but you shall no longer be one of them."
Shamane: ...What does that mean?
"You'll understand."
"You'll eventually know this is not an ill thing."
"...I'm very grateful for your choice back then. I did indeed take that arm."
"Now I must leave."
"Go on, child."
Shamane: ...
Shamane looks around, but the elephant has vanished without a trace.
He holds his breath, turning the handle, light spilling through the crack...
Shaman: You owe it gratitude for its protection.
Opening his eyes once more, he finds himself in the cabin, the alpha wolf at his bedside.
He sits up, pressing his dizzy head.
Shamane: What happened to me... Huh? Where is it? Where did it go?
Shaman: What are you talking about?
Shamane scans the room, trying to find the tiny black figure, but without success.
Shamane: That carbuncle, it should've been with me...
Shaman: The wolf carried you back here, with everything on your person, but no carbuncle, child.
Shamane: ...
As the alpha licks his hand, he feels an itch, realizing that his palm is gripping something tightly.
Opening his palm, he sees a tuft of fur.
He inhales, taking a deep breath.
The shaman rummages through his pocket and hands over an unopened letter.
Shaman: This was with you on the doorstep.
He takes the unopened letter, the pattern on the sealed wax one that emerged countless times in his dreams.
Frowning, the scene before him is bewildering—
Inside the envelope, the letter is blank.
Shamane: It's from...Mor Pankh?