Yebuka opened the door, and when he entered the other side, he dropped on his knees and kissed the ground. His knees and toes ached, and he felt a stabbing pain in his stomach. Quickly he stood. A few minutes ago he had traversed through the cave barefooted, which he found it exhausting, especially when he was hauling his orange and yellow robes. The weight of wearing such clothes, at any moment he could collapse. But he remained stalwart. In his mind it was his strength that led him to be present in this very place. To travel from the village alone all the way to the cave, it granted him a swelling throb in his chest.

“Blessed I am to be in this marvel,” he said. He opened his arms and embraced the warmth. The room was all white and pure. From standing near the door it was hard to tell how large or small this room was, and given the brightness of the color, the Lama merely made out the corners. Everywhere to his amazement, scribbles of animals livened the space, and they seemed to move on their own. The elephants looked curly, the canaries had sharp wings, and the ladybugs swirled across the floor with zig-zag lines at their ends. In countless numbers, these scribbles were signs from the heavens of good fortune, and that was what the High Order believed, for nobody knew who drew the wonders in here. What was more, there was not an established consensus on how this place came to be, or who built this. Let alone the legend in which the 4th Lama stumbled across the room after receiving a divine vision, the villagers would say that the gods once arrived on Earth and baptized the cave in hopes for their second return, to anoint the humans their destinies according to judgment. Whatever people believed in, it changed nothing of how simple and beautiful the whole thing was—and how important this was to everybody.

Yebuka placed his hands over his heart, gasping. He gazed at a sketch of a dragon beneath him. It spewed fire and turned it into a spiral. “How many times must I enjoy looking at this? Have I become used to the captivation the heavens behold to us? The first time I was appointed as the Lama, I couldn’t believe my eyes that the room was real and complete. I didn’t resist the infatuation I developed, and still it lingers. Never mind that.”

The pain in his stomach returned again. At the spot he recalled the time where Azukunika attempted to kill him. Flaring eyes and rosy cheeks she had, the mere presence of her in his tent frightened him, to the point where he assumed he was going to die as a part of his destiny. He got off lucky, although he wouldn’t call himself lucky since he received a wound, and it could have been fatal had his allies not came to his aid. From that night forth he cursed her, he loathed her existence, and he did the same to Ozughen’s supporters. “Those radicalist vermins, how much they wanted social reforms! Instability they sought, the devil’s den they raised!” he remarked. In his sleep he frequented dreams where he’d smite the foes with a longsword, cleaving them into chunks, throwing them in a ditch, not giving mercy. If only he could do that now he’d be the happiest man in the world. But as of today he was more glad than ever. Before his trip, he received news from his companions, that the Azukunika’s sentence would end not later than December, and in a couple of months she would have to kiss the world farewell. This alone thrilled the Lama—he desired to witness the final days of the so-called criminal.

To relieve the ongoing ache, the Lama strolled and counted his steps. He reached to the middle of the room, and stopped. Around him, four marble pillars peaked to the zenith, and on the pillars’ top laid bodhisattva figures. All of them had six arms, they wore prayer beads and crowns, showing themselves as the mighty gates to the heavens, and their eyes were filled with passion. A look at them would render one’s mind to freeze. In the area the pillars were surrounding, which was called a sanctum, a set of overlapping circles brightened in their crimson color. Inside each of the circles, blood and hair strands patched and covered the animal scribbles, making a mess out of itself. It would be hard to clean it at this rate... and taking notice of the individual that was lying on the sanctum, the job would be excruciating.

The Lama’s heart clamored. He blushed and sweated at the spectacle before him. The individual, Yebuka realized he was present all along. It happened to be the male candidate—Kuraizang, one of the youngest to have ever participated in the mission. In a black garment with gold stripes around the collar, one-piece, the boy was sleeping. His arms and legs, they revealed burn marks and small lacerations, a product of the gods’ intervention and hard work to purify him. His mouth was open, allowing the Lama to hear his faint breathing. And the second the Lama noticed this, he balked, and for a few moments he struggled to breathe.

“I must not touch him. It is not permitted.” Then he regained his breath. He exchanged glances with the figures before drawing back his eyes to the boy. “Only the candidates of the spiritual mission are allowed to lay here, for it is a requirement to clean their entire soul.” It had been a few weeks since Kuraizang started, and as of now his purification was almost complete. It was much speedier than expected, and for this to result in success, Yebuka saw that the gods were satisfied to have such a child under their wings. After all he was an exceptional student. Perfect marks, high standing at school, an achiever among his classmates. His being was an impeccable feast for the divine, they must have felt full by now. “Fascinating that the boy survived after burdening himself through the process,” the Lama uttered. If he had died, Yebuka might have had to find another candidate, an arduous task.

He bowed to the slumbering kid, before he returned to the door. Just before he opened it to get back to the cave, he slapped himself in the forehead. “It is almost time. I should not delay it any longer. For the village might head for destruction, whether from the barbarians or from some disease, I should make haste. But no need to worry. It will be done without impediments.”

Now and ever he was in high spirits—not about the matter of Kuraizang of course, but about Neha. “That little girl, I need her!” He felt accomplished when he picked her as the female candidate from the very start. He knew she was perfect, and since she was docile and modest, it wouldn’t cause any hassles for him. Staring at her face the first time in their meeting, it rang bells that she was suited to follow alongside Kuraizang. Not only that, he had cleared the obstacles associated with the girl, and it more than before liberated the leader from stress. Getting rid of her father, executing Usheniko, bringing her mother into insanity by Naransaya’s help, Neha was alone, a circumstance that chanced on Yebuka’s lap as advantageous. He never thought it’d come this smoothly, though he once considered, from the riot at school, that the plan would never arrive in fruition. But he was amazed by how fierce the students were, how much Neha and Sachen carried on to the end. Their willingness to fight back further supported Neha as a favorite to the Lama.

Thanks to the effort overall, he was ready to fulfill the other half in the spiritual mission the gods longed since the start of his reign. He held no regrets, no remorse that the two kids would experience suffering so long as they’d live, for he believed this course of action would save them all—for it was the only way. No alternatives. Everybody loved him, so he could not falter, and he had to do what was just. Nothing would change his mind. Nothing.

He twisted the knob, and accessing the cave again, he encountered a platoon of soldiers. He gave them orders. They would proceed at the end of the week.