He felt it clearly now, he had understood darkness or better to say it's position as his companion that had walked beside him since the moment he came in that place. Darkness no longer resisted him, nor did it whisper doubts. But he felt light… light had no path.
There was no road carved for it nor it had any guidance etched into the void.
He sat there, suspended between realization and stagnation, and thought quietly, If there is no light to follow… then I shall become the light myself.
His form responded.
From within his seated body, a glow ignited, a steady form, like the first ember of dawn buried beneath ash. The darkness around him did not retreat. Instead, it accepted the illumination, allowing the light to exist within it. His body began to shine, white and radiant, a soft brilliance that did not burn the dark but revealed its depth.
He moved forward.
Or rather, his will did.
His form remained seated on the plane, unmoving, eyes closed, posture still. Yet from his chest, a strand of light emerged, thin at first, trembling like a new born thread. It stretched forward, forming the shape of him, a luminous silhouette that walked ahead while the body behind remained perfectly still.
With every step the light-self took, glowing footprints appeared on the dark plane. The light strand thickened, widening into a flowing ribbon that twisted gently, spiraling as it grew, until the region itself began to glow.
Darkness did not vanish.
It harmonized.
He looked inward as he walked, and for the first time, he saw his body entirely white. Organs, veins, breath, rhythm, everything glowed with clarity. Yet within that white, black still existed. Lines, shadows, depths. They were not stains. They were structure.
So this is it, he thought. White contains black. Black gives shape to white.
He arrived once more before the gate.
It stood unchanged, ancient, broken, unmoving. But this time, it was not alone. Gods stood before it, radiant and cold, their forms layered with authority. Soldiers of divinity lined the space behind them, expressions unreadable, weapons humming with restrained power. They did not attack.
The feeling returned, the same resistance he had felt when he stood as darkness. The same unseen pressure, the same quiet denial.
He stopped.
The light-self hesitated, then dissolved gently, flowing back into his seated body. The glow dimmed, not extinguished, but folded inward. He returned to stillness.
He sat.
And listened.
"Om…"
The rhythm passed through him again. But now it vibrated through bone and breath, through thought and silence. He followed it, aligning himself with its cadence. Slowly, understanding assembled itself, not as knowledge, but as balance.
I see it now, he reflected. I became white in the darkness realm, but turned dark there—because under pressure, I found stability. In the white realm, where I should have been overwhelmed, I became white, because under stimulation, I found stability.
His breath slowed, steady and deep.
But stability alone is not progress.
He realized the flaw.
"I accepted everything at once," he murmured inwardly. "And then I rejected everything at once." His mind sharpened. "That is not harmony. That is fluctuation disguised as control."
The gate did not reject force.
It rejected imbalance.
"I am stable," he admitted to himself, "but I am not harmonious. I have not allowed light and darkness to coexist freely. I still treat them as separate."
A laugh echoed across the realm.
"Heh… hahaha…"
The sound was familiar. Too familiar.
"So much light now," the voice mocked. "Where has your precious darkness gone?"
It laughed again, thin and sharp, circling him like a vulture sensing movement.
He smiled.
"Thank you," he said calmly, turning his awareness toward the voice. "You guided me farther than you know."
The laughter faltered.
"You and I," he continued, "are not different. We were born of the same darkness, the same light. We have always been one." His voice grew steadier, deeper. "The brighter the light, the darker the shadow. Darkness does not oppose light, it follows it naturally. You will always be with me, just as light will."
The realm seemed to hold its breath.
"There is no sage here," he said softly. "No borrowed memories. No external truths. Only you and me. Unity. Eternity. The rest… are illusions."
The voice snapped, irritation bleeding through. "What nonsense are you muttering? Truth is not so easily grasped. You speak as if there is another you."
He opened his eyes.
This time, both glowed, one white, one black.
"There is," he answered.
His voice split.
One tone was calm, radiant, steady like morning light. The other was deep, resonant, edged with shadow and depth.
"Who are you," both voices spoke in unison, "to dictate our life?"
The realm trembled.
"This is our existence," they continued. "Ours alone. You are an infiltrator, an echo pretending to be origin. Leave."
The voice screamed, suddenly furious. "How dare you raise your voice against me?!"
Black and white lightning tore across the sky, colliding, splitting, re-joining. Space fractured like glass under pressure.
He stood.
Power did not explode outward. It condensed.
"You are merely one face of life," he said, voice calm but absolute. "A mask trying to seize control. You dare tell me what to do?"
He lifted his left hand.
With a single downward motion, like a sword cleaving fate itself, he split the plane by his left hand.
A rift opened, wide and deep, edges shimmering with collapsing reality. From his chest, another white form emerged, brighter than before, sharper, more defined. It stepped into the裂 dimension and rotated, spinning slowly, drawing the broken space around it.
The dimension twisted.
Black flooded the white.
White carved through the black.
They merged.
From the rift, a hand emerged, black, solid, real.
He reached out with his own hand, white, luminous, steady.
They clasped.
The moment their palms touched, a shockwave rippled through the realm, not destructive, but aligning. Black and white lightning synchronized, pulsing in harmony rather than conflict.
They looked at each other.
Two selves.
One smile shared between them.
They laughed. A nod passed between them, silent and complete.
…....
Then the space rippled, and she appeared, revealing herself, as though she had always been there and the realm had finally lost the right to hide her. The demoness stood upon nothing, her body no longer singular. Black and white interwove across her form like living scripture, scales of shadow overlapping plates of light. One half of her face burned with abyssal crimson, the other glowed with a cold, lunar silver.
"So you reached this far," she said, her voice layered, echoing twice, once forward and once backward through time. "Two wills pretending to be one truth."
She raised her hand.
White lightning erupted, pure, sharp, divine-demonic, a contradiction given form. It screamed through the realm toward them, splitting silence itself. The impact did not land.
The two figures did not dodge.
They separated.
Reality tore cleanly along an invisible seam. Dimensions folded apart like mirrored pages pulled from the same book. Where there had been unity, there were now four presences, each laughing—not two voices, but four, overlapping, resonant, unafraid.
Below the plane, white bloomed inside darkness. Above it, darkness nested within white. Each inversion stood complete, sovereign, balanced. Four figures stood upon four layers of reality, each a reflection, each an origin.
The demoness faltered for the first time.
"What… have you become?" she hissed.
The figures did not answer with words.
Two of them—one above, one below—began to move. Their half-forms aligned, sliding toward one another across folded space. When they touched, they did not collide. They assimilated. Light flowed into shadow, shadow into light, until the halves matched perfectly and rose upward, merging into a single figure standing above the plane.
Below, the remaining two mirrored the motion—but opposite. Where the upper form was white edged with black, the lower was black threaded with white. They stood as opposites, not enemies, not reflections—complements.
The demoness snarled and gathered power again, her form swelling, true shape tearing through illusion. Horns curved backward like broken crowns. Wings unfolded, vast and torn, stitched with symbols of forgotten dominions. This was her real body, the one sealed by curse and oath.
She lunged.
Between the two upper figures, a disk began to form, horizontal, rotating slowly, edges blurring between existence and concept. Between the lower two, another disk formed, vertical, slicing through perspective itself. The realm screamed as it was pulled apart, not destroyed but translated, peeled into layers and absorbed into the spinning forms.
Space collapsed inward.
The disks grew brighter, denser, until they no longer looked like objects but like laws made visible. As the dimensions shattered and fed into them, something vast appeared beyond—the outline of a universe, raw and unfinished, and within it, the demoness's full existence, exposed and unguarded.
She unleashed lightning again, black-white fusion tearing from her palm. It struck one disk.
They responded as one.
The two disks merged mid-rotation into a single construct. They hurled it forward.
The demoness screamed.
Her attack met theirs.
The disk cut through lightning, through body, through curse, through history itself. It severed her existence cleanly, not violently, not cruelly—precisely. As her form unravelled, dissolving into fragments of light and ash, she smiled.
"…Thank you," she whispered, voice finally singular. "For removing my curse." Her gaze softened, no longer demonic, no longer divine. "I will wait… outside."
Then she was gone.
The two figures remained, motionless, facing the emptiness she left behind. Slowly, they stepped forward. Each step was unlike the last. When one stepped in white, the other stepped in black. Four steps echoed—two colours, one rhythm. The ground beneath them reformed with each footfall, adjusting to their dual presence.
They walked toward one another.
Distance collapsed.
As they approached, their forms began to blur, edges dissolving. Black and white overlapped, exchanged places, then fused. One step—black. Second—white. Third—the body became translucent, neither colour dominant. A half-step more, and they sat together as one at the apex of the realm, bodies aligned, spines straight, hands resting upon knees.
A sound filled the space.
"Om… Om… Om…"
It did not come from outside. It came from everywhere they were not.
The chant began without effort, breath syncing naturally. With each resonance, something returned. Weight. Rhythm. Pulse. His body felt breathing again.
Power poured into him.
Attachments surfaced, fleeting emotions, residual desires, dust clinging to awareness. He did not fight them. He swept them aside with calm intent. His will did not strain.
"I see it," he thought. "My soul is in harmony. But my body… is not yet."
From his centre, paths emerged, countless, branching outward in every direction. At first translucent, then black and white, then layered: black-white-black-white. Between them shimmered color, violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, red, vibrating like living breath.
The paths curved, intersected, then folded inward, forming a vast sphere of rotating hues. Within it, realities overlapped like transparent shells. They assimilated into one thing and make another of him... or being coming from assimilated point and assimilated on the top figure...
He divided his consciousness.
Fragments of awareness stepped onto each path simultaneously, walking inward, outward, upward, downward. In each colour, he saw something different. In one, the nervous system blazing like a storm of stars. In another, emotions crystallized into patterns of light and density.
Then He saw it.
The true inside of a human body.
Not flesh alone, but the convergence of biology, memory, instinct, and will, layers of fragility wrapped around terrifying potential. Veins like galaxies. Neurons like lightning webs. Organs humming with ancient rhythms older than thought.
"What a magnificent…" he murmured inwardly, awe tightening his awareness, "…dangerous view."
......
Inside him, countless battles unfolded at once as collisions of will.
At first, he found himself walking through a Forest of Lightning. The sky above was bruised and trembling, split endlessly by jagged streaks of violet and crimson light. Trees stood like burned nerves, their bark dark red and black, twisted as if grown from rage and grief. Between them moved beasts born of emotion: wolves with eyes of envy, serpents coiled from desire, horned stags formed of pride and sorrow. Every step crackled with thunder, every breath tasted of old blood and heat.
They roared at him. They lunged. They tempted.
Yet nothing held him.
He did not fight. He did not flee. He walked.
As he passed between them, the forest itself began to change. The dead-red trees softened, their bark turning violet, then deep indigo. Branches stretched outward, flowering into luminous leaves. The animals slowed, their forms reshaping, wolves becoming silver deer, serpents dissolving into flowing streams, thunderbirds unfolding into calm-winged horses. Waterfalls descended from nowhere, spilling into clear pools. A rainbow arched through the once-broken sky, not forced, not claimed, simply present.
"Change without resistance," he murmured inwardly. "So this is what happens when force is denied its echo."
Without pausing, he sealed his senses.
Sight closed first. Then hearing. Taste, smell, touch followed, one after another. Even the sixth sense, the subtle thread that perceived intent and danger, was folded inward and bound. Darkness returned, absolute and silent.
Yet the chanting did not stop.
Om…
Om…
Om…
The sound did not pass through ears; it resonated through existence itself. Guided by that rhythm, he summoned the Crimson River. It surged from his core and branched outward, flooding every pathway of his being. It flowed through veins, soaked into marrow, threaded through nerves. For the first time, he saw with his awareness, the real body.
He entered the Volcanic Realm, where the heart resided. A massive furnace beat before him, molten and alive, each pulse sending shockwaves through the void. Flames roared with rage, fear, longing, courage, all mixed, unstable. He stood before it, unflinching.
"You burn too wildly," he said quietly. "But you are not wrong to burn."
The heartbeat slowed. The fire softened. What had been destruction refined itself into warmth.
The Volcanic Realm transformed into the Flame of Compassion, a steady, radiant fire that sent waves not of fury, but of courage and kindness outward with every beat.
He moved on.
Above him appeared a floating sky-island city, vast and drifting, rising and falling like breath itself. Towers expanded and contracted, streets flowing with invisible currents. This was the lungs—restless, anxious, constantly grasping for more.
He placed his palm against the air.
"Inhale peace," he whispered. "Exhale clarity."
The city answered. White currents flowed gently through its streets. The frantic motion ceased, replaced by a slow, harmonious rhythm. The sky-island became the City of Living Wind, breathing without struggle.
Further on, he descended into a dim poison swamp. Vapours curled thick and green, carrying bitterness, resentment, and old toxins of thought. The ground hissed beneath his steps. Shadows whispered accusations.
He did not argue.
He guided the Crimson River through the mire. The poison thinned, glowing softly, transforming into luminous streams of healing. What was once decay became nourishment.
The swamp bloomed into the Garden of Purification, radiant with medicinal light.
Next came a vast crystal ocean, silent, reflective, endless. Gentle waves moved in perfect symmetry. This was the realm of the kidneys.
He knelt at its edge.
The waves rolled calmly, settling into the Lake of Serenity.
Last, he reached the frozen palace of the brain. Endless corridors of ice-blue crystal branched outward, filled with locked rooms and unspoken thoughts. Cold logic ruled here, sharp and isolating.
He walked through the halls, touching doors one by one.
The palace glowed white-blue, each chamber opening gently, unfolding insight without judgment. It became the Palace of Clear Thought.
He passed through all these realms again, his time not as observer, but as unity: body, soul, and mind aligned.
Then he tore open the final near-gate.
Beyond it lay the Sea of Self.
It stretched endlessly, calm yet profound, reflecting neither sky nor land. At its centre stood a golden tree, rooted directly in the flowing water, its leaves shimmering like condensed time.
He approached and placed his hand upon its bark. Warmth spread through him, familiar and ancient.
"We will move forward again," he said softly.
He sat beneath the tree and chanted.
Once.
A thousand times.
Countless times.
Time itself lost meaning, unsure whether to advance or kneel. The sea stilled completely. Then, slowly, the golden tree bent. Its trunk curved behind him, shaping itself into a perfect ring, radiant and alive.
He rose.
The ring pulsed with every step he took. Golden leaves drifted across the water, forming a path beneath his feet. He walked upon them, each step steady, unhurried.
Behind him, the ring followed, breathing like a living halo.
He reached the edge of the realm and grabbed forward.
The space fractured. White cracks spread like lightning through glass, branching endlessly. He reached into one crack, grasped it, and crushed it into dust with his bare hand.
Everything stopped.
Then the cracks multiplied.
A force like a tsunami surged outward, shattering the realm entirely. When the storm passed, he stood alone.
Chains of crystal bound him, formed of emotions, pains, memories, regrets, loves. They shimmered beautifully, cruelly, wrapping his limbs, his chest, his throat.
A voice whispered from the fragments, gentle and familiar.
"Why carry them all?"
He stepped forward.
The chains tightened.
Another voice, sharper, mocking.
"They define you."
He stepped again.
Pain flared—but did not halt him.
"They are mine," he said calmly. "But they are not me."
The golden ring behind him pulsed once.
Then it drew the chains inward.
Emotions dissolved. Memories unravelled. Pain fractured into light. Everything was absorbed, not erased, but returned to stillness.
He continued forward, unbound, as the Sea of Self rippled quietly behind him.
To be Continued...