"You cannot be strong until you are free from yourself."
Days passed, and Sajibro found himself standing at a crossroads. Between two forces pulling him apart: the strength he sought to claim, and the freedom he believed he needed. But what was the price? Would the power he gathered within turn out to be nothing but another illusion, tricking him until he collapsed? Or would it become his gateway to an authority without end?
Night had settled over a distant horizon, and Sajibro stood alone on the peak of a desolate mountain, his eyes tracing the dark sky. He relished the silence, the emptiness that allowed him to dive into himself without disturbance. Each breath he took felt heavier, as though the night air whispered forgotten secrets to him.
And then, the shadows around him… breathed. They inhaled with him, moved with him. They were no longer mere silhouettes. They were alive, pulsing through him, threatening and guiding him at once.
That was when he heard the voice again—familiar, echoing from the very heart of those shadows.
"You fear yourself, don't you?" said the calm voice, almost gentle, almost mocking.
Sajibro shut his eyes, as if to halt the flood of thoughts drowning his mind. His reply was low, barely audible: "I do not fear myself. I fear that I will not be able to control these shadows."
The voice chuckled softly, and it sounded as if the darkness itself laughed with it. "You do not control the shadows, Sajibro. The shadows control you. Your strength depends on how well you accept that."
He pressed a hand against his chest, as if to feel the truth of those words sinking into him. Something was shifting. This was not the struggle he had expected. The shadows were not merely the enemies chasing him—they were the beings inside him, steering him more than any will of his own.
And then came the question.
"Are you free?"
It was not simply a voice in his mind. It was a spirit slithering through his veins. Sajibro realized this was more than philosophy—it was a confrontation with himself. Would he become the prisoner of the very darkness he sought?
He looked down the mountainside, where ruined cities sprawled like relics of a forgotten age. Was it really power he had been seeking? Or was it salvation from himself?
The summit suddenly felt colder, emptier. For the first time, he felt he had lost something he thought he always possessed: freedom.
Still, he moved forward toward his fate—not because he trusted the power that awaited him, but because he feared remaining trapped in that moment, in those devouring shadows.
"It is not power that makes us free… it is freedom that gives us the strength to bear everything."
The words of Genir—whether mentor or phantom, he could no longer tell—echoed in his ears.
Sajibro trembled. A decision loomed before him, one that could never be undone. Would he choose power at the cost of freedom? Or continue searching for something beyond both?
The shadows pressed tighter around him. He felt the weight of choice crush against his chest. On the edge of the abyss, torn between being a captive of strength or a wanderer of endless questions… he finally spoke.
His voice was deep, resolute, though it seemed he was answering himself:
"The power I seek is not what darkness grants me… it is what truth grants me."
And so, in that instant, the questions dissolved, leaving him with only the sharpest of choices: power, stripped of fear and consequence.
End of Chapter Fifty-Four.