Kael moves quietly through the long aisles of the house library, his footsteps softened by the thick carpet that stretches from one towering bookshelf to another. Rows upon rows of dark wooden shelves rise toward the ceiling like unmoving walls, each one packed tightly with books of varying sizes, their worn spines forming endless lines of faded gold and muted browns.
His eyes scan the titles one by one.
He reaches out, pulling a book halfway from its place before pushing it back in. Then another. And another. His fingers trail across the surface of leather bindings as though he expects the answer to reveal itself through touch alone.
Not here.
He turns, walking toward the next shelf.
The tall ladder rests against the far end of the bookcase, its polished wooden frame slightly gleaming under the warm yellow light of the hanging lamps above. He grips its sides and drags it along the rail with a quiet scraping sound before positioning it carefully.
He climbs.
Step by step, the ladder creaks softly beneath his weight as he ascends toward the upper rows. The air grows stiller the higher he goes, filled with the faint scent of aged paper and dust that has settled undisturbed for years.
He leans forward slightly, scanning the higher shelves now beyond normal reach. His hand moves quickly from spine to spine. He pulls out a book, flips it open, skims through its pages, then slides it back into place.
Another.
And another.
Nothing.
He descends again, his shoes meeting the carpet with a dull, quiet thud.
Without wasting a moment, he moves to the next section of shelves. The ladder follows once more, dragged across the polished floor before being steadied again against the wood.
Up.
Search.
Down.
Across.
Again.
The process repeats itself as he roams from one end of the library to the other. Between towering shelves and narrow passageways, he moves restlessly. Climb. Reach. Check. Return. Move. Climb again.
The silence of the room remains unbroken except for the faint rustle of pages and the low creak of wood.
At last, after searching through the final row, his movements slow.
He stands still for a brief moment in the middle of the aisle before finally stepping away from the shelves. The ladder remains where it is, slightly angled against the bookcase.
He walks toward a nearby chair placed beside a reading table near the window.
Then he sits down.
Suddenly, a thought flashes across Kael's mind.
His gaze, which had grown dull from fruitless searching, sharpens at once. The stillness in his posture breaks as he rises from the chair without hesitation, the wooden legs scraping faintly against the floor beneath him.
He turns toward the far end of the library.
Toward the oldest section.
The shelves there stand slightly apart from the rest, their dark wood having lost its polish long ago. Unlike the others, these are not arranged with neat precision. Time has left its mark here. A thin film of dust coats the edges of the frames, and the books that rest upon them appear rarely touched, their spines faded and uneven.
He walks closer.
Each step stirs the quiet air that has remained undisturbed in this corner for years.
Stopping before one of the shelves, he leans forward and begins to search again. His hand moves carefully this time, pushing aside books that sit tightly pressed against one another. A faint trail of dust follows the motion of his fingers.
Then—
He notices it.
A book tucked slightly behind the others, almost hidden from view.
He reaches for it and pulls it out slowly. As it slides free, a small cloud of dust lifts into the air, catching briefly in the lamplight before settling again.
The cover is nearly unrecognizable beneath the thick layer of dirt that clings to it. Its color is obscured, and the title printed upon it is barely visible through the grime.
Kael brushes his hand across the surface.
Once.
Twice.
The dirt begins to fall away in uneven streaks, revealing fragments of worn lettering beneath. Not completely clear, but enough to tell that something is written there.
Holding the book firmly now, he turns and walks back toward the chair near the window.
He sits down.
The faint sound of fabric shifts as he settles into place, the book resting heavily in his hands. For a moment, he looks at it in silence before finally opening it.
The page he opens is thicker than the rest.
Not in size, but in presence.
The parchment is coarse at the edges, darkened slightly as though it has endured heat for far too long. The ink is not the crisp black of recently written text but a deep brown, faded unevenly in places, as if the words themselves have been exposed to years of silent watching.
At the very top of the page, written in careful, deliberate strokes:
This is the ritual known as The Ascension of the Solar Breath.
The Rite: Ascension of the Solar Breath
Objective: To bypass the Veil of Shadow and physically enter the Surya-Loka (The Realm of the Sun), the domain of the High Lord Praneshwar.
Warning: Those with impurities of spirit may burn. Ensure your intent is singular. Once the threshold is crossed, time ceases to flow as you know it.
I. The Requisites
You must gather these items before the sun reaches its highest point:
* The Focus: A convex lens or crystal, purely flawless, capable of capturing a single point of light.
* The Anchor: A bowl of polished bronze filled with water from a running stream, mixed with saffron and crushed amber.
* The Offering: A single white lotus (or a flower that blooms only in daylight), dusted with gold filings.
* The Boundary: Salt mixed with ash from a wood that was struck by lightning.
II. The Timing
This ritual can only be performed at High Noon, preferably on a Sunday or during the Summer Solstice. The sky must be clear; a single cloud obscuring the sun will sever the connection.
III. The Procedure
"As the shadow vanishes beneath the foot, so too shall the walker vanish from the world."
1. The Circle of No Shadow
Find a high place where the horizon is unobstructed. Using the Salt and Ash mixture, draw a perfect circle wide enough to stand in.
You must stand in the center at the exact moment of noon so that you cast no shadow outside the circle. You are now the gnomon of the sundial.
2. The Pranic Alignment
Sit in the center of the circle, facing East (even though the sun is above). Place the Bronze Anchor bowl before you.
Begin the Breath of Fire: Inhale rapidly through the nose for four counts, hold for four, and exhale forcibly through the mouth for four.
Do this until your fingertips tingle and your body feels fever-hot. You are aligning your internal heat (Prana) with Praneshwar's external heat.
3. The Igniting of the Way
Take the Focus (the lens) and hold it over the Offering (the flower) which floats in the bronze bowl.
Angle the lens so the sun's beam concentrates into a blindingly bright point on the center of the flower. Do not look away, even if your eyes water.
4. The Invocation of Praneshwar
As the flower begins to smoke and smolder under the concentrated light, recite the following incantation. It must be spoken not with air, but with the force of your diaphragm, vibrating the chest:
Oh, Spirit of Light, Lord of the Vital Breath!
"I reject the cold. I reject the dark. I reject the night."
"Turn my breath into fire, turn my blood into gold."
"Open the Iris of the Sky. Let the Golden Gate consume me!"
5. The Crossing
When the flower catches fire within the water (a paradox that signifies the portal opens), the water in the bowl will not extinguish the flame; instead, the water will turn into swirling, liquid light.
Do not hesitate. Plunge your hands into the burning water and pull the "light" upwards over your head like a cloak.
IV. The Sensation of Entry
You will feel a sensation of falling upwards. The blue sky will bleach into a terrifying, absolute white. The sound of the wind will be replaced by a low, resonant hum—the sound of the sun vibrating.
When your vision returns, you will no longer be on Earth. You will be standing on a floor of solid clouds, bathed in perpetual golden twilight, in the court of Praneshwar.
Post-Ritual Note (Handwritten in the margins):
"Do not attempt to return until Praneshwar grants you leave. To walk back through the gate without his blessing is to arrive back on Earth as a pile of ash."
The final line ends without ceremony.
No concluding remark.
No reassurance.
No promise of success.
Just silence pressed into parchment.
Kael's eyes remain fixed on the empty space beneath the warning for a few seconds longer, as though expecting another sentence to reveal itself if he simply waits long enough.
Nothing does.
The library is quiet.
Too quiet.
Even the faint creaking that once came from the tall shelves settling into place seems to have stopped. The dust in the air drifts lazily through a thin blade of light cutting in from the tall window behind him, each particle moving without urgency.
He inhales.
Slowly.
Deeply.
The kind of breath that fills the lungs completely before settling somewhere heavy in the chest.
Then he exhales just as slowly.
His fingers move at last.
He closes the book.
The sound is soft but firm. A muted thud of worn cover meeting worn pages. A small cloud of loosened dust lifts from its surface before dissolving into the air.
He does not move from the chair.
His hands rest lightly over the closed cover now placed across his lap, one thumb tracing absent-mindedly over the faint outline of the nearly erased title beneath the remaining dirt he did not bother to clean.
Minutes seem to pass.
Or perhaps only seconds.
His gaze lowers, unfocused, settling somewhere on the intricate wooden patterns carved into the library floor. His shoulders remain still, but there is a tension in the way he sits now, as though the weight of the instructions has settled somewhere unseen.
He stays like that.
Thinking something.
Without speaking.
Without moving.
The silence stretches around him again.
Kael rises slowly from the chair, the old wood beneath him giving a faint creak as the weight lifts.
The book remains in his hands.
Even now, with its cover closed, it feels heavier than it should. Not by size or thickness, but by what it holds inside. The brittle edges of its pages press faintly against his palm as his fingers tighten slightly around it.
The library lamps burn low.
Outside the tall windows, night has already begun settling over the estate grounds, the last traces of evening fading into a deep blue darkness that swallows the gardens beyond. The silence of the house has changed too. No longer the quiet of afternoon study, but the calm stillness that comes when servants begin lighting dinner lamps and long corridors glow with soft amber light.
It is already late enough.
He turns toward the door.
The walk through the hallway is slow and steady, the book tucked against his side. The Ravenshade estate at night carries a different presence. The portraits lining the walls seem deeper in shadow. The tall grandfather clock at the turn of the corridor ticks with patient precision.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Each step echoes softly against polished floors until he reaches his room.
He pushes the door open.
Inside, the curtains are drawn halfway, allowing only a faint wash of moonlight to spill across the floorboards. A small oil lamp rests unlit on his bedside table, the air carrying the familiar scent of old wood and clean linen.
He moves toward the desk.
The surface is neat, ordered, untouched since morning.
Carefully, he places the book down.
It lands without sound this time, the thick layer of age-dried dust muting even the smallest impact. For a moment, his hand remains on the cover before he finally pulls it away.
He does not open it again.
Instead, he straightens, adjusts the cuff of his sleeve absent-mindedly, and turns back toward the door.
From somewhere downstairs, the faint clink of cutlery reaches him. The quiet signal that dinner is already being served.
Warm light spills upward from the stairwell as he descends, step by step, leaving the book behind on the table.
And a few minutes later, he joins his loving family for dinner.