Sparks flew in rhythmic bursts as Khon banged repeatedly on a wide sheet of heated metal. The sleeves of his black shalwar were rolled up over lean, muscled forearms covered in scars, the left decorated with a strange, curling black ink tattoo. He had draped his gun and sword belts over a chair nearby, but could still feel their weight on his hips. He sweated and grunted as he beat the metal into shape, gripping the large hammer in one thick-gloved hand while steadying the metal with a pair of tongs in the other.

Djau had damaged a large section of his armor plating in a skirmish with some thugs near the docks of WestEnd. Most of them only had the most mundane and readily available weapons, knives, small arms, a couple with low-level wands, but one had pulled a rocket propelled grenade out of a box they had apparently been in the process of delivering, and Djau had taken the hit.

?HUUUUU,? Djau said, glancing down at his exposed side. His internal gears were visible, clicking and grinding away amidst metal tubes and snarls of cable and pulleys. Beneath it all, the flicker of his unquenchable flame could be seen within its vented prison.

?Yeah I?m almost done, quit rushing me. You want a permanent dent in your side or not?? Khon asked his partner, who let out a long steam-filled sigh and slumped onto the concrete floor of the warehouse. ??sides, this is all your own fault.?

?HHRRRRR!?

?You?re damned right it was.?

Khon continued to bang away at the metal, then dipped it in the vast pool of water to cool it down. It hissed angrily, the dull orange of hot metal cooling to a dull gray. Khon was reattaching the thick sheet of metal to Djau?s side when the construct groaned again and pointed at the open warehouse loading door.

Khon looked over his shoulder, his right hand reflexively reaching for Harava, which was suddenly at his side, along with Araru. He relaxed when he saw a diminutive bald man in the orange robes of a monk standing in the doorway. He was as stooped and had so many wrinkles on his face that it looked like a shattered window.

But his expression was calm, not serene though. His overly long eyebrows were too close together for serenity. He looked like he was barely controlling whatever worry or problem was troubling him.

?One minute old timer,? Khon said and hurried to finish Djau?s patch job. The old man said nothing and did nothing while Khon worked. He finally shuffled forward and took a seat when Khon offered him one after finishing with Djau.

?So, what?s troubling you?? Khon asked, taking off the heavy gloves and leaning back in a chair that had his duster draped across the back.

?I run a small monastery just outside of RhyDin,? the man said. ?I have received regular messages and visits from other monks from a sister monastery near Mount Yasuo, every week, for the past twenty years.

?I have not heard word from them for over three months now. I am concerned for my brothers. I-I am too old to make the journey myself.?

?So you want me to go check on the monastery?? Khon asked. The old man nodded. ?That?s it? Peek my head in and come back and tell you what caused your brethren to quit writing you??

?If the monastery stands, if my brothers are dead, alive, or missing, and?? the monk paused, chewing on his words. ?And if they are dead, to find who or whatever is responsible and?and??

?Kill them,? Khon finished. The monk and Khon stared at each other for a long time, until finally, the monk nodded.

Once Khon and Djau were out of the city, Khon climbed onto Djau?s back, grabbing hold of the handles near the golem?s huge shoulders and placing his boots on the small stirrups welded to his back. Djau took off at full speed, loping along the main road at a fast clip, steam gushing from his vents and gears clanking a rapid, rhythmic tempo as he raced along the road.

Though Djau never tired per se, he did have to slow down so as not to overheat his gears every now and then. They stopped for lunch, then to sleep later that night, and repeated the process for several more days, until they finally reached the edge of the Mount Yasuo mountain range.

Khon had only been there once before, and only briefly. It was a place for spiritual enlightenment, something Khon wouldn?t mind, but he had to focus on getting enough money to eat on a regular basis before he could take time out to sit under waterfalls and contemplate his navel.

It took another day to reach the temple Tae had spoke of. Khon had been expecting the place to be ruined, perhaps a few bodies on the stairs leading to the monastery proper. He stopped at the foot of the many steps and looked up at the oriental building. It rested on a rocky ledge, above a large pond or a small lake, water flowing from the mountain that rose up behind it and through man-made channels over the ledge and into the lake. Trees struggled to grow from the sheer rock face of the mountain, their roots clinging to the side as the trees themselves grew out over the monastery, shading it and giving it the emerald glow of sunlight filtered through countless leaves.

It was beautiful, serene. And it was in perfect shape. Not a single roof tile or snarling fu dog statue was out of place. The walkways were in need of a good sweeping, some of the smaller shrubs begged for a gardener?s shears, but that was the worst of it.

Khon climbed the main steps, entering through the monastery?s main gate, which was slightly ajar. The courtyard on the other side had a single bright orange wooden bridge arching over the channel, and a rock garden, as well as paved walkways to the various monastery buildings. It was silent but for the flow of water and the distant rush of the falls.

?FFFUUUU,? Djau said as he pushed the main gate open farther.

?Yeah I don?t get it either,? Khon said. ?You check the main shrine, I?ll head to the living area.?

Djau nodded his understanding with a squeak and tromped off to the shrine proper. Khon drew Harava as he eased the living area door open. It was as silent and undisturbed as the courtyard outside.

Dust lay in a thick blanket over everything. There was an untouched meal on a table near the door: rice that had gone bad, soup that had grown a layer of mold, and rotting fish covered in flies. Khon wrinkled his nose and walked further into the living area.

No signs of a struggle anywhere. Beds were made, robes were neatly folded, tiny altars rested intact in corners and alcoves. There was even a desk nearby where somebody had been writing a letter. It began ?Brother Tae?? and went on about the routine events of the monastery before ending abruptly mid-word. There was no scrawl of ink or ripped paper to indicate the writer had been dragged away. The pen was set back in its holder at the side of the desk, as if the scribe had simply grown tired of writing, got up, and left.

?What the hell is this?? Khon asked the abandoned monastery. Silence answered him.

?Who are you old man? Where are all the monks and what did you do to my partner?? Khon demanded. The withered figure turned his head around slowly and regarded Khon. Khon froze, a chill running up his back. The man?s eyes were stitched shut, eyelids welded permanently together, skin to skin. On his forehead was tattooed the all-symbol. It was the written character of the sound that had started the universe, and would herald its death knell. The old man was a Mahatma.

Khon had only heard stories about the Mahatmas, the so-called Elder Souls. They had divine insight into the past, present, and future, could commune with gods and demons, and were supposedly ageless. They had all been killed though, centuries ago he had heard.

But here one was. Khon holstered his gun and approached the old man, cautious, as if walking toward a sleeping tiger. He didn?t sit, but he did come to the man?s side. Even this close, Khon couldn?t sense any magic, but there was something. It was like a hole, a missing piece out of reality where the old man was sitting. There was an absence where there should have been a presence. A scar in the air.

?Your partner is fine,? the Mahatma said. ?The monks, I do not know. It was empty when I arrived. Maybe they will return when I leave, maybe they are already gone forever.?

?Why did you come here?? Khon asked.

?Why have you?? the Mahatma responded, then began to speak again before Khon could answer. ?You carry those demons on your hips, and the souls of your dead men on your back, and the blood of the Lord Magus in your hands. You walked the land to escape conflict and bloodshed, and you came to RhyDin.

?Center of the multiverse.

?The hub of reality?s wheel. What did you expect at such a place, Sannyasin? Peace? Tranquility? Enlightenment? There are many crossings where roads meet, and all roads meet at RhyDin.?

?So?? Khon asked, scowling.

?There is more conflict in a single hour on this planet and in that city than almost anywhere else. It is not always bloody, but it is always present. And you walked straight into it, Sannyasin.?

Khon was silent as the old man spoke, his face vacant but his posture stiff and his hands sweaty.

?You are drawn to battle like a shark to blood. You smell it across dimensions and time, and you are driven to it. You were bred for it, born to it. You cannot escape it.?

?Why tell me this? Is this why you came here? To give me a sermon? I was never much for preachers and wise men,? Khon spat.

?Because it is your nature, and that you wish to escape it,? the Mahatma said. ?But do not know how. Your karma is a wheel, and you are stuck in its center, bound to its spokes. You are a weapon, not a man. Accept that, and there may be hope for you.?

?To the nine hells with that,? Khon said. ?And you.?

The Mahatma sprang up with a speed and agility Khon wouldn?t have expected from a young acrobat, let alone a withered old man. He flew at Khon, and wrapped his unusually long fingers, of which there were twelve, around Khon?s head, drawing his face down like a lover for a kiss. The Mahatma opened his eyes with a sickening tearing sound as the stitches split and the lids parted, and Khon gasped.

It was forever in the old man?s head, an empty void into nothingness that howled.

?You will never be free of yourself, Sannyasin, so long as you live. I have seen it. Your path is piled with bodies of men you have not met, and the demons at your side will be closer than any love so long as Khonsku Nijjar the Sannyasin draws breath.

?Know this: the man you called brother and thought dead follows your footsteps. He brings with him a black cloud and carries the word of the old world with him in his heart. He has not forgotten your face, nor what you did to him.?

As Khon stared into the Mahatma?s eyes, he saw flashes of memories, from the war, from before that, and from days and more past tomorrow.

?When he arrives you will make a choice: die, or live as a slave to your nature and the beasts you rely on for ages to come,? the Mahatma released Khon and stood back, closing his eyes. The stitches sewed themselves back together, thin black worms of thread crawling under the skin of the old man?s eyelids.

Khon was panting, his heart slamming against his ribs. The Mahatma regarded him silently for a moment before speaking again.

?I came to this place to speak with you, and this I have done. Breaking away from one?s self is never painless, Sannyasin. You cannot undo what you have done, what has made you what you are.?

Khon said nothing as he backed away from the Mahatma.

?This is not the last time I will see you. Sleep, Sannyasin, and reflect,? the Mahatma passed his hand over Khon?s face and Khon was compelled to follow his command. His body became slack and limp, and with a sigh, he slumped to the cold floor.

Khon needed another day to recover once he and Djau arrived back at their home. The Mahatma?s visions swirled through his head, asleep or awake. It seemed impossible, that a man he killed and buried should return as anything but a memory. But what the Mahatma had shown Khon was the truth. The hard stone of dread in Khon?s stomach told him so.

But Khon still had work to do.

He rose up from his bed, holding his temples and squinting his eyes to keep the memories out, and dressed. He needed to finish things up with Brother Tae. Normally he would enjoy the walk across RhyDin to Tae?s monastery, but he was still weak. He climbed onto Djau?s back and rode him across the city, arriving at the monastery shortly before noon.

?My brothers?? Tae demanded as he rushed outside, alerted by Djau?s noisy approach. ?What of my brothers??

?They weren?t there. No sign of a struggle. The whole place is fine. It just looks like they up and left,? Khon replied. Tae blinked at him, not understanding.

?What? Why would they do such a thing?? Tae asked. He glared at Khon and jabbed a gnarled finger at him. ?You?re not telling me everything! What happened up there??

?Something. I don?t know. It didn?t have to do with your brothers. There was a?man there, wanted to talk to me. He said when he arrived the place was already empty. That?s all I got.?

Tae?s face twisted for a moment before he dug into the sleeve of his robe and threw a small bag of crowns at Khon.

?That is enough for your work. Our business is finished,? Tae snapped and turned his back on Khon as he returned to the monastery.

Khon sighed and pocketed the money, not bothering to count it. It wasn?t important. He had bigger concerns than crowns at the moment.

?GGUUUR?? Djau asked.

?Nah, that?s enough for today. Let?s go home,? Khon said and mounted Djau again. As the war golem galloped back across RhyDin, Khon wondered how much longer he would be able to call this place home for. Until Hafaz came back, until he brought the word of the old world with him. Whatever that meant.

Until then.