Three days and three nights had passed since Al arrived at Master Roshan's sanctuary. The aged sage and Al engaged in deep discussions about their divergent philosophies. Roshan embodied the essence of the valley, while Al found resonance with the mountain's perspective.

As Al contemplated the teachings, he realized a fundamental truth. The valley below was born from the West, and its counterpart, the mountain, was born from the East. He perceived that on Earth, down was synonymous with left, and up was akin to right. However, in the Heavens, the left was down, and the right was up. This revelation unveiled—a 90-degree angle, a "right angle" of refraction that bridged Heaven and Earth.

Al learned a lot more than he even assumed he could. Before parting ways, Master Roshan led Al to a pentagon, pointing out that the number 108 shared a connection with the pentagon, nestled within the inner degrees of its angles. This revelation settled within Al's mind like a treasure hoarded away for future contemplation.

Master Roshan guided Al to a lower floor within the monastery, a place imbued with deep wisdom. "I had a teacher in my early years," Roshan began, "who imparted a unique teaching. He often spoke of 108 as the distance separating the sun and the moon."

Al absorbed this knowledge like parched earth soaking up rain in a desert.

The lower level lay hidden within the mountain's depths, enshrouded in an impenetrable darkness. The feeble light of Master Roshan's fire lamp barely pierced the gloom, casting long shadows. Yet, for Al, darkness held no sway. His vision as a cultivator with Will rooted in the material plane allowed him to see in the dark. He homed in on a monumental stone figure of a meditating Buddha, its imposing presence reigning over the subterranean sanctum.

Master Roshan's wise and measured voice broke the silence, delving into the heart of what it meant to become a valley, to surrender the self. With deliberate steps, he led Al to the very base of the Buddha, where 108 intricate symbols adorned its colossal feet. The ancient engravings seemed to pulse with hidden meaning in the dim light. “One step of his reaches from the Sun to the Moon. If what you say is correct, then perfection which you claim is 5 is either born or found within those 90 degrees of separation.”

Even for Master Roshan, this territory seemed to test the boundaries of comprehension. As Al absorbed this revelation, he found himself not only enlightened about the connection between 108 and 5 but also reconciled the teachings of Loh and Benjamin. His mind raced like the light from a supernova, illuminating the vast darkness.

Al turned to face the elderly sage, his hands reaching out to grasp the old man's weathered palms. With a profound reverence, kissing them, “We might not meet again in this life, but I am eternally grateful.” Although Al felt no emotions, his actions matched his thoughts and were not subdued by shame, pride, or fear. The old man smiled at Al. He knew he was, in fact, right, and there would be no second meeting, but, at this moment, in the now, they were two kindred souls.

In due time, Al took his leave, a new map cradled in his hands, its surface etched with the weight of ages. Although the school of Master Roshan held no knowledge of the elusive Supreme Leaf mortal ring's location, it did offer a valuable revelation - the coordinates of four Lightning-Stone Leaf mortal rings.

Often, newcomers awakened their Will within the sanctuary of the school. They were given a choice: to remain and deepen their connection to this sacred path or to venture forth into the enigmatic world of cultivation.

Al descended the mountain and began walking through the valleys of the mountain range. Down here, even the population of astral beings increased, though they were smaller, simple creatures fixated on the colorful auras. Al pondered over the meaning of '7', the auras growing more transparent, a perplexing enigma.

Then, a voice, “above you,” a mere whisper, resonated from within Al’s etheric shell. He hadn't heard it in years. With swift reflexes, he reacted, leaping out of harm's way.

The ground trembled as a 10-foot figure landed where Al had stood. Before the dust could settle, it shot towards him. With a composed heart and mind, Al jumped over the oncoming figure.

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It was a strange sight – an upright bull with grasshopper legs. It seamlessly extended its head, capturing Al mid-air, impaling him, and hurling him towards a nearby tree.

Al's breaths came ragged as he fought to regain his composure, his senses sharpened with urgency. The creature lunged once more, its intent clear. “Without Midnight Abyss, my etheric shell can be shattered. I need a weapon,” Al calculated with calm precision. He scanned the vicinity, but there was nothing.

Resolute, Al pushed himself up, meeting the relentless advance of the hybrid. Just as the brutal collision seemed inevitable, Al seized the creature's horns, harnessing its momentum against it and smashing his knee into its face. A sickening crunch echoed through the air, mingling with the spray of crimson that burst forth. The hybrid's ferocious charge, however, was unyielding. In the blink of an eye, it careened into the tree Al had been flung towards, an impact reverberating through the gnarled trunk.

The force from the hybrid's attack destroyed Al's upper body as he broke through the tree. However, the hybrid rammed its head into Al's knee with such force that the knee penetrated the hybrid's head like a metal pike,, destroying the hybrid's head.

A figure in a strange white dress began walking towards the gruesome scene when the hybrid turned into a mist that Al’s etheric shell absorbed.

The figure quickly lifted its hand, summoning white fibers from the air. The fibers formed a spear, which the figure launched, its tip aiming right for Al’s ring, his etheric shell. To its surprise, Al regenerated faster than it thought he would and caught the spear with his right hand.

However, the spear still impaled him in his abdomen. With ease Al took it out, the ability to feel pain had never left however he had become callous to it.

What consumed Al now was an emotion he had long buried, a sentiment dormant since his father's death. But at this moment, it surged forth like a relentless waterfall. It was a rage rivaling the blazing sun, a burning inferno within his chest. It coursed through him, untamed and uncontrollable.

Then, in a surreal twist, Al found himself no longer trapped beneath the fallen tree. Instead, he was enveloped by a world awash in pure white. In this ethereal realm, the seething rage that had gripped him seemed to dissipate as if being drawn away.

Time became an enigma in this realm of pristine white, and Al, curious and determined, followed the direction in which his anger had been siphoned. What felt like an eternity passed before he began to discern the faint outlines of this otherworldly expanse. And suddenly, he felt himself ascending, the velocity increasing until it became a disorienting blur between falling and soaring.

Through the billowing clouds, which felt like entire worlds in themselves, he glimpsed something oddly familiar. Within the cloudscapes, swaying tendrils of vegetation resembling tentacles came into view.

"I find myself in the etheric realm of the energy plane, yet my etheric shell is already harvested, and my Will firmly rooted in the material plane," Al contemplated, navigating through the shifting clouds of this mystic expanse.

An unknown amount of time passed. Every now and then, the world seemed to rotate at what felt like a right angle to Al, which served only to raise more unanswered questions within Al.

Amidst this ethereal landscape, a swaying crop emerged, its movements accompanied by fervent shouts: “Kill them all, burn everything to ashes.” Al recognized this point well. He grasped hold of one of the swaying forms and began making his way to the one speaking to him.

In the tangible world, the cloaked figure approached Al cautiously, its gaze fixed on the seemingly vacant look in his eyes. Then, a crimson leather wristband materialized from the blood Al had shed, a sudden manifestation that spurred the white figure into action. It wove around itself in a cocoon of protective fibers, forming a makeshift armor.

Swiftly, Al donned the wristband on his left, and instantly, the spear in his right hand burst into flames. The air around him ignited into a blaze that consumed all in its path. The armored figure, too, was engulfed in the fiery maelstrom. Startled, it jumped back and retreated, putting distance between them.

The once-fiery spear crumbled swiftly, reduced to mere ash, leaving Al and his indomitable Stubborn Will's etheric shell untouched by the inferno. As he rose to his feet, the cloaked figure wasted no time in fleeing. Al, however, made no move to pursue it. Instead, he sank to his knees, a flood of memories washing over him. What had once felt distant and muted now surged with raw, unbridled emotion - a deep-seated loathing that overshadowed all else.

Hatred coursed through him, a blazing furnace threatening to consume him whole. He seethed at the world, at the twists of fate, and most of all, at himself for his choices. It was a fire clamoring to erupt from within. Any tears that fell evaporated instantaneously, leaving only a scorching, arid emptiness. In this turmoil, he recalled Benjamin's cryptic words, "When looking for the light, turn to 1, 5, 7."

Suddenly, he thought about Sant Prasad and their conversation about ‘perfection’. After about half an hour, Al was able to calm his rage. A vast 30-foot radius surrounding him had been reduced to nothing but ashes.