White marble, rocky mountains, greenery growing somewhere down on the plains, and the feeling that place gave me. Mountains, majestic mountains covered in clouds, blue in the distance, so immense that they would compel any mortal to bow before their grandeur. They are the only thing, in these times, that keeps our faith warm—faith that perhaps the gods are still alive, that they have not abandoned us.

This is why the monks chose the Jagartha Range as the site for their temples. So that every day, they could behold this grandeur of stone and clouds before them; nothing instills faith in something higher quite like it.

My childhood ended here, among elves, humans, and dwarves. They did not divide themselves, so that division was merely symbolic—we were all monks of faith. Faith is the only thing that can help one survive in these harsh lands, where each day is a belief in the coming of the next day. And to reiterate, I grew up amidst the changing days and nights on these mountaintops, among monks who knew no divisions among themselves, among those whose sole protection was faith... and nothing more.

Now, I stand and look out over the plains from the mountain, gazing at the clouds that cover the peaks. But it’s no longer the same. The plains are no longer green, the clouds have lost their whiteness, and sometimes it's hard to distinguish them from the gray rocks atop the mountains. The clouds are no longer white—they are gray, and at times black... blackened by the fires burning on what were once green plains, which have been ablaze for over a year now. Everything merged into one: blackened plains, grey mountain peaks, black clouds. But the monks remain unchanged; their faith is strong, and they still do not know what discord is. But how much longer will their faith endure? Mine faltered the first day I descended from the mountains, when the last hill vanished from the horizon. I hope they hold onto it, for once their faith falls, so too will their brotherhood, and without them, the last memory of my childhood will crumble. Temples that can protect anything and anyone within them, yet cannot protect themselves from those they shelter.

I wonder, what is a soul? Are we merely its external reflection? These questions never occupied our minds. I was taught that we are who we are, regardless of how we imagine ourselves or how we wish to appear. This was explained to me through a story—a story every monk knew.

"Once, in the time of creation, there was a void between darkness and light. A space that separated one from the other. And as it always begins, it started with a single moment. Darkness asked itself, 'What am I?' No one knew the answer, no one heard the question, no one could hear it. The same question was asked by the light: 'What am I?' And then, between darkness and light, a bridge appeared: 'What are we?' This time, the question was heard, the question had an answer, and the void between them listened. 'Who am I?' the void wondered. 'What are we?' echoed from the darkness and the light. The newly formed world was enveloped in silence, and then... 'Who am I?', 'What are we?', 'What am I?'—these questions began to resound from everywhere. With each repetition, the questions grew louder. The roar caused the bridge of 'What are we?' to collapse, leaving only 'What am I?'. The bridge was gone, but the void remained. The void, now named Soul, became something between darkness and light. The Soul became the only one capable of hearing darkness and light, the only one able to answer their question 'What am I?', while darkness and light became the only ones able to answer the question 'Who am I?'. Yet instead of answering, they continued to question. And whenever the Soul tried to respond to darkness or light, they would interrupt with answers to her questions. Everyone asked, everyone answered, but no one heard over the noise.

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In time, the Soul took on a more material form. Exhausted by the noise, light and darkness desired the peace that had existed at the dawn of creation. Light and darkness turned into predators—they became wolves, joining into a pack to hunt the Soul and restore peace. They no longer sought answers; for them, peace itself was the answer. Then the Soul transformed as well. She decided to outwit darkness and light; she became neither predator nor prey and instead created wisdom and intellect. Wisdom and intellect that could both ask questions and answer them. The Soul began to use them as a defense against darkness and light, against that pack of wolves. Each time they caught up to her, the Soul would pierce their hearts and minds with wisdom and intellect, turning them into prey for questions and their own answers.

Later, darkness and light realized they were chasing their prey in circles, so they decided to split up and attack from two sides. The Soul could no longer cope alone, so she divided herself into countless versions of herself, and the wolves did the same. Thus, hundreds of circles appeared, which would later be called life. Life is movement—whether the Soul wanted it or not, she became a perpetual prey, given only one choice: to run toward darkness and become the prey of light, or run toward light and become the prey of darkness.

And it seems like we have a choice, and yet we don’t. But as we were once a soul and prey to higher forces, so we shall remain, no matter which way we run—we are prey. I believed this throughout my childhood. Behind the walls of the temples, which only the force of those they protect could bring down, it was easy to believe in such things. The farther I traveled from the temples and mountains, the more I realized that most souls had long ceased to be prey. The monks are the last who believe they are prey; all other souls have long since become predators. Using wisdom and intellect, these other souls first kill one of the wolves, then try to outpace the one chasing them from behind, thus turning from prey into predator. Predator chasing predator—that’s the eternity and the beauty of the world in which I was forced to live. Predator after predator, yet in the end, none of them catch the prey.

Now, I look back on my childhood memories through the lens of reality. Within me, wisdom and intellect ask, 'Who are you?', 'What have you become?', 'Are you prey or predator?' Again, I stand on white marble, gazing at the plains, clouds, and mountain peaks. I contemplate hiding within the temple walls to escape the wild mountain winds trying to blow me back into reality, to the plains. What will happen if I return to the temple now, as a predator rather than prey? What if I am the last, and my faith is not enough to hold up the walls of the temple? Then I will destroy what once protected me... All these questions from wisdom and intellect—have I confused myself with the wolf... and become prey to myself?"