Tashī’s Sad Moment: Master’s Level-2 Instructions on Tashī’s Passing – Pt. 2, Ch. 4.1
The room was utterly silent except for the steady, rhythmic breath of those gathered around the bed.
Tashi's body lay still, his face devoid of struggle, yet the air was thick with something unseen, something unresolved. Candles flickered along the walls, casting trembling shadows over the wooden panels. The scent of incense coiled through the chamber, a spectral thread weaving between the living and the departed.
Master sat at the top of the departed, his expression unreadable. His voice, however, carried the weight of finality.
“I believe his soul has finally separated from his body.”
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the mourners.
Tashī’s mother let out a silent sob that only I could hear, I think, her fingers tightening around a prayer bead. The others exchanged glances, as if seeking confirmation that they had heard correctly.
Beside me, Drakos in his novice feature exhaled, his posture straightening. He turned to me, his voice barely above a whisper.
“In the process of separation, the dead do not immediately know they are dead.
They see their loved ones, hear their cries, even feel the pull of their presence.But the living cannot perceive them.
It is a liminal existence, neither here nor beyond.”
The air took in his words, settling into the creases of the grieves.
I swallowed, glancing toward Tashī’s still form. The air above him shimmered, a distortion like heat rising from the desert floor. Something was shifting.
Master turned her voice low but firm, addressing the unseen.
“Tashī Dalāi,” he said, “you must listen carefully. Death has come for you. Do not be afraid. Do not feel alone. This is a journey that we all must take. You cannot remain here.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
A hush settled over the room, though the air itself seemed to vibrate. I felt something, a presence lingering just beyond perception. Drakos' gaze sharpened, fixed on a point just above Tashī’s body.
Then, it happened.
A pale, iridescent light seeped from the body, wavering like mist in moonlight.
It pulsed, stretching toward the ceiling before settling just above Tashī’s chest.
Within it, a silhouette was forming—hazy, indistinct, yet unmistakably human.
Tashī.
His spirit hovered there, tethered by something unseen.
He blinked, I gathered it was confusion dawning in his eyes as he looked down at the bed where his body remained. And impressions of his changes like a cartoonist motion carton.
As his spirit hovered, his face shifted in fleeting expressions, as though emotions surfaced and dissolved within moments.
First, wide-eyed confusion, his brows drawing together as he looked down upon his own body, uncomprehending.
Then, a flicker of recognition, his lips parting as if realizing the impossible truth.
The disbelief twisted into subtle fear, his translucent fingers trembling as he reached for his family. When his mother did not react, the fear gave way to aching sorrow, his face crumpling with a silent cry, his essence flickering unsteadily.
Drakos and I stood a short distance from the body—one empty, the other flickering in uncertainty. I turned to him, searching for some understanding.
“I don’t get it,” I admitted. “He’s still... himself, but he isn’t. Why does he look so lost?"
Drakos nodded as if he had been expecting my confusion. “Because, to him, this isn't real yet. Imagine waking from a dream and being unable to tell whether you were still sleeping. His mind clings to habit, to familiarity. But the body is gone, and soon, recognition will come.”
I watched as Tashī reached again, desperation swelling in his flickering form. “And when he recognizes it?”
Drakos exhaled. “He will grieve. And then he will have a choice.”
“A choice?” My voice barely rose above the candlelight.
Drakos gestured toward the shimmering energy around us, the light pulsing in rhythm with something beyond my comprehension. “To hold on, or to let go.”
I swallowed hard. “But what is he holding on to?”
Drakos turned his gaze fully upon me then, his eyes sharp yet strangely kind. “What we all do. Love. Regret. Fear.”
The air crackled slightly around us, and I swore I heard the faintest whisper within the energy waves surrounding Tashī’s spirit. A thought pressed upon me, unshakable.
“Is this what happens to all of us?” I asked quietly.
Drakos was silent for a long moment before answering. “Yes. But not all move on in the same way.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?” Something told me the next lesson would not be so gentle.
He hesitated, as though weighing the wisdom of his words. Then, with a glance toward the fading spirit of Tashī, he said, “Some linger too long. And when they do… they forget why they ever wanted to leave.” A chill passed through me.