"Every soul burns. But some… choose how."
---
Flame.
It screamed in every color and every silence. Asma-Ra awoke falling through it—not burning, but becoming. Around him, echoes of other selves spun like embers in a storm: some noble, some monstrous, some broken beyond language.
He was inside the Cycle of Flame, the hidden forge of existence.
Where karma is not judged, but lived again.
Where even gods bleed.
---
Beside him, Vāma-Sattva walked calmly across a path of floating charcoal—each step stirring visions from Asma-Ra's own past lives.
A warrior who murdered for a crown.
A priest who cursed a starving widow.
A healer who failed to save a child.
Each fragment flared, screamed, then vanished into smoke.
> "This is the weight of being," the monk said.
"Not your sins. Not your punishments.
Just the truth you once carried—and will carry again unless you choose otherwise."
---
In the distance, a colossal wheel turned in the sky—Samsara itself. Carved from bone and gold, it roared with the cries of every soul trapped in rebirth.
And chained to it was a giant Asura, his body scorched, his face masked.
> "That is Vritra," Vāma-Sattva whispered.
"The Fire-Eater.
Once he stole the flame of truth from the gods and swallowed it.
Now he turns the wheel, never dying, never freed."
Asma-Ra watched as Vritra turned one final time—and locked eyes with him.
For a moment, time stilled.
A voice shattered the air.
> "You wear Rohu's face. But do you have his heart?"
The flame thickened, and the path crumbled beneath Asma-Ra's feet.
---
He fell—straight into one of his past lives.
Not a king. Not a warrior.
But a child, hiding in a burning village, clutching a severed arm that once belonged to his mother.
The fire around him laughed.
> "If you wish to break the cycle," said a voice from the smoke,
"you must not forget this pain. You must walk with it."
Asma-Ra did not scream.
He embraced the memory.
And the flames did not consume him—they crowned him.
---
He rose from the memory, wreathed in white and black fire—balanced. The cycle bowed slightly as he stepped away.
Vāma-Sattva stood waiting.
> "You remember now."
> "Enough to walk forward," Asma-Ra replied.
The monk nodded.
Then, far above them, a bell tolled.
The flame parted.
Revealing a golden staircase—leading not to heaven, but to Yama's Gate.
> "The judge of the dead waits," Vāma-Sattva whispered.
"And he knows we come bearing fire."
---
END OF CHAPTER XVII
Next: Chapter XVIII – "Yama Does Not Judge Alone"