The four flames slumbered within him—Life, Death, Creation, and Destruction—each buried deep in his core. Though they had awakened, they did not yet move freely. They lingered like beasts in chains, waiting for the moment the bindings would weaken.
At first, Krish walked forward unchallenged. The silver road stretched endlessly, and his wings pulsed with steady light. But as centuries of moments passed along that path, the silence within him began to break.
The first surge came suddenly.
A flicker of Life burst in his chest, scattering seeds of essence that grew into forests of light within the void. Stars bloomed like flowers, bursting uncontrollably from his very breath. The beauty was radiant, but it devoured his strength, threatening to drown him in endless beginnings.
The second surge followed close behind.
Death spread through his bones, dissolving the forests into ash, silencing the stars, freezing even his heartbeat for a moment. Its chill was so absolute that his wings faltered, and the void seemed ready to swallow him whole.
Then came Creation, golden threads weaving without command, trying to form worlds upon worlds from his soul. Every step he took collapsed under the weight of new existence that demanded a foundation.
And finally—Destruction erupted. A crimson storm tore apart all that was made, not sparing even the fragments of himself. For the first time, Krish's body cracked, his essence splintering under the endless cycle.
Thus began his long struggle.
He retreated deep into silence, his wings folding around him like a cocoon. The silver road beneath his feet stopped moving, as if the Earth-Level Universe itself knew this was no journey of distance, but of survival.
Years passed. Decades followed.
Each time one flame surged, Krish fought to contain it. Sometimes Life raged too fiercely, filling him with unbearable growth. Other times Death tried to strip away all he was, leaving him hollow. Creation overwhelmed his mind with endless visions, while Destruction tested his endurance, threatening to erase even his will.
Again and again, he broke. Again and again, he mended.
Two centuries passed in this cycle of chaos and endurance. His hair turned to starlight, his wings carried scars of elements tearing against one another, his eyes deepened with the patience of ages. Yet through it all, he did not yield.
In the 200th year, something changed.
The flames no longer surged as enemies. They pulsed in rhythm—Life feeding Creation, Death balancing Destruction, each flame finding its counterweight. The struggle had not ended, but it had turned into harmony.
Krish opened his eyes. His wings spread, radiant and vast, carrying the breath of all four truths.
The silver road stirred once more, leading deeper into the Earth-Level Universe.
Two hundred years had passed, but his resolve had only grown stronger.
The four flames within him no longer sought to consume him—
They now walked beside him.
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