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Long were the high peaks of the earth and strong were the walls. He was alone, utterly alone there without any help or call. Like some ancient man lost in a cave, alienated by all his fellows, he was there and he had one task: reach that beam of light up at the highest peak.

He looked at himself, a beast made of bones and muscles who didn’t need sleep or food. He was a machine albeit an inorganic one, this he understood deeply. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how high were the falls, his body would always regenerate, and, more importantly, falls and spikes barely damaged him. His skin was so thick and resistant that not even the sharpest of plants could cut it. Or this is what he thought. He saw some really strange plants up there.

Animated by a new strength and motivation, the motivation to not be alone, he trow himself with all his heart at climbing. The first wall, barely twelve meters, climbed in three days. It was a hard process of climbing, falling and learning. And one that Pxan in his hurry didn’t understand properly, more than a few time he slipped in the same parts or made the same mistakes, hoping that simply “trying hard” would do the trick. When he sat on that twelve-meter wall he felt the king of the world for a second, then he remembered how desperate his situation was and how high that light beam was.

“And if that light beam doesn’t grant me freedom?” he thought “what if it’s just another wall? What if I am trapped in an endless circle of walls to climb?” that was a possibility, it was only man pride that dictated and said that nature has to be a certain way. Who knew of what awaited him in those deeps or highs. He already read some strange names and strange places. Who knew what was there, hidden even by the inquisition. Who knew what monsters awaited on the horizon, ready to eat him at a moment sight. Who knew why the council, despite being atheistic, loved so much pagan clothing and ritual masks. Always so many masks. Always.

Time passed by without notice. The deafness of silence made him nearly go crazy. How long had it been since he was there? The wall took, at least, eight hours to climb. But if that was the case the inquisition would have arrived already. What if time was distorted there? What if they didn’t send anyone to check? What if in their naivety didn’t think that an inquisitor could be so stupid to touch a black sphere in the middle of an esoteric temple?

All questions without a certain answer. What he knew was that, after a few days, he began to enjoying taking daily walks across the temple, every time he noticed something new. A strange expression on a face, a new composition, a new detail, something, that would keep him sane. It was only after several days that he began to experience a very ancient feeling that was lost: peace.

For all his life, first in his home and then in the low quarters, he had been bombarded day and night either with artificial lights or other people. He didn’t remember the last time that he listened to silence for so long, he didn’t even remember if it ever happens. Regardless he had to get moving. He grabbed his hand-made rope and begun climbing, after a few attempts the initial wall was very easy to climb and begin climbing higher. When he nearly reached the lower part of another climbable wall the rope broke. Sending him falling for several meters.

It wasn’t much the impact that made him cry, more a sudden realization that came with the pain: the climb was long, he would have to fall over and over and over again until he either broke or reached the light.