Page 48 of Fading Sun

“Your helicopter’s waiting,” one of the airport workers says, and he escorts us across the tarmac, where the helicopter’s blades are already whirring in preparation for takeoff.

It’s smaller than I expected. Compact and rugged, painted a bright red that stands out against the surrounding mountains.

“Ever been in a helicopter before?” Morgan asks.

“No,” I say, surprised by how loud it gets as we move closer. So loud that I have to hold my hands to my ears to block out the noise. “And honestly, it’s never been on my bucket list.”

It’s only a twenty-five minute helicopter ride to the Monastery of Shadows and Light.

The gateway between the earthly and mystical realm.

The location that will serve as our starting point for the quest for the Solar Scepter.

Soon, the monastery comes into view—an ancient structure of stone and wood that seems to grow out of the mountains themselves. It’s surrounded by a halo of mist that dances around its peaks, shimmering with a ghostly essence, as if shielding it from prying eyes.

The helicopter touches down just outside the monastery grounds. From there, we bid our pilot goodbye, and Damien leads the way, his steps sure and measured as we ascend the stairs and approach the ancient, weathered doors that serve as the building’s entrance.

As we walk, I can’t help but feel small. I’m surrounded by towering mountains in a place that has stood the test of centuries. And despite my weeks of training, I don’t feel ready for this in the slightest.

“You’re doing great,” Morgan says from behind me, as if she can sense my hesitation.

“Thanks,” I say. “It’s just, this place. It’s…”

I pause, searching for the right word.

Beautiful doesn’t cut it.

“Majestic,” I finally say.

“It is,” she agrees, and then, before I know it, we’re at the top of the steps.

The doors to the monastery are open, since we arrived during visiting hours.

“We can just go in?” I ask, and the only answer I get is Damien making his way inside.

The rest of us follow, with Blaze last, watching our backs.

The air inside the ancient building is heavy, thick with the scent of incense. A few visitors are milling about, dressed from different regions around the world, and none of them pay us much attention. They’re focused on soaking in the beauty of the building—the tapestries on the walls, the details painted on the bright yellow ceilings, and the intricate designs carved into the tall columns that hold it up.

“So, where do we find the Abbot?” I ask the others.

“Simple,” Morgan says. “We ask.”

“No need to ask,” Blaze says. “I’m sure we can find him on our own.”

“Why do men always refuse to save time by asking for directions?” Morgan huffs, rolls her eyes, and motions to a monk down the hall who’s draped in red robes. “Come on—maybe he knows.”

She leads the way, eventually stopping in front of the monk, who looks over our group curiously as he waits for us to speak.

“We’re looking for the Abbot,” Damien says, smooth and respectful. “Could you please direct us to him?”

The monk looks us over, and I worry he’s going to tell us to leave and never come back.

Then, he nods slowly, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

“He’s likely in the garden, tending to the herbs,” he says. “Follow this corridor to the end, turn left, and head straight through the rear doors.”

“Thank you,” I say, and he nods again and continues on his way, his steps silent against the smooth stone floor.

---