The sanctuary was silent, save for the rush of Rädsla’s breath. He remained on his knees, his hands curled into fists against the cold stone floor. His entire life had been built on the belief that power was taken, that control was seized; and, if he didn’t have it, he would negotiate for it.

But here, in the presence of Asih, he was confronted with something he could neither fight nor command.

The silence did not yield. It did not tremble before him. It simply was.

And he had no answer for it.

Rädsla’s breath came sharp, uneven. His mind screamed for an escape. The weight of the moment was unbearable.

His entire body ached as he forced himself to look up.

“This is a trick,” he hissed. His voice, once filled with dominance, now wavered with something dangerously close to desperation.

“You are nothing but an illusion, a fraud who has convinced herself that weakness is strength.”

Asih remained still, her expression unchanged.

He continued in defiance, “People follow power.

They bow to authority. Not love. Not kindness.

You sit here in your sacred silence as if it means something, as if it holds any weight in the real world.”

He shook his head, trying to regain his composure. “You are nothing, Asih. And nothing changes nothing.”

She regarded him, unshaken. And then, she asked, “Why do you remain here, with me, in this space?”

The words rippled across the room like a stone dropped into a still pond.

Rädsla’s jaw tightened.

“Because of you, I lost something and I want it back.”

“If I am powerless, what could I take from you?”

He exhaled sharply. “My certainty.”

She looked directly into his eyes, “And what is certainty, Rädsla?

The absence of questions, or the refusal to ask?”

Rädsla’s breath turned ragged. His heart pounded against his ribs like a beast trying to escape its cage.

His hands clenched into fists. He had to reclaim control.

His voice dropped to a low, venomous growl. “You are twisting my words. You speak of Love, yet you are manipulating my vulnerability.”

She shook her head.

“Perhaps you are realizing the illusion of your control.

You have only taken what others have given. Is that what you seek?”

Rädsla let out a bitter laugh.

“And what do you think I want from you? Redemption?

Do you see me as a man longing to be saved?”

Asih’s gaze softened. “I think you are discovering real power.”

His expression twisted with disgust. “You speak like a false prophet, hiding poison beneath honeyed words. I see through you, Asih!”

He stepped closer, looming over her, his dark shadow swallowing her in the candlelight.

“You are not a savior. You are an insidious demon, feeding on doubt, sowing weakness in those who should rise above it.”

She did not move. Did not cower.

“If that is true, why are you fighting with such desperation?”

Asih exhaled slowly, as though releasing a breath that did not belong to her, but to the space between them.

Then she asked, “And when you have burned it all to ash, when the world bows at your feet—will there be space for love?”

Rädsla’s body went rigid.

He could not let her see him flinch.

She pressed further. “What will you rule, Rädsla, after you have crushed everything?”

His pulse thundered in his ears. His vision blurred at the edges.

“You disgust me with this nonsense. I will have it all!” he shouted.

“Then why do you feel so uncertain?”

“Stop!” He whirled on her, and his voice thundered. “You don’t understand what it takes to survive in this world. You sit here, preaching about love like it’s enough. You are delusional! In the real world — out there, space for love is just space for weakness.”

Asih met his gaze, “Do you believe owning this space will destroy it?”

Once again, her words shook him.

Something deep inside him recoiled, recognizing the truth before his mind could deny it.

It terrified him. Not because it was weak.

But because it was stronger than anything he had faced before.

Rädsla took a step back, his chest rising and falling. His mind raced, grasping for something—anything—to anchor himself.

But there was nothing.

No ground.

No certainty.

Only the unbearable weight of the moment.

Asih remained unmoved, still watching him, still holding the space without force, without expectation.

He grasped for the only weapon he had left—condemnation.

“You are a disease,” he spat, his voice trembling with rage. “A parasite feeding on the weak. You whisper lies into the ears of desperate fools, make them feel something, then leave them empty and broken when the world devours them.

You infect people with your illusions and call it healing.”

Asih did not react. She remained in the stillness.

That unnerved him more than if she had.

He wanted her to defend herself.

He wanted her to fight. That’s what he expected. That’s how he had won so many battles. His memory replaying the echoes of his father’s voice, “Destabilize your opponent, get them to react. Then you can negotiate from a place of power.”

He wanted to break her.

She simply watched him, holding all his fury without resistance.

Then, with infinite softness, she whispered, “My words are only a reflection of the love already within you.”

His breath caught.

She whispered, “You are not lost, Rädsla. You are just beginning to heal.”

He closed his eyes, trying to quiet the storm raging inside his mind.

But he could not.

The weight of her words settled into his chest.

Something inside him was unraveling.

And he was powerless to stop it.

Read Part 1 and Part 2.