The sanctuary stood quiet, timeless. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows against the four great pillars at the room’s center.

They stood like silent sentinels, their presence speaking of something ancient, something eternal.

Rädsla stood between them, his body rigid, his breath shallow. He was unraveling, and he knew it. But even as his old certainties crumbled, something deeper stirred—a question, a hunger, a longing that had no name.

And Asih, seated before him, knew.

She had always known.

There was no need to press him. She did not demand surrender.

She simply waited, as the sanctuary had always waited,

as love itself had always waited.

Finally, Rädsla spoke. His voice was hoarse,

ragged from the battle within.

“I cannot explain this,” he admitted. “This… feeling. It defies reason.”

Asih inclined her head. “Does it?”

Rädsla’s eyes burned. “Love is weakness. Vulnerability.

It is leverage in the hands of those who understand power.”

Asih regarded him with infinite patience.

“Then why does it not break when you attack it?”

Rädsla had no answer.

She rose slowly, stepping toward one of the four pillars.

Running her fingers along the ancient carvings, she spoke —

not in challenge, but in offering.

“This pillar,” she said, “is Maitrī. Loving-kindness.

It is not an obligation, nor a transaction.

It is the wellspring from which all things grow.”

Rädsla scoffed. “Kindness is an ideal.

The world does not operate on ideals.

Test anyone. Under pressure, kindness is the first to crumble.”

Asih turned to him. “Then explain this—when you stood on the verge of claiming this place, something stopped you.

If not logic, if you were not afraid,

then what reason persuaded you?

Even now, what is it?”

He looked away. He felt it but he could not, he would not name it.

She continued, her voice steady. “If love were merely a human construct, it would be driven only by self-interest.

But true love—divine love—asks for nothing.

It gives without seeking return. Can you deny that such love exists?”

Rädsla’s jaw tightened. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to say that love was nothing more than a tool of manipulation.

And yet—he could not.

Because here, in this space, he felt something real. Something that did not demand, did not bargain. It simply was.

Asih moved to the next pillar. “This is Karunā.

Empathy in action. Selfless service.”

Rädsla crossed his arms. “Service is just another form of control. People help because they want something in return.”

Asih studied him. “And yet, no one is forcing you to stay.

You seek to understand something you claim to despise. Why?”

His heart pounded.

She took another step forward. “If empathy were merely a trick of social conditioning, then as you say,

service would always be transactional.

But throughout history, men and women have freely given their lives

not for power, not for gain, but in the service of others.

Why? What is it, if not the manifestation of Love?”

He had no answer.

The truth was that he had witnessed this type of sacrifice —

examples that defied reason, people who gave everything away

even when there was nothing to be gained.

It had always perplexed him. Always seemed foolish.

And yet, standing here, he could not deny its power.

Asih moved to the third pillar. “This is Muditā. Shared joy. The ability to delight in another’s happiness without envy or possession.”

Rädsla laughed coldly. “That is a ridiculous notion, and joy is fleeting.

Joy is bought and sold, and dies the moment reality sets in.”

“Then why do you fear it?”

The words struck like lightning.

“You have spent your life taking, conquering, controlling—

but has it made you happy?

Have you ever known joy that did not depend on victory?”

Rädsla’s breath caught. The truth burned in his chest.

No.

No, he had not.

Asih’s voice softened. “True joy is not about possession. Ours is not to search or understand. It is to abide in it. And you—” she looked into his eyes “—have never allowed yourself to remain in that uncertainty.”

Finally, Asih placed her hand on the last pillar. “And this is Upekśā. Equanimity, the final pillar of love’s abode.

It represents the balance you can only sense, but cannot control.

Is it this lack of control that you fear?”

Rädsla clenched his fists. “I do not fear uncertainty. Confusion creates cash, and cash is king! I thrive in uncertainty.”

She smiled. “Then why do you fight it?”

He had no response.

Asih’s voice was gentle, yet unyielding. “If love were completely vulnerable, perhaps it would crumble under corruption.

And yet, all throughout history, there have been forces desparately

seeking to distort it, to control it.

If love is weakness, why does it endure through the ages?”

Her words settled into his soul like stones cast into deep water.

Asih stepped back, “These represent the cornerstones of true love’s abode.

Loving-kindness. Selfless Empathy. Sympathetic Joy. Equanimity.

These form the foundation of all that is real.”

Rädsla stood trembling. “Then why have I never known them?”

Her voice was a whisper. “Fear is separation, and you have chosen to separate, to define yourself by your possessions. Love is wholeness.”

She allowed her words to settle into the deepest parts of him, and his eyes revealed the unraveling of his beliefs.

Rädsla had always believed in separation— his status gave him power, power meant control, and control meant invulnerability.

To need nothing, to depend on no one, this was how he had learned to survive.

But now, confronted by something he could neither fight nor bend to his will, the veil of illusion dissolved and his ambition was revealed for what it was – fear of lacking.

No matter how much he possessed, none of it made him whole.

Love — pure, unwavering, unshaken — held him as all boundaries of his beliefs crumbled to dust.

His breath shuddered. A lifetime of suffering, of relentless striving, collapsed within him. His knees met the stone floor, his body trembling with the weight of something unfamiliar.

Asih sat cross-legged with her hands gently resting on her knees, holding the weight of stillness—simply accepting the space they shared, honoring the sacredness of the hallowed hall.

There was nothing left to argue, and that made him uneasy.

Yet, he was no longer shackled to fear.

For the first time in his life, he did not flee from the stillness.

He allowed it. He remained by choice.

And in that moment of acceptance, something shifted.

He recognized fear had not vanished.

It did not disappear like a shadow chased by light.

Instead, it was seen. Held. Absorbed into something greater.

The difference he felt was a sense of freedom as he realized fear was no longer master of his emotions. It was merely another part of him — real, but no longer in control, no longer a weapon of separation.

For the first time, he felt like he lacked nothing at all.

And in that moment, he understood: Love is not weakness. Love is not submission. Love is wholeness. He felt himself wrapped in the embrace of pure grace. He exhaled, releasing a slow, steady breath, voluntarily surrendering the weight of it all. And then—he did something he had never done before.

He bowed his head.

Not in defeat.

But in humble awe and supplication.

Aware of peace.

Aware of truth.

Simply abiding in the love that had been there all along.