CHAPTER 3:The Monk without A Past

Deep within the emerald valleys of a forgotten land, where rivers whispered secrets only the wind could understand, there lived a monk named Raphael.

To those who met him, he was a man of simplicity. His head was shaved, his robes faded with age, and his presence was quiet—too quiet. He spoke little, smiled often, and spent his days tending to a monastery that had no name. He swept the temple floors with the patience of eternity, brewed tea with the precision of a master, and stared at the sky as if he were waiting for something—or someone.

But Raphael was no ordinary monk.

There were whispers among the other monks. Some said he had once been a warrior who abandoned his sword after a terrible crime. Others believed he was a prince who had forsaken his kingdom to seek truth. And a few dared to say that he was neither man nor ghost, but something in between.The truth, however, was far stranger.

The Mysterious Past of Raphael

Many years ago—or perhaps centuries, time had little meaning in his story—Raphael had woken up in a field of golden grass, the sun sinking into the horizon. He had no memory of how he got there. No recollection of a childhood, a family, or even his own name. All he had was a single object clutched in his hand: a silver key, old and rusted, with no door to match.

For years, he wandered. Through bustling cities and empty wastelands, across mountains and deserts, seeking answers. Yet, no matter where he traveled, no one knew him. No past, no history, no records of his existence. It was as if he had been erased from the fabric of time.

Then, the dreams began.

He saw visions of a temple hidden in mist, a great stone circle glowing with energy. A voice whispered words he could not understand, and shadows moved within the light. Each morning, he woke up with a strange feeling—as if the universe itself had forgotten something important about him.

So he did the only thing he could. He became a monk, searching for enlightenment in silence, waiting for the day when the answers would finally come.

For years, he wandered. Through bustling cities and empty wastelands, across mountains and deserts, seeking answers. Yet, no matter where he traveled, no one knew him. No past, no history, no records of his existence. It was as if he had been erased from the fabric of time.

Then, the dreams began.

He saw visions of a temple hidden in mist, a great stone circle glowing with energy. A voice whispered words he could not understand, and shadows moved within the light. Each morning, he woke up with a strange feeling—as if the universe itself had forgotten something important about him.

So he did the only thing he could. He became a monk, searching for enlightenment in silence, waiting for the day when the answers would finally come.

And then, one afternoon, they did.

The Call to the Temple

It started with a chicken.

Raphael had just finished meditating under a tree when a small, angry chicken appeared out of nowhere, flapping its wings wildly. It jumped onto his lap, pecked his arm, and then—without any explanation—stared into his eyes as if it carried the wisdom of the universe.

"...Can I help you?" Raphael asked, because really, what else do you say to a chicken?

The chicken did not blink.

Then, suddenly, it opened its beak and let out a sound that was not a cluck.

It was a word.

"Come."

Raphael blinked. The chicken blinked back.

"…What?"

The chicken tilted its head, unimpressed. Then it pecked him again, flapped its wings, and sprinted off into the forest like a messenger of the gods.

Raphael sat there for a long time.

He had spent years searching for answers. He had meditated under the stars, fasted for days, walked the path of wisdom. He had been waiting for a grand sign from the universe, a voice from the heavens, a divine revelation.

Instead, he got a chicken.

"…This is ridiculous."

Yet, as he stood up, dusting off his robes, something inside him knew the truth.

It was time.

And so, with nothing but his silver key, an old staff, and the absolute certainty that he was either on the path to enlightenment or losing his mind… Raphael followed the chicken.Toward the unknown.

Toward the temple.

Toward the truth of who he really was.