The USS Millville (LPD-44) had picked up the FLU soldiers from the Horn of Africa and sailed across the Gulf of Aden towards the city of Aden, where transport will drive them to the Al Anad Air Base, about 55 km north of the town. The ship was rocked by irritated waves and Kwan did her best to comfort Xiomara, who was bent over the railing throwing up anything she had eaten in the past day. The rest were loafing around, and nothing much was said except a few pleasantries. The boat ride was quite uneventful, but the world did not stop for their sake. In Kinshasa, the ministers were debating thunderously in their meeting room over the presence of US forces on their territory. In London, an attempt on Prince William's life has been successfully thwarted by the Constable Clifford Bradfordshire, who shortly became a public hero… at least, to 58% of the population. In Afghanistan, another hospital has been bombed by US drone strikes because of an alleged missiles stock (never confirmed). China has successfully brokered peace with the Soviet Empire and is now amassing troops in Fujian for unspecified reasons.

The world kept spinning and countless events were occurring simultaneously around it, but the heat rose and the mercury flirted with the 43° mark in Mandalay which shook the molecular denizens near their melting points. The bustling city was kept lively by people busying themselves with their daily tasks and mundane routines, and while everyone whished for some scintilla of coolness it seemed like the scorching heat had decided to settle for a while. Swarms of people waltzed around Chanayethazan in an ovine choreography, walking up and down streets, around corners, in and out of buildings to maintain this urban organism alive. It was particularly tougher along the moat that surrounded Aungmyaythazan, where the streets were congealed by tourists gawking at the palace or locals who were blocked by said tourists, which made the walk up 66th street from the Sunset Palace View Hotel to the Atumashi Monastery quite the trek. The possibility of merging onto another street in order to avoid the masses was out of the question because the necessary steps had to be made in a precise order which, if unsettled, could cause an obsessive disorder. The ground shook. The foreshock caused a growing yet indistinct chatter among the crowd, as people wondered (tourists) and others warned (locals). Sunda and India had decided to wage another seismic battle against each other and the Sagaing Fault would be its main theatre once again. As the foreshock grew in intensity as a forewarning of the upcoming climax, the people in Mandalay ran for shelter. Not shelter from the conflicting plates but from the constructs which they once thought would shelter them from nature's cruel indifference only to become their doom. Ah, but the discord offered a saving grace: now that the crowd was running around like headless chicken, the path up 66th street seemed easier to navigate, and the monastery was closer to grasp. A few blocks away from it, and the foreshock grew into the main course: the mainshock rattled humans' comfort and caused great distress among the untrained. However, it only peaked slightly above 4.0 on the Richter scale, which only caused psychological discomfort and a few shattered glasses and tableware. The aftershock was barely felt as it fluctuated between 0.1 and 2. The streets were made navigable and soon enough, he made it out of 66th street and took a right on 12th street, all the way to the monastery. What a blessing. Both in the relief of reaching the destination and the overwhelming remnant of Buddha's grace, which enveloped the monastery any anyone that stood in its vicinity. Past the parking lot and around the fountain, tall fences barred entrance onto the sacred grounds, but an opening was made and a sentry box was placed. The guards looked flustered and concerned with the recent quake which made it easy for him to sneak past them unnoticed, although he made no real efforts to do so. A set of stairs encased between glorious carvings of mythical figures of old led to a courtyard where the magnificence of humanity's faith to Buddha towered with intimidating wonderfulness. The tiles of the courtyard mirrored the monastery stretching it into a vaster plain unreachable to mortals, which only the Enlightened One could tread. The tall gilded doors of the main entrance were sealed shut, and only one of the side entrances was left open. He would not have dared to cross the main entrance regardless, knowing his place on this land. With a single step, the darkness within the monastery engulfed him from the harshness of the world without. A bell rang in the distance, struck by a monk who chanted words destined to the Enlightened One. The monk welcomed him with a bow. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and he walked the vast halls of the monastery. The pillars that held the structure reassured him that no anthropogenic or earthly disasters could take this holy place down. He kept walking until he reached a single step that led towards the statue. This time, he thought he would contain himself and steel his resolve, but standing in the presence of such a holy marvel overwhelmed him with emotions that he could not fully grasp. It sent him to his knees and he placed his hands on the altar to keep a certain balance and not collapse under the spiritual weight of His presence.

It seemed all predetermined, that all his actions, choices, mistakes, or decisions have led him to stand in the presence of this statue. His heart was beating faster and thundered in his ears, drowning out all other sounds that could be a distraction from reveling in this moment. He had trodden the fine line as the Grim Reaper carefully watched when he explored the Great Wen in search of the awakening key. Watchful eyes searched for him but he was able to veil himself long enough to acquire the stolen diamond in some royal treasury and bedraped it in black gossamer for ritualistic preservation. The journey that led him here, in front of Buddha, was a perilous one and the sedentary statue waited. He carefully reached into his pocket to produce the gift and unwrapped it on the altar. The diamond had finally found its way back to its rightful place, stolen by colonizers and murderers, and now he waited for the awakening. He sat demurely waiting for any reaction, any sign of acceptance but he quickly grew anxious. What if Buddha no longer cared about this piece of pressurized carbon? Had it become worthless? Did Buddha actually never care? Surely, the Enlightened One must show grace for mortals, we who have never reached His state and could never, for that matter. We are all lost sheep in search of His guidance, please accept this rock to which we assign so much value. Countless mortals have shed their essence over such materialistic goods, others gift it to each other as a sign of pure appreciation and love. Could it be… Could it be for that reason that Buddha no longer cared? Did the white folk ruin that for us, too? Perhaps, we have grossly misinterpreted it all. He taught us the ways of asceticism and we showered him with the gifts He precisely told us to give up. The statue still smiled.

Perhaps, he told himself, it is not a spiritual matter. Perhaps Buddha truly abandoned us all. What was clear in that moment was that the awakening was not going to happen. The proper conditions had not been met, the quake could have frightened Him, or the moment was not the right one. His sigh broke the statue's portentous silence and he stood up with hardened nerves. His resolve had come back with the conviction that his purpose lived on beyond Buddha. He produced a small journal covered with leather from a pocket inside his coat and flipped the first thirty-seven pages. A list of places had been carefully written one after the other which would trace on a map a journey across the globe. It had started in the Archbasilica of Saint John Lateran but had yielded no result: the basilica held only a pale and fading glimpse of the essence of Christ, tainted with greed and defiled with blood -not the right kind. He spent quite some time in Europe visiting countless churches, cathedrals, chapels, kirks, and temples which all claimed to have some essence of Jesus or His Father, but it was all lies. He then realized that maybe he should visit the holiest place, so made for the Middle-East. He traveled through the city formerly known as Constantinople to check out St. George's Cathedral which had been the only instant (so far) where he had gotten anywhere close but in vain… Yet another imposter spoke false words. The arrival in the holy city of Jerusalem made him realize that he could kill three birds with one stone. The Church of the Holy Sepulcher was first simply because he had seen so much Christian lore that he decided to get it over with as soon as possible. He sat inside Jesus' tomb for a few days and gave the benefit of the doubt to any single tingle that might indicate a shred of spirituality but left tired and hungry with nothing to show for. Faith had left this hole the day Jesus died. And although someone told him that Jesus had actually been buried in Japan, he considered Christianity a dead end. He then tried the Holy of Holies next, where he was promised the place where God first appeared but found nothing worthy of the claims other than a well-decorated prayerbook, which confused him regarding the current government in power's religious claim over these lands. Third time had not been the charm, but the Al-Aqsa Mosque was the most promising out of the three, so he journeyed southwards to the Medina, filled with hope that Islam might be the one. But Al-Masjid an-Nabawi did not unveil anything, and the Kaaba even less. With the Abrahamic religions turning out as failures, he ventured across the Arabian Sea and landed in Mumbai where is interests turned towards Buddha, and ultimately led him here.

He crossed the Atumashi Monastery off the list and stared at the next location written down: Wudang Mountains.