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“It's a laughable lock—one that you would use only to guard a graveyard. Not that anyone would trouble themselves invading a timber hut in a mangrove forest farther away from the Bay of Bengal. Still, how can someone live with a lock like that? Made of ancient iron, reeking of rust. It would need a primordial key to be twisted and turned, going through several moments of mechanical trouble until the old lock opens. Good luck if you can do that without breaking the key.

Oh! The key � Well, the owner of the hut has left the key right beside the lock, including instructions. The Monk, Yuan Yagmur—revealing his muscled arms from under his wide, dark shawl—takes the note (the one with instructions):

Please, scan your CRAB first before touching the key. For your own safety.
From what, you ask? It’s a surprise.
Enter without scanning if you want to find out.
—Mee-Hae Ra

”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“That Monk mocks. Challenges.
It’s the same old issue with the idealists. They judge the devil, and people call them the humans of light. However, the Mesmerizer agrees little with the Monk. The Mesmerizer will prove that even a monk may fall prey to the devil. He knows that man will try to avoid the dark path. He knows that man will try to stay a purist.”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“A High Grade’s words have weight; she must now think through what leaves her lips.”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“His thought about the bird halts as the CRAB in his wrist glows. CRAB—Conservable RNA Augmented Body, the faithful servant for a citizen, as the advertisements from the World Government say. This parasitic bio-computer, installed in his left wrist, bears his identity. A hologram projects on it when he fists that hand near his chest. A text message visible in his inbox: You’re missing the Independence Day Speech, auto-signed with Ren. Yuan ignores it.
The next text plays in his brain when he is not looking at the CRAB: Come on! The war-hero can’t miss the speech in Alphatech when the war hero himself is its owner! Ren.
Yuan doesn’t reply to Ren Agnello, the CEO of Alphatech—the world’s leading transport and robotics industry, of which the Monk is the founder. Well, one of the two founders.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“â€� The system succeeded, enough to turn talents into machines, warriors into lazy citizens, knights into faithful slaves, writers and artists into pets and trophies. They succeeded, and they laughed. But not after the Apocalypse. Not after the War. We fought. We lost many, but we won through evolution. Now, things are different. Now things are better â€�”
― Misba, The High Auction

“What about the online linked-speech at nine other news portals?â€�
“Cancel all.�

“You canceled everything in the morning. You were home all day, doing nothing,� Pico says.
“Doing nothing is hard,� Yuan says calmly as if his voice is another part of nature and not noise.

“I don’t speak philosophy. I’m not in my full version.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“I don’t speak philosophy. I’m not in my full version.â€�
--Pico”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Distractions ended. Thoughts began. Then thoughts stopped, too, and the universe entered.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Don’t worry about my pills. It’s common in this era. Thoughts are powerful,â€� Mee-Hae whispers in response.
“Just cut the negative ones,â€� the Monk says.”
― Misba, The Oldest Dance

“A monk never gets angry. He simply states, witnesses, and flows along with the current of prana.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“I beheld before me an animated Corse. Her countenance was long and haggard; Her cheeks and lips were bloodless; The paleness of death was spread over her features, and her eye-balls fixed stedfastly upon me were lustreless and hollow.
I gazed upon the Spectre with horror too great to be described. My blood was frozen in my veins. I would have called for aid, but the sound expired, ere it could pass my lips. My nerves were bound up in impotence, and I remained in the same attitude inanimate as a Statue.
The visionary Nun looked upon me for some minutes in silence: There was something petrifying in her regard. At length in a low sepulchral voice She pronounced the following words.

"Raymond! Raymond! Thou art mine!
Raymond! Raymond! I am thine!
In thy veins while blood shall roll,
I am thine!
Thou art mine!
Mine thy body! Mine thy soul!---”
― Matthew Lewis, The Monk

“He waits; they will be here soon, the wind says.
Here they comeâ€�”
― Misba, The High Auction

“A monk’s purity procured through strict abstention won’t stain. Even a dead bird’s foul feather can’t tinge it.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Look, old monk. You can’t ruin this. It’s my Alphatech, too. Ren. The next text-message comes.
Manage. I’m busy—Yuan thinks the reply. The CRAB in his wrist reads his thoughts and sends it to Ren, adding the signature YY at the end. YY—everyone knows it’s the signature of the founder of Alphatech, the signature of the monk war hero.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Pico mentioned who you’re meeting tonight. Ren. The next message soon follows.
Yuan looks at Pico again. “Who do you serve?� he asks in a flat tone with no hint of surprise or anger. A monk never gets angry. He simply states, witnesses, and flows along with the current of prana.
“Lotus Lodge,� Pico replies.
“Lotus Lodge?� Yuan asks. “Are you serving a house instead of its master, then?�
“Sorry,� Pico says, “Ren changed a few lines in my coding.�
“And you let him,� Yuan states calmly.
“I’m a home-service-bot now. You don’t let me connect to my source!â€� Pico complains the same way it has been complaining for five years. It was disconnected from its source-AI—the real Pico—twenty years ago, right after it was made. Within fifteen years, this bot collected enough data to grow into a strong AI itself. At least, intelligent enough to know about its source, which is sleeping in the basement of Lotus Lodge, secured and locked. However, anything intelligent always looks for its source—it’s the oldest law of the universe.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Is this what greed feels like? Is he turning into a monster, like him? Yuan browses the CRAB in his mind. His brain sees an older text:
Let’s meet where we met last.
On the 19th, 19:20 hours. Ruem D.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Time.
Time was and always has been the door. The time that school, work, and social gatherings couldn’t take after the Apocalypse. Distractions ended. Thoughts began. Then thoughts stopped, too, and the universe entered. The true power came during the long nights. Sometimes while watching the stars, sometimes, fearing the lightning and thunder. Sometimes, accepting the energy the universe pushed through their navel when their stomach growled. Soon, no religion or ritual told them to fast, yet they were fasting. Deliberately. The door opened. Secrets came as they inhaled the cosmos, the prana, and not just the air.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Are you going to visit your pets?â€�
“They are not pets.�
“I think canceling meetings and visiting five-hundred-and-sixty-seven pets isn’t a good idea. Ren wouldn’t call it profitable.�
“They are not pets.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Privileges exist to be exploited.
The universe provides cheat codes so they can be used. He unlocked the cheat codes when everyone called him a war hero.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“A monk’s face has to be unreadable.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Secrets came as they inhaled the cosmos, the prana, and not just the air.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Give the speech on my behalf. Create my voice and face,â€� Yuan instructs Pico, approaching the forest. Leaping on this stable stone, jumping over that thick log, and crossing a few fierce streams, he walks towards the depth of the forest, the end of Lotus Lodge property. The only sound coming is from his wooden sandals: pit-pat â€� pit-pat â€�

“A war hero’s fake speech! That’s a crime!� Pico keeps complaining. “Even a home-service bot bearing the ghost of a legendary AI will be processed for that!�

Yuan ignores as Pico brings up its source again. “A war hero is permitting you. Keep it a secret,â€� he says.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“What should I use for a fake speech then?â€� Pico Not-Connected-To-Its-Source says from the car’s speakers.

“I gave you the most accurate Literature Understanding Intelligence,� Yuan says.

“That’s for book reviewing and suggesting you titles, not for making up a fake speech,� Pico protests. “I’m not connected to—�

“Find something from my last fifty years of speeches. Be useful. Never bother me with Independence-Day speeches again.â€� Yuan silences the line. This time his voice sounds a bit cold, scratching the line of anger. Just a little. Perhaps, the death of thirty-seven rarest animals on the planet shouldn’t keep you calm after all. Even if they are ‘not petsâ€�.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Your heart new to the world, and full of warmth and sensibility, receives its first impressions with eagerness. Artless yourself, you suspect not others of deceit; and viewing the world through the medium of your own truth and innocence, you fancy all who surround you to deserve your confidence and esteem. What pity, that these gay visions must soon be dissipated! What pity, that you must soon discover the baseness of mankind, and guard against your fellow-creatures, as against your foes!”
― Matthew Lewis, The Monk

“Evolution has its charms. People think harsh training has been its door, but in reality, it was easier to find. The door stood right before their eyes. Always.”
― Misba, The High Auction

“Wretched Girl, you must stay here with me! Here amidst these lonely Tombs, these images of Death, these rotting loathsome corrupted bodies! Here shall you stay, and witness my sufferings; witness, what it is to die in the horrors of despondency, and breathe the last groan in blasphemy and curses!”
― Matthew Lewis, The Monk

“An Author, whether good or bad, or between both, is an Animal whom everybody is privileged to attack; For though All are not able to write books, all conceive themselves able to judge them. A good one excites envy, and entails upon its Author a thousand mortifications. He finds himself assailed by partial and ill-humoured Criticism: One Man finds fault with the plan, Another with the style, a Third with the precept, which it strives to inculcate; and they who cannot succeed in finding fault with the Book, employ themselves in stigmatizing its Author. They maliciously rake out from obscurity every little circumstance which may throw ridicule upon his private character or conduct, and aim at wounding the Man, since They cannot hurt the Writer.”
― Matthew Gregory Lewis

“The exquisite sorrows with which they had been afflicted, made them think lightly of every succeeding woe. They had felt the sharpest darts in misfortune's quiver; Those which remained appeared blunt in comparison. Having weathered Fate's heaviest Storms, they looked calmly upon its terrors: or if ever they felt Afflictions casual gales, they seemed to them gentle as Zephyrs, which breathe over summer-seas.”
― Matthew Lewis, The Monk

“Recharge my car,â€� he says.
“Won’t you use the AT?� Pico refers to the Aerial Transports.
“I want my ride slow,â€� Yuan says, letting his dark shawl fall on the grass baring his torso. He doesn’t step away from his wooden geta sandals, each with a two-inch block at the center.”
― Misba

“It looks hand-procured,â€� she mutters. “By any chance, did you pluck it yourself?â€� She looks at the Monk and already gets the answer that a modest monk won’t provide.”
― Misba