Tears glistened in David's eyes.

"What will happen to you? To the others?"

Thomas looked away.

"God will decide our fate." He was silent for a moment and added more quietly: "I will try to negotiate life for everyone, and if that fails—to buy time so that as many brothers and sisters as possible can escape."

"They torture prisoners," David whispered. "The Mongols. They tell terrible things…"

"I know," Thomas replied calmly. "But remember that physical suffering is temporary. They can break the body, but not the spirit."

He rummaged in the folds of his garment and took out a small leather pouch.

"Here, take this. Inside is what will help you on your journey. Some gold, the seal of our community, and a letter to the brothers in Kashgar. If you manage to reach there, they will help you."

David took the pouch but did not hide it, continuing to hold it in his hand as if he could not bring himself to accept this last gift from his teacher.

"And if… if they catch me?" he asked in a strained voice. "And I cannot withstand torture?"

Thomas looked at his pupil attentively. During his long years of wandering and service, he had seen much, but always found the strength to remain true to his principles. He had witnessed the fall of Jerusalem, fought in the Crusades before turning to faith and becoming a monk. He knew what fear and pain were. And he knew how to cope with them.

"David," he began gently, "do you remember the story of Saint Peter?"

The young man nodded.

"He denied Christ three times before the rooster crowed."

"Yes. Even the most devoted disciple can show weakness. We are all human." Thomas placed his hand on David's shoulder. "But what matters is not that we fall, but that we find the strength to rise. If you are captured and you break… Just survive, David. Survive and continue the mission when you can."

Tears stood in the young man's eyes.

"I don't want to leave you, teacher."

"But you must," Thomas said firmly. "Not for me, not for yourself. For those who will come after us. For those who may one day need the crystal's power."

He embraced his pupil, holding him tightly to his chest.

"Go by mountain paths," he whispered. "Local shepherds will show you secret trails. Stay away from main roads. And remember: light in water, water in light. Solomon's key will open the way."

"Light in water, water in light," David repeated. "Solomon's key will open the way."

They drew apart. Thomas pronounced a blessing in Aramaic, the ancient language of their faith, and made the sign of the cross over his pupil.

"Go in peace, my son. And may the Lord keep you."

David bowed his head, accepting the blessing, then quickly, without looking back, walked away. At the edge of the path leading down from the plateau, he turned one last time. Thomas still stood there, against the backdrop of the rising sun, tall and straight. His figure seemed to glow in the rays of dawn, as if woven from light itself.

David raised his hand in a farewell gesture and began to descend. Within moments, he disappeared among the rocks and shrubs.

Thomas remained standing motionless for a long time, gazing after his departing pupil. Then he turned and looked at the lake, shimmering in the rays of the morning sun.

"Lord," he whispered, "give him strength to fulfill his mission. And give me courage to face what is to come."

He knew that returning to the monastery meant, most likely, condemning himself to death. The Mongols did not leave alive those who resisted. But Thomas had a plan—a mad, desperate plan that might give the remaining refugees a chance for salvation.