Jebe looked thoughtfully at Thomas.

"You know, monk, I respect your resilience. Not many can endure what you have endured." He straightened up. "But my patience is not endless. Tomorrow at dawn, we will continue our conversation. And if you do not tell everything you know, I will be forced to resort to extreme measures."

With these words, the noyon left, the shaman following him. The dungeon door slammed shut with a crash.

Thomas leaned back against the wall, trying to find a position in which his wounded body would hurt least. He understood that he would not survive the next day.

But this did not frighten him. The main thing was that David had escaped with the medallion, that the crystal's secret was preserved, that the knowledge would be passed down the chain of guardians, from generation to generation, until the time came.

In the dim torchlight filtering through the grate in the door, Thomas mentally repeated the ancient words of prayer, preparing for what lay ahead. He knew he would die, but he also knew that his cause would live on.

And in this knowledge, there was a strange, calm certainty that gave him strength to meet the final dawn with peace in his soul.

The guard had dozed off at the dungeon door when he noticed a strange glow seeping from under the loosely closed door. He rose, rubbing his eyes, and peered through the small window.

The cell was empty. The ropes that had bound the prisoner lay on the earthen floor, but the monk himself was nowhere to be seen.

With a cry of alarm, the guard flung open the door. He searched every corner of the cramped dungeon but found no trace of the prisoner. No tunnel, no broken lock, no other signs of escape. Thomas had disappeared as if dissolved into thin air.

The news quickly reached Jebe. The noyon personally searched the dungeon, then the entire monastery. He ordered a search for the fugitive on the lakeshore, in the mountains, and questioned all the local inhabitants.

But Thomas was never found.

Jebe, enraged by the failure, ordered the monastery burned to the ground. Flames consumed the ancient walls, turning the centuries-old abode into smoking ruins.

The shaman, observing the fire, approached the noyon and quietly said:

"This man was no ordinary monk. There was a power in him that we do not understand."

Jebe stared grimly at the fire.

"We will search for the stone without him," he said resolutely. "Send divers into the lake. Check every cave in the surrounding mountains. The stone must be somewhere around here."

The shaman shook his head:

"Now that the monk has disappeared, I feel that the stone's power has become more hidden, more distant. As if he has strengthened the protection of his secret."

"The prophecy states that the stone of power will one day return to the world," Jebe said thoughtfully. "Perhaps not in our time. But someday."

Wind from the lake scattered the ashes of the burned monastery high into the mountains. Gray flakes swirled in the air, like the last farewell of the ancient sanctuary.

And somewhere far from these places, young David continued his journey, carrying within him knowledge that would one day, centuries later, lead other seekers to the hidden sanctuary.

It was deep night. Lake Issyk-Kul was calm and dark, only a silver path of moonlight shimmered on its surface. On the shore, among the stones, sat a solitary figure. His face was hidden by a hood, but in the moonlight, one could discern ascetic features and attentive eyes.

Thomas gazed at the waters of the lake, knowing that he would never again see either David or the other brothers and sisters of his community. Now his path lay in another direction.