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The path, heavy yet light, is grasped by the hair.

The young man’s footsteps dance lightly, while those dragged along sink heavily, scraping the earth beneath them—a lament for the weight of time.

The dragging foot leaves long lines, a reminder of the years, and the hair held in a grip has become dry and lacking luster, reminiscent of corn.

Ah, the old man’s hair truly resembles corn.

Thus, as in ancient tales, each step taken while holding the old man’s hair lets tufts fall to the ground, sprouting and bearing fruit, hair that mirrors the old man’s—a question arises, what shall we name this fruit? It is called corn.

Ah, the young man’s footprints leave nothing behind.

Yet from the old man’s footprints, corn sprouts—this is the old man’s welcome to the youth, is it not?

And so, they walk and walk, up and down.

That curve resembles the journey of life, so similar to the reluctant path the old man treads through time.

But can any journey be eternal?

Where there is a departure, surely there must be a destination?

And thus, the two reach their destination; one stands tall and upright, while the other bends over, unable to hold their form straight.

The volcano speaks.

Ah, a promising youth has brought the old man to me.

To perform a funeral for one about to depart!

“The flames that blaze cannot last forever, and the boiling lava too shall cool one day. Yet, the reverse can also happen. Cold stones may melt into lava, and all that burns with firewood shall ignite. This is the cycle, the natural order of the world.”

A young shaman looks down upon the elder and speaks.

Though tall and lean, his arm grips the old man’s hair, revealing solid muscles that overpower the elder. Veins pulse in his neck, and beads of sweat trickle down his face. The sweat carries a hint of bad smell, close to a dark red tone, sticky as if mixed with dust and blood, accumulating from Jinseong’s sweat glands and trickling down.

Burst capillaries have led to this; it is the cost of magic.

This pain is bearable.

“Behold, you who are to perish. Look upon your destination.”

With blood-stained sweat, he raises the old man’s head with his crimson hands and declares:

“This is the volcano. A disaster and calamity, the place where you shall achieve your purpose…”

* *

Long ago, the vast phenomena of nature were beyond human understanding.

Especially those that were unseen, the more enormous, the more so.

And thus, people reverenced with a blend of fear and awe.

To craft tales for reasons behind natural events, they wove stories, collecting them into myths.

These myths became religions, and the religions became way of life.

The lightning striking is the deed of the gods in the sky.

Countless bolts of lightning falling in a short time upon a region are the work of Zeus.

The massive waves, unimaginable, turning islands upside down and sweeping coastlines, are the anger of Poseidon.

And so, people began to offer precious things to calm that anger; this is the sacrifice.

People offered what was precious to the gods, seeking safety or even more precious gifts from them—this became the reason behind performing rituals of magic. Sometimes the precious items used in these rituals are hard to come by, yet often they are commonplace but extraordinarily valuable, too—

Ah, those are neighbors, children, and parents.

As such, countless religions began to sacrifice people as offerings to placate the gods’ anger.

And now, here, one person is about to be sacrificed.

“O goddess among the goddesses of snow, most beautiful goddess dwelling on Mauna Kea, look upon this place and behold the priest who praises your beauty…”

They walk.

Heading towards the domain of Poliah, at the end of the line, to free themselves from the grasp of the goddess Pele governing Kilauea and Mauna Loa. Dragging Kenneth along, each step igniting corn along the way, they seek the place filled with chilly air.

This place is sufficiently sloped, undulating.

Only after reaching the destination does Jinseong release his grip on the hair.

Then, he assumes a stance.

Right foot forward.

Left foot back.

Both hands ball into fists, with one finger raised.

The palm faces outward, one hand rests above the crown, the other at the solar plexus.

He bends the finger slightly, forming a hook, and moves as if to catch something in the air before clenching his fist. The hooked part is pushed into the palm, tightly packed, and then he stretches his palm open…

Swish.

He moves.

Both arms follow the same direction.

One arm descends while the other ascends, drawing circles.

The speed at which the circle forms is not rapid, yet graceful, softly curving as it gently distorts the night air, creating and recreating circles. Each time the hand traces the circle, its presence becomes more pronounced; though invisible to the eye, the path it traverses is endless and shapeless, embodying the principle of the world through this movement.

On the end of one hand, bright and warm energy hangs, trailing behind as it moves.

On the end of the other, dark and cold energy hangs, also leaving a trail.

In warmth, there is chill, and within light, darkness is found. In coldness, warmth exists, and within obscurity, brightness subsists.

Behold.

This is Yin and Yang.

This is the Taiji.

This is the Yang, and this is the Yin.

The two entwine in circular movement, forming the shape of the Taiji.

Yet within Yin lies Yang, and within Yang lies Yin, making distinction difficult.

This is the natural order of the world.

SSSSS—!

And thus, the energies of Yin and Yang began to blossom in the hands.

In Jinseong’s one hand, a flower made of ice began to bloom.

The gathering of cold energy began to rise, resembling a flower made of frost, collecting moisture upon his hand and unfolding like a blossom. It echoed the ice flowers blooming in winter rivers and the snowy blooms showcasing their white beauty on branches after a snowfall.

In Jinseong’s other hand, a mirage of warmth began to rise.

This held warmth and a bit of light, appearing like will-o’-the-wisps in the dark. Yet it moved easily with the sweeping hand, resembling a comet weaving around a person.

SSSSS—!

The flower blooms.

With a swift flick of the arm, the Yin energy struck the ground, causing white frost to blanket the earth. Trees froze, and moisture crystallized into ice and snow scattered throughout the area.

The ice flowers emerging with frost turned the air chilly enough to drop the temperature, exhaling white breath upon each exhale.

WHOOSH—!

A comet falls to the earth.

The comet, laden with Yang energy, struck the frozen ground, instantly melting it and causing the earth to heat up to a fiery red. The temperature skyrocketed past 800 degrees, reminiscent of lava’s searing heat.

And thus, lava began to bubble up from the ground, ah, this is the river of fire, the very place where the goddesses once played…

“In days of old, I lived among people and competed with them, and that event is named Heʻe Hōlua. O most beautiful goddess, you who contend with the goddess of volcanoes, Pele! I honor you, and here I will provide a sled to the stranger!”

With the Yang energy, he called forth lava, crafting a river.

The temperature dropped to a level where the goddess of snow could dwell, causing the frozen trees to extend their limbs, creating narrow wooden sleds—a fitting tribute to the tale of Poliah, who once offered a sled to a stranger to race against her.

And—

“Ah, poor soul. I shall help you achieve your purpose…”

Here is a stranger ready to race sleds with her.

Ah, that hair indeed resembles corn.

That old visage truly mirrors corn…

As if molded from it, a human clay of corn.

 

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