The Ring of the Rose. An Esoteric Tale

Chapter I. The Trail of Light

I found it by chance — an old copper ring engraved with a rose.
It didn’t shine, didn’t sing, didn’t call — but it seemed to know my name.
Inside the band, an inscription I could only read in half-light:
“Non moriar sed vivam” — “I shall not die, but live.”

From that night on, my dreams changed.
And in each of them — a woman in crimson, and a brotherhood no book had ever mentioned.



Chapter II. Voice from the Wind

That same night, I woke from a rustle — not in the room, but inside me.
The window was ajar, and the wind stirred an old note, pressed between pages of a book I’d never opened:

“You found the ring, but it found you.
The rose within it is the key.
You once swore to guard the Name until the end of time…”



And I remembered. The Name — ancient, yet mine.
I saw faces: men and women in garments of many centuries, all wearing the same symbol — the ring with the rose.
They hadn’t vanished in fear.
They had dissolved into time — like the scent of a fading rose.

One day, their descendants would call them Rosicrucians, after Christian Rosenkreuz.



Chapter III. The Mentor

I didn’t realize at first that I was dreaming.
The room was round. The light came from the walls.
A man stood by a stone table — tall, austere, with centuries of wisdom in his eyes.

“You’ve arrived,” he said. “The ring has awakened.”

He was my Mentor. And I had been here before.

“Remember,” he pointed to the ring,
“not every rose is a rose.
But if it has passed through fire, through night, through loneliness, and remained itself — it becomes light.”

“Who are you?” I asked.

“For you — a Mentor.
For those who forget themselves — a shadow.
And for her…”

He fell silent. And for the first time, I felt her presence.



Chapter IV. The Trial of the Mirror

The first trial — the Mirror.
I stepped through an arch and entered a hall.
On the wall — a mirror, smooth as still water.
I saw myself — boy, youth, man.
All my fears. All the times I betrayed myself.
And in each image — her.
A woman.
Sometimes a mother, sometimes a sister, sometimes just a glance.
A love that asked for nothing.

When I emerged, a single petal lay in my palm — black as night.
The first petal was taken.



Chapter V. Flame and Silk

The next dream carried me into a past life.
I stood in a temple.
She entered — veil, jasmine, silence.
Her name was Saranit. I called her Song.

We were bound by vow.
I was bearer of the Ring.
She — keeper of the Mirror of Dreams.

But I left her.
For spirit.
For stars.

“Find me,” she said. “In all times. In all lives.”

I woke clutching a crimson petal.



Chapter VI. The Trial of Air

I stood on a mountaintop.
And she was beside me.
Not from the past — from this life.
The woman who had loved me. Waited.
Wanted to stay.

“Stay,” she said.

“I must go,” I answered. “The soul is calling.”

I left.
With pain.
And a white petal in my hand.



Chapter VII. The Echo

But the pain did not leave.
I saw her again.
She was still there.
Hadn’t left. Hadn’t forgotten.

“Why did you return?” she asked.

“I was hiding.
I was afraid.
But now I know: a wing without anchor may fly, but never return.”

“Go on.
So that when you find me again — you won’t fear love.”

A rose-pink petal fell into my palm.



Chapter VIII. Life in the Order

Seventeenth century. A monastery in the woods.
Nameless. Wall-less.
We were brothers and sisters of the secret.

Morning — silence.
Day — the science of spirit.
Night — letters across centuries.

I was the Keeper of the Heart’s Memory.
My ring — a rose.
Yet each day held a shadow — of the one I had left behind.



Chapter IX. Meeting Myself

In the mirror — no reflection.
The future.
An old man, in the modern world.
Grey hair. Glasses. Reading a book on secret orders.

“You’ve arrived,” he said. “I am you — but one who lived through it all.”

“I remembered you,” I whispered.
“I was waiting,” he said.

He handed me the ring.

“Now you know the greatest truth.
Not knowledge.
The heart.”



Chapter X. Death

I entered a dark hall. Sat.
The mirror showed — death.
Not of the body — of image.

Names burned. Books. Faces.
Only I remained.
Naked. Empty.

“Are you alive?” asked the Mentor.

“No. I have died.”

“Exactly. Now you are free.”

The black petal.



Chapter XI. Silence

Silence. Water. Me.
No thoughts. No desires.
Only being.

“I’m here,” she whispered.
“I’ve always been.”

A white petal fell into my hand.
It rang — like everything.



Chapter XII. Resurrection

I breathed light.
The ring — alive.
I stepped out from the inner hall.

And she was there.
With a book.
In our world.
Alive.

“You?” I asked.

“I waited — until you gathered all the petals.”

The last petal — golden — fell from my hand.
The ring no longer needed it.
The world did.

“Now?” I asked.

“Now we can be together — and walk on.”



Epilogue. The Ring of the Rose

They sat on a bench in the park.
He held her hand.
The rings on their fingers glowed with the same light.

Passersby didn’t know who they were.
An old man and a woman.
But in their silence — centuries.
In their gaze — the Order.
In their breath — the Rose.

Far away, the Mentor smiled:

“He remembered.
That means we are still here.”

THE END... or only the beginning.