Within the Temple of Stars, deep beneath the surface of Alcarion’s world, there lay a hidden vault — not of gold or jewels, but of radiant truths. This was known as The Treasury of Fire, guarded by three celestial beings: Venustra, Marthen, and Plutonel, the Spirits of Worth, Will, and Transformation.
Each had been bound to Alcarion since birth, their sigils marked in the sky at Sagittarius degrees 3°, 8°, and 12°, locked within his 2nd house — the realm of what he truly owns.
Venustra, the guardian of connection and art, carried a bow not of arrows, but of poetry. She whispered into Alcarion’s heart the value of beauty, truth, and love that roamed free. But she was not soft — she stood upon Antares, the heart of the Scorpion, and her passions could set entire cities aflame.
“Your worth,” she said, “is not in how still you sit —
but in how wildly you create.”
Marthen, warrior of intent, walked with blazing steps. His fire was not of war — but of purpose. Where others hesitated, he charged. But even he bowed before Alcarion’s Plutonel, the deepest of them all.
Plutonel, cloaked in obsidian, carried the lantern of transformation. “What you value,” he told Alcarion, “will be tested. Over and over. It will burn, fall, die — and if it is real, it will rise again.”
He had seen the fall of old selves. He had lit the rebirths.
Together, these three watched over Alcarion’s inner kingdom — and through them, he discovered what could never be taken from him:
– His art, born from sorrow and stitched with grace
– His power, shaped not from control, but from depth
– His voice, carrying languages even silence could hear
He began to create like never before — not for recognition, but because he finally knew what he was worth. His classroom became a forge, and he, a smith of stories. Others tried to mimic it — but only he had the fire.
Yet, the more he valued his own light, the more it reflected others’.
His students began to create with wildness —
– Songs with no melody but perfect feeling
– Sculptures made of broken objects that felt whole
– Stories told backward, but more honest than anything written forward
The value was never in the outcome.
It was in the alchemy of expression.
Creative English With Alpcan 