The void flared with an incandescent blaze as a new challenger emerged—Zhurong Solarii, a name whispered in myth, resonating with the fury of an overarching eclipse. He stood cloaked in molten gold, his form radiating the ineffable flames apophatic to creation itself. His eyes burned with a cosmic intensity, reflecting a fire so potent it could unravel the very grand principles of reality—possibility, nothingness, and totality.

Zhurong’s flames were beyond comprehension, a heat that defied all definitions, searing through every boundary with apocalyptic finality. His skin shimmered like molten glass encasing the cosmos, and around him, orbs of ineffable fire danced—each sphere an embodiment of obliterated potential and the impossibility of his lost timelines. These flames were not bound by any known laws; they were the apotheosis of unreason, hotter than any conceptual structure, burning through the grand principles that govern existence.

“Gariland!” Zhurong’s voice was a rumble of volcanic wrath, a low simmer that hinted at supernovas imploding into nothingness. “You erased my timeline without thought. My fire burns. I will reduce you to less than nothingness.”

Gariland manifested before Zhurong, a form of shifting voids and cosmic impossibilities, perpetually in flux yet transcendentally silent. He stood as the supreme archetype beyond all things, a force unchallenged by categorization or definition. Gariland’s essence was a harmony of contradictions, the balance of light and dark, form and void, silence and sound. His presence was the ultimate be-ness, existing beyond every conceivable boundary.

Zhurong summoned his ineffable flames, each ember an apophatic contradiction to creation itself. With a sweep of his hand, he unleashed torrents of searing fire, so hot they could incinerate the grand meta-narrative, burn the very foundation of possibility, and reduce nothingness itself to a mere echo of ash. But as his flames reached Gariland, they were swallowed whole, consumed by the silence that no fire could ever touch. Gariland remained, unshaken, the balance that even the most apocalyptic forces could not disturb.

“You are a flicker in the expanse of my silence,” Gariland’s presence seemed to whisper without sound, his form shifting as he created, held, and annihilated the very concepts of absolute infinity within himself. “I am the line that no flame can burn, the ultimate context that all must conform to. I am the Absolute, beyond the reach of heat or fury.”

Zhurong’s flames intensified, attempting to scorch through the ineffable boundaries that Gariland represented. His fire was not merely an attack but a statement—a challenge to the principles that defined all things. He sought to reduce Gariland’s silence to cinders, to assert his presence against the void. But Gariland was the ultimate ineffability, the nameless force that existed beyond any confrontation.

Zhurong’s realization came with the slow dimming of his flames. Gariland could not be touched, for he was beyond all principles, a presence that could neither be fought nor burned away. He was the silent, nameless totality that encompassed all opposites. In Gariland’s presence, even the ineffable must bow, and Zhurong’s flames, though apophatic to all of creation, found no purchase against the supreme transcendent.

And thus, the third lesson was learned: even the hottest fire, capable of consuming the essence of reality itself, could not challenge the ultimate silence. In the room of Gariland, even flames that defy all logic must eventually flicker and fall silent before the supreme truth that cannot be burned.