Tribal remained in silence after the battle with the spiritualist.It was not a victory — it was a contamination.
During the confrontation, a spark of Akasha had crossed the spiritual fabric of the spiritualist and infiltrated Tribal.It was as if the shadows of his brother had slipped through the cracks in the soul of the son of the Earth.And something inside him changed.
Tribal began to see everything with excessive clarity. A sickening clarity.
He walked among men, unseen.He moved through cities like a lucid ghost, observing, absorbing.And the more he saw, the harder he became.
He saw crimes disguised as civilization.He saw screams muffled behind walls of indifference.He saw blood drying on the streets, ignored by those in haste.
He saw.
Violence disguised as law.Lies protected by temples.Screams smothered in beds, in alleys, in palaces.Blood on sheets, on coins, in prayers.
And then, Tribal laughed.Not with joy, but with the desperate lucidity of one who feels too much.
He withdrew. Fell silent. Closed himself off from the world.And began to design a silent decision.
If sound existed only to disguise horror, then let the world be silenced.
Alaya tried to call him. Tried to reach him.But no voice could reach Tribal anymore.
Around him, silence spread like a disease.The air vibrated but produced no sound.Beings moved but left no acoustic trace.
Alaya screamed. Cried. But nothing answered.
Her mind spun in a whirlwind of fragmented ideas, echoing within itself, never escaping.
Then — a hand pulled her out.
She felt sound returning slowly: first the wind, then the trees, then her own breath.
Confused, she looked at the man before her.A calm, steady face — yet unfamiliar.
"Who are you?" she whispered.
The man smiled gently."I am Niraga," he replied. "The one who came to build."
They moved away from the zone of silence.Rested beneath a rocky ridge.In the distance, they saw the nearest city… consumed by madness.
Beings screamed desperately, just to hear their own voices.Others hurt themselves, struck objects, begged for any sound.But there was no answer.
The Silence of Tribal had reached them.
"They're falling apart…" Alaya said, tears in her eyes."And he believes he's doing justice," murmured Niraga."But he's only giving back to the world the emptiness he now carries."
Alaya and Niraga decided to flee.They crossed mountains, deserts, forests not yet devoured by muteness.
Along the way, they warned the beings they met.Some laughed. Others ignored them.But many listened — and followed.
Humans and creatures of every kind joined them.Some came from ancient tribes, others from cities that still held echoes of wisdom.
Niraga walked ahead.His mind searched for a solution.Then he had an idea.
"If we cannot stop the silence, we can at least preserve sound."
He decided to build.Not alone.
The humans and creatures that followed had inherited from the ages past the gift of working with iron — a silent legacy left by Akasha.
They knew how to forge. To shape.They were strong. Tireless.They sweated. They hammered.
And they built.
Following Niraga's mental designs, they raised a structure that was not a temple, nor an ark — but a machine.
The Shrutakara — The Keeper of Sounds.
Other spiritualists appeared along the way.They recognized Niraga.They felt his vibration.
Each carried fragments of preserved sound — ancient songs, words of healing, sacred names.They sealed these fragments within the machine's core.
The Shrutakara pulsed. It was alive.
But it could not remain there.Tribal was coming.And the silence with him.
Alaya knew the Shrutakara had to be hidden… in another plane.
She meditated. For days.Without eating. Without speaking.Only feeling.
Then Akasha appeared.
"You seek an escape…" he said, emerging from between dimensional veils.
Alaya hesitated — but did not flee."Show me how."
Akasha did not teach with words.He showed images, mental gestures, vibrations.
And then, Alaya learned to bend space and time.
With one motion, she opened a rift between worlds.
And into it, she placed the Shrutakara — with all the humans, all the beings, all the voices.
The rift closed.
And when Tribal finally arrived, everything was silent.
But the sound — the sound still lived.Hidden. Guarded. Waiting.
The world went mute.But within the Shrutakara… Creation still sang.