Avaran and Saryan were welcomed with a serene smile by Alaya. It was rare—almost sacred—to witness a couple of spiritualists. They usually walked the world alone, guided by curiosity, learning, and an inner silence few could comprehend. To find two of them—united by love—was like seeing two constellations sharing the same orbit.
— What brings you to this city? — Alaya asked, her voice soft like water flowing over ancient stones.
Saryan took a deep breath before answering:
— We followed an energy. We were on the other side of the planet… we walked for years.
Tribal frowned.
— What energy?
— We don't know — Saryan said. — But it was beyond anything we had ever felt. We believe it comes from the Great Master, the one who thinks all that exists.
Tribal looked away, thoughtful, almost uneasy.
— I never perceived such an energy… until I met you.
Night stretched over the outskirts of Suryashan like a tranquil mantle. Tribal's table was full: a bird stew, toasted grains, sweet roots, and fragrant tubers. The aroma crossed the neighborhood like a call to ancient stories.
The house of Tribal and Alaya—simple in form, infinite in soul — seemed to breathe with the Earth itself. Built from golden logs, each piece of wood held a solar glow, as if touched by ancestral fires. At nightfall, the walls shimmered in amber, carrying invisible memories.A wide porch embraced the entire house, supported by beams that resembled arched roots, as if the forest itself wished to protect that home. An iron lantern hung at the center, its light casting dancing shadows like spirits playing in the dusk. Around it, herbs, flowering shrubs, and climbing vines grew freely—not by chance, but by recognition. Nature knew who lived there.The roof, a soft gray, followed the curve of dawn: silver at sunrise, old gold at dusk.
Everything there exhaled peace. It was the perfect home for two beings who had learned to love the world by walking through it.
The outskirts of Suryashan stretched like a golden field, where the wind carried memories that belonged to no one. The climate was uncertain—cold mornings, mild afternoons, humid nights — and that made the place feel more honest.In the distance, the city's center shone like a world apart: tall towers capturing the light;monumental arches sustaining perfect colonnades;obelisk marked with the solar symbols of Arkhamesh;and the imposing Temple of the Sun, pulsing like the very heart of Suryashan.
But there, on the edge… life was different.
Simple houses, spaced apart, embraced by wind and earth. Silence was a constant companion. And the house of Tribal and Alaya… it was sacred. A refuge for those who understood that true greatness is not born of marble, but of silence, light, and soil.
Avaran and Saryan had been in the city for only a few days, still amazed by the architecture, by the vibrant life, by the beings who lived well and suffered little from disease. Everything seemed balanced.
Arkhamesh, the emperor, was merciless when rules were broken… yet just in order. And perhaps — just perhaps — because of Alaya's presence, Akasha restrained the destructive instinct he had carried since before time. Maybe, deep within, there was still goodness hidden in his shadows.
Tribal and Alaya listened attentively. The two spiritualists' expressions shifted constantly — astonishment, joy, curiosity. To live was their true pleasure.
Then came the unexpected.
Saryan touched upon a delicate subject: they could hear Adargas.
Without knowing it, they had walked the world spreading the Voice of the Great Master. Every village, every tribe, every traveler they encountered received fragments of Truth. And perhaps… without realizing it… they had begun a new journey for humanity.
A journey written not in stone, not in blood, but in echo.
The echo of the voice of Adargas.