Years passed like golden leaves falling upon the roof of Tribal and Alaya.The house remained simple.The porch remained wide.The iron lantern kept swaying at the slightest breath of wind.
But Suryashan…Suryashan was no longer a village, nor a city: it was an empire.
Towers that touched the clouds.Bronze channels carrying water from distant mountains.Forges roaring like caged beasts, lit day and night.And at the center of everything, like an incarnate sun, reigned Arkhamesh, crowned in light, feared as the very fire he had taught humankind to wield.
Avaran and Saryan did not leave.They set down roots on the empire's outskirts.They opened a small school of silence.
There, they guided children, elders, merchants, soldiers — all those seeking something that glory could not give.
They taught:
— There is a Master greater than the Sun.He does not speak with thunder.He speaks through the pulse that lives within each of us.
At first, few listened.Then dozens.Then hundreds.Then thousands.
Words of the Great Master flowed like water between stones:through markets, plazas, barracks, written in charcoal on the walls.
The priests frowned.The generals clenched their fists.And Arkhamesh, upon his throne of bronze and gold, heard the rumors and felt something stir within his chest: jealousy, disguised as justice.
That night, the sky was heavy with stars.Tribal shaped a water wheel that would bring life to an entire district.Alaya ground herbs, their sweet scent filling the air.
The door creaked.
A messenger entered, kneeling with his forehead to the ground.
— Arkhamesh, Lord of the Sun, summons Avaran and Saryan to the throne hall.And he also summons the couple of the golden wooden house: Tribal and Alaya.
He spoke the names with a reverence that cannot be learned — only felt when standing before those who carry the Earth upon their shoulders.
The messenger left.Silence remained.
Tribal set down his hammer.Alaya wiped her hands.They looked at one another.
It was not fear.It was the weight of an encounter that had lasted decades and had yet to happen face to face.
The Throne Hall
The sun rose red.
Four figures walked through the wide avenues:
Avaran and Saryan ahead, barefoot, simple robes, absolute serenity.Tribal and Alaya behind — he contained in human form, nearly two meters of compressed light; she moving lightly, as one who carries universes in an empty womb.
Solar guards opened the way.
The throne hall smelled of incense, hot iron, and power.Arkhamesh stood.No crown.No mantle.Only presence.
His eyes were living embers.
An ancient silence settled.
— I have heard you speak of a Master greater than I, said Akasha, his voice low like the distant roar of a forge.— I wish to hear from your own lips who this Master is.I wish to know whether he is worthy to share the sky I myself have raised.
Avaran stepped forward.
— The Master does not divide the sky.He sustains all skies.He does not fit within human names.But we feel His presence in every atom, every breath, in the silence between heartbeats.
The guards tensed.Arkhamesh narrowed his eyes until they became slits of dark light.
His gaze then fell upon Tribal.
— And you, brother of matter… do you also believe the words of this man?
Tribal lifted his face.The light within him swelled until it nearly tore through his human skin.
— I do not believe, Akasha.I know.I saw Him.I embraced Him.And He called me son… as He called you.
The air grew so dense it hurt to breathe.
Alaya held Tribal's hand.Saryan held Avaran's.
Four beings.One throne.One unspoken Name.
Akasha took a step forward.The floor warmed beneath his feet.
— I love the Father more than all of you together, he said, his voice sharp with sorrow.— But in the world I have built, there is room for only one sun.Continue speaking of this nameless Master… and you must leave Suryashan before the next winter.In this empire, the only name that echoes is mine.
The wind swept through the tall windows, carrying the scent of a storm that did not yet exist.
In the days that followed, decrees rose like shadows.
The school of silence lost students.Then space.Then voice.
Not through open violence, but through constant pressure — the weight of a sun unwilling to share the sky.
Still, Avaran and Saryan taught for as long as they could.At the school.In homes.Along the canal banks.
Until it became clear: they could no longer remain.
They summoned Tribal and Alaya at dawn.
— We will not stay, said Avaran.— But we will not leave alone, Saryan added.
They were right.
When they departed the outskirts of the empire, dozens awaited them.
Simple men.Women who had learned to listen to the pulse.Young people who had discovered light within themselves.Elders who dreamed again.Children carrying small clay lanterns.Soldiers who deserted.Merchants who abandoned gold to follow silence.
They were not fleeing.They were departing.
The march passed through the gates without resistance.The empire watched… but did not dare to stop them.
Tribal watched them vanish down the dusty road.Alaya rested her head upon his shoulder.
— They will carry on the work, she said.— They always do, Tribal replied.
And Suryashan…
Within the golden walls, the effect was immediate:those who stayed fell silent.Those who tried to speak were stifled.
And the words "Great Master" were no longer heard.
They were suffocated.Trampled.Erased.
But they did not die.
They were carried away by those who left, guarded in the hands of children, in the smiles of elders, in the silent light that walked beside Avaran and Saryan.
And beyond the empire's borders, where Akasha's sun could not reach, the Name began to vibrate once more… in the pulse that lives within each of us.