The march began before sunrise.Not out of haste, nor fear—but because Avaran knew that some departures can only happen while the world is still asleep. When the light awakens, it demands explanations. And they no longer owed anything to that sky.
The gates of Suryashan were open.Not as a sign of blessing, nor of banishment. Simply open—like wounds the body has forgotten to close. The guards watched in silence, hands firm on their spears, eyes too lowered to meet those who were leaving. No decree was read. No word was spoken. Akasha's empire did not need to shout to impose its will; it merely needed to exist.
Avaran walked at the front.Barefoot. A simple cloak. The weight he carried was not on his shoulders, but in his chest. Behind him came Saryan and the others—men, women, children, elders too old to run and the young too young to understand. They were not many. They never are. Great truths do not travel in crowds.
As he crossed beyond the walls, Avaran felt something.It was not relief.It was not fear.
It was absence.
As if something that had always pressed upon his conscience had, at last, stepped back. The sun still shone over Suryashan, gilding towers and domes, but beyond the walls its warmth felt different. Less possessive. Less watchful.
He did not look back.
He knew that if he did, he would see what he had always seen: grandeur that enchants, power that seduces, order that promises safety at the cost of silence. And Avaran had already learned—perhaps too late—that every order which fears questions carries within itself the seed of ruin.
They walked for days.
The first cities welcomed them with curiosity. In some, they were offered water, simple bread, places of shade. Beings who listened more than they spoke. Those who felt, even without knowing how to name it. In those cities, Avaran noticed gazes that lingered too long, as if something in the travelers awakened ancient memories—memories never taught, yet stubbornly alive.
In others, however, doors were closed. There was fear in the faces. Fear of the wrong sun. Fear that anything not born of Suryashan was heresy, disorder, threat. They were called traitors, dreamers, fools. Once, a stone crossed the air. It struck no one—but the warning was clear.
Avaran did not respond.He had learned that to argue with fear is to offer it a stage. And fear, when applauded, grows.
At night, while the group slept, he remained awake. He listened to the wind. To the pulse of the land. And deeper still, to something that did not come from outside. A silent tension, like a cord drawn too tight within him. He knew: this journey was not merely an escape from the empire. It was a departure from who he was—and that hurt more than any rejection.
At that time, he was still called Avaran.And he did not yet understand that some names do not survive the crossing.
After many moons, feet no longer counted steps. The road had become a blurred line between what had been left behind and what they still dared not imagine. The beings walked in silence—humans, spiritualists, slow-stepping giants, others of less harmonious forms, coming from the edges of the world, where creation itself seemed uncertain. No one was refused. No one was chosen. Whoever walked… walked.
That was when they reached Sodraya.
The city rose in pale stone, surrounded by shallow canals and artificial gardens. There was music in the air. Not sacred music—living music. Laughter. Crossing voices. The scent of warm food. Existence there seemed to be celebrated without guilt.
They were welcomed.
Not with suspicion, nor excessive reverence. Simply with open curiosity—the rarest form of hospitality. Shelter was offered. Water. Space. Questions without threat. And there, for the first time since leaving the empire, Avaran felt something different.
The voice of the Great Master… was heard.
Not whispered in hiding. Not spoken in codes. Not feared. In Sodraya, beings spoke of the Master as one speaks of the wind or the night—something that requires no temple, only attention. Spiritualists gathered in the squares. Giants sat upon the ground in respectful silence. Even the deformed beings from the margins seemed less bent upon themselves.
The city vibrated.
But not with purity—with excess.
Avaran realized it gradually. Freedom there knew no limit. Everything was permitted. Everything explored. Everything carried to the edge of meaning… and one step beyond. The Master's voice was welcome, yes—but mixed with many others. Desire. Will. Ego. Interpretation.
And yet… they stayed.
Because Sodraya did not reject.And those who are weary often confuse welcome with truth.
It was there that Avaran taught the most.There that more beings listened.And there that something within him began to strain—like a note held too long.
Avaran's voice fell silent.
Tribal remained quiet, eyes fixed on him, listening not only to the words, but to the space between them. The fire of the explosion still echoed in his recent memory—but now it grew deeper roots.
— It was in Sodraya that you understood, Tribal said, without accusation.
Sodraya did not want them to leave.And the followers… neither did they.
The city offered what the road never had: stability. There was abundant food, shelter, constant exchange, pleasure without guilt. The beings laughed more. Slept better. Some began to call Sodraya home—a dangerous word for those born of a calling.
When Avaran spoke of continuing the journey, he met resistance.
— Here we are heard, they said.— Here no one persecutes us.— Here the Great Master is accepted.
And it was true.But not whole.
The Master's word flowed through Sodraya like strong wine: it warmed, it numbed, it intoxicated. Each shaped it to their own desire. Silence was traded for discourse. Listening for interpretation. Truth for usefulness.
Avaran saw.
He saw the teachings used to justify excess. He saw the Master's name invoked to validate desire, possession, dominion. There was no hatred there—and that was the most dangerous part. There was too much comfort for anyone to wish for change.
He tried to speak. Few times. Carefully. Without imposing.
But his words no longer landed—they slid away.
That was when Avaran closed himself off.
Not out of disdain. Out of preservation.
Together with Saryan, he withdrew little by little from the squares, the circles, the voices. They meditated for long stretches, in deep silence. Hours. Days. Sometimes entire moons. Their bodies were in Sodraya—but their consciousnesses… were not.
Some called it abandonment.Others, spiritual pride.
None of them understood.
Avaran felt something breaking within him. As if teaching there now meant participating in distortion. And that wounded him more than the rejection he had faced elsewhere. Because Sodraya did not expel him—it absorbed him.
And he knew: there are places where staying is the true fall.
It was in that time of silence that Avaran began to change.
Not yet in name.Not yet in gesture.
But in essence.
His voice faltered slightly as he told this. Tribal noticed.
— You fell silent… so as not to betray what you had heard, Tribal said, with understanding.
Avaran nodded.
— Silence was my last form of fidelity.
And within that silence… something new began to be born.
Avaran took a deep breath before continuing.
— After Sodraya… Saryan and I stopped walking with our feet.
Tribal did not interrupt.
— We meditated for days. Perhaps moons. Time ceased to be a reliable measure. First in absolute silence. Then… crossing.
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if still there.
— We crossed the planet's veil. Not with force, but with listening. Like drawing back a curtain without tearing it. At first, there was only vibrating darkness. A space where matter could not hold, but intention could. That was when we perceived the line.
— It was almost nothing, Avaran said. A line too thin to be seen. It could only be felt. A seam in reality.
They followed the line.
It led them to something no human word could contain: an energetic ocean. Not water. Not light—pure movement. Currents of intention. Tides of consciousness. Waves of existence not yet condensed.
— We were confused, he confessed. We thought we had gone too far. That we should not be there.
But they did not leave.
They remained.
And by remaining, they learned.
They learned to read that ocean—not as one reads symbols, but as one reads the wind upon the face. They learned to condense energy, to give it form without imprisoning it. They learned to navigate.
— That was when we understood, Avaran said softly, that the planet's veil was not a limit. It was only… the first.
They discovered how to leave that veil and touch others. How to cross from world to world without violence, without tearing—only by adjusting one's own vibration to the destination.
The universe opened.
Not as a void—but as an immense, living field. Planets pulsing at different frequencies. Some dense. Others nearly thought. Life in forms that defied symmetry, logic, comfort.
They were welcomed.
Beings from distant worlds received them without strangeness. Some walked upon energy itself. Others inhabited mutable bodies. Others still had no fixed form. And many… taught without words.
— We learned more by listening than by asking, Avaran said. And the more we learned, the more we realized how little we knew.
They traveled through many worlds.
Until one day… they felt something different.
— Before seeing it, we felt it, Avaran said, opening his eyes to Tribal. A planet whose aura did not wound, did not demand, did not seduce. It simply… welcomed.
It was golden.
Not a gold of power, nor of fire. A serene gold, like dawnlight filtered through mist. The entire planet vibrated in balance. No excess. No lack.
— That was where we knew where we were, Avaran said, with restrained reverence. The first planet developed by Elshua. The world where creation learned to walk without domination.
Silence.
Tribal felt something shift within him—not surprise, but recognition. As if a memory that was not his had been touched.
— And that was where you ceased to be only Avaran, he said.
Avaran nodded slowly.
— That was where the name began to no longer fit.
Avaran paused for a long time. Tribal sensed it was not fatigue—it was reverence. Some memories still demanded silence before being touched.
— When we touched that planet… Avaran resumed, your memories ended there, Tribal. Not because there was nothing more to see… but because you could not endure it.
Tribal nodded. He knew.
— When I felt Elshua, it was no ordinary presence. It was like trying to look directly at the origin of sight.
Avaran continued:
— We met him.
Not as king.Not as master.Not as a divinity seated upon thrones of light.
Elshua walked.
Simple. Attentive. Present.
They understood before the first word was spoken: spiritualists did not come from the Great Master. Sensitivity, listening, inner silence… all of that came from Elshua. Fragments of him dissolved into creation—not as control, but as possibility.
— That was when we understood, Avaran said, that many confuse echo with source.
Elshua taught little.
Not because he did not know—but because he knew too much to wound time. Each gesture of his seemed to measure eras. Each word came only when there was no other path.
— He listened to us more than he spoke, Saryan once said. And that taught us more than any discourse.
But Elshua also saw.
He saw that this was not their place.
— You still belong to the ground, he said, with gentle firmness. And the ground needs you.
Avaran and Saryan resisted.
Not out of rebellion.Out of anticipated longing.
Elshua did not argue.
With a simple gesture—almost a nod—he returned them.
In Sodraya, their bodies had never left.
While they meditated, day after day, their followers began to feel the absence. First unrest. Then fear. Finally, need. They went to the house where Avaran and Saryan remained.
And they saw.
The two were seated in the air.
Legs intertwined. Bodies suspended. A faint light—not imposing—escaped from them like visible breath. It was not miracle. It was consequence.
The followers did not understand.
And what is not understood… becomes worship.
When Avaran and Saryan opened their eyes, the house was no longer a house.
It was a temple.
Symbols had been raised. Silence had been ritualized. And the beings knelt not to listen… but to adore.
— Avaranael… they said.— Saryah…
The names were born there.
Avaranael: "the one who walked with the messenger of origin"—not an избранный, but a survivor of revelation. Saryah: "the one who guards listening"—a presence that does not speak before time.
Avaran felt the weight of the new name before he accepted it.
With renewed fervor, the followers listened again. But now with inflamed eyes. With urgency. And, for the first time, with expectation of action.
They saw Sodraya as it was.
A place where everything was permitted—including distortion. Where teaching was used to justify excess, dominion, hollow pleasure.
— You must do something, they said.— This must end.
Avaranael and Saryah meditated.
They tried to return to the energetic ocean.
They could not.
The planet's veil was closed.
The line no longer revealed itself.
But as they walked along the veil… they were not alone.
There was someone there.
A presence moving as one who knows every fold of reality. Not aggressive. Not hidden. Simply… inevitable.
He spoke.
— Leave the city.
Avaranael felt the ground of consciousness tremble.
— It must be destroyed.
Absolute silence.
Avaranael understood, in that instant, that the greatest error was not to act…
It was to act too late.