The sun hung high in the sky, casting golden light upon the land of the Ashelun. The people worked tirelessly, shaping their traditions and carving their history into stone and wood.

Miran, standing before a group of young men and women, gestured to the large slab of stone in front of him. "This is how we will remember," he declared. "Our father and mother, Ashel and Lunara, walked this land before us. Their names must never fade."

One of the young men, pressing a sharpened rock into the stone, hesitated. "But why use stone, Miran? Why not just tell the stories as our parents did?"

Althea knelt beside him, running her fingers over a newly carved symbol. "Words are carried by the wind and lost in time. But these—" she tapped the stone gently, "—will endure, even when we are gone."

The Ashelun had chosen their path: one of remembrance. They carved their scriptures, built sacred places of gathering, and passed down their knowledge through generations. To them, the past was a guiding light, shaping their future.

Far beyond the hills, where the land turned vast and unknown, Oras stood before his people, gazing at the towering structures they had begun to build. Unlike the Ashelun, they did not look to the past—they sought the future.

"This world is vast," Oras spoke, his voice echoing. "We were not meant to live in the dust. We will rise, just as the stars rise above us!"

His people cheered, their hands busy shaping stone and clay, constructing walls that stretched higher and higher.

One of his brothers, gazing at the half-built towers, asked, "Will it truly reach the heavens?"

Oras smirked. "If not today, then one day. But we will be the ones to do it."

Unlike the Ashelun, Oras's people did not carve their history into stone tablets. Instead, they built their legacy into the very walls of their city, each tower standing as a testament to their ambition.

And so, the divide between the two groups grew—not in blood, but in purpose.

For twelve years, the people of Ashelun and Oras worked tirelessly to shape their futures.

The Tribe of Ashelun, under Miran, Edros, and Althea, had completed their settlement four years ago. Their traditions had taken root—stories were etched into stone, songs were passed down through generations, and the memory of Ashel and Lunara was preserved with unwavering devotion.

Meanwhile, far beyond the hills, Oras and his people were no longer just a wandering tribe. Their vision had changed. They were builders of something far greater.

Miran stood at the edge of their village, gazing at the distant horizon.

"It's been years since we last saw Oras," he said. "Perhaps it's time we visit."

Edros crossed his arms. "If he still considers us family, he would have returned on his own."

Althea placed a hand on Edros' shoulder. "We should not let pride stand in the way. We were born together. We should not die apart."

After much discussion, they agreed.

With a handful of their people, Miran, Edros, and Althea set off toward their brother's land, expecting to find a tribe much like their own.

But what they found instead... was something beyond imagination.

Miran, Edros, and Althea led their group through the vast plains, the wind carrying whispers of a world that had changed in their absence.

For days, they traveled, expecting to find a humble settlement much like their own.

But as they climbed the final hill, their footsteps halted.

Before them stood a city of stone and light.

Massive walls stretched toward the sky, their surfaces gleaming under the sun. Towers rose even higher, their peaks piercing the heavens. The sound of distant hammers echoed across the air, the rhythm of a civilization in constant motion.

This was not a tribe.

This was a kingdom.

Miran's breath caught in his throat. "This... this is Oras' doing?"

Althea swallowed hard. "It can't be. It's... too much."

Edros clenched his fists. "He abandoned our ways for this?"

Before they could speak further, a group of armed men approached from the gates. Their armor shimmered with symbols unfamiliar to the siblings, their faces hardened like warriors who knew nothing of the old ways.

"Halt!" one of them called. "State your purpose."

Miran stepped forward. "We are here to see our brother, Oras. Tell him that his family has come."

The guards exchanged glances before one of them turned away. "Wait here."

Minutes passed, the weight of the city pressing down on them.

Then, the great gates opened.

And from within, Oras emerged.

His robes were woven with gold, his stance one of power. But his eyes—the same eyes that once looked up to his older siblings—were distant.

"So," Oras said, his voice steady but cold. "You have come at last."

Oras stood tall before them, his golden robes catching the wind. His siblings, Miran, Edros, and Althea, looked at him with a mix of disbelief and unease.

Miran took a step forward. "Brother, what is this place? We expected a tribe, not..." He gestured at the towering structures. "...this kingdom."

Oras's expression remained unreadable. "This is not a tribe, Miran. This is Orasis, the City of Ascension."

Edros furrowed his brow. "A kingdom?" He turned to look at the great walls, the disciplined soldiers, the banners flying in the wind. "You abandoned the ways of our father and mother for this?"

Oras's gaze hardened. "I did not abandon them. I evolved from them. Our parents lived in a world that no longer exists. They followed a life of wandering and tradition. But I saw the truth—we are meant to rise above that." He gestured toward the city. "Here, we are not bound by the past. We create our own future."

Althea crossed her arms. "And what of your people? Are they free, or do they follow only your rule?"

A smirk tugged at Oras's lips. "They follow because they believe. Unlike your Ashelun, bound by the weight of old ways, my people look forward." He stepped closer. "You still write your history on stones and wood. We carve our future into the sky."

Miran's jaw tightened. "Then you've truly severed yourself from us."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, Oras turned away. "Come. See for yourselves."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

The siblings followed Oras through the city streets, their eyes drinking in the sights.

The people of Orasis were strong, efficient, and disciplined. Unlike the Ashelun, who still lived in close-knit family groups, these people moved with a singular purpose—each task precise, each person knowing their role.

Towering spires lined the streets, their surfaces etched with strange symbols. The air smelled of metal and stone, unlike the forests and rivers of their homeland.

"This is what we can become," Oras said as they passed through a great square, where workers toiled to construct yet another monument to his vision. "Not a people who cling to the past, but those who build toward the future."

Edros shook his head. "And yet, you've lost something."

Oras raised a brow. "And what is that?"

Edros looked around. "Warmth. These people move like they are part of something great, yet their eyes... they seem hollow."

Miran clenched his fists. "Is this what you want, Oras? A kingdom built on power, not family?"

Oras turned to them, his expression unreadable. "A kingdom must be built on something greater than sentiment. You will see in time."

The tension in the grand hall of Orasis was suffocating. Miran, Edros, and Althea stood before Oras, their expressions hard with disappointment.

"You've lost your way," Miran said, his voice steady but filled with grief. "This kingdom you've built—it is not the legacy of our parents."

Oras leaned back on his throne, an amused smirk playing on his lips. "I have not lost my way, dear brother. I have found a new one. One that leads upward, not backward."

Edros clenched his fists. "And at what cost? These people—your people—serve you like subjects. They do not live as family."

Oras chuckled. "Family is a fragile thing. A kingdom is eternal. You still do not understand, do you?" He stood, his golden robes flowing behind him as he descended the steps of his throne. "You can stay. Witness the future unfold before your eyes. Or you can return to the past and be forgotten with it."

Althea took a step forward. "We are not meant to be kings and rulers, Oras. We are meant to guide and protect one another. That is what our parents taught us."

Oras's smirk widened. "Then perhaps they were wrong."

Silence.

Miran, Edros, and Althea exchanged glances. The weight of their choice pressed down on them.

Then, as one, they turned.

Oras raised a brow. "So, you choose to leave?"

Miran looked back, his eyes filled with sorrow. "We choose to stand against you."

Edros and Althea followed without another word.

Oras let out a slow chuckle. Then a full, booming laugh. "Fools! Go, then! Run back to your little tribe, hide in your caves, cling to your memories! When you are long gone, Orasis will remain!"

The laughter echoed in their ears as they left the grand hall, the doors slamming shut behind them.

The journey home was long and quiet. None of them spoke, but the pain in their hearts was shared.

As the sun set, they arrived at a familiar place—the resting place of Ashel and Lunara.

The burial site was simple, marked only by large stones, carved with their names by the hands of their children.

Miran fell to his knees. Edros and Althea followed.

With trembling voices, they prayed.

"Father... Mother... we have lost our brother. We tried, but he has chosen a different path. What should we do?"

The wind whispered through the trees, but there was no answer.

Ashel and Lunara, watching from the heavens, heard their children's cries. Their hearts ached, but they could not act.

But another listened.

The Architect watched in silence, his gaze resting upon the grieving children.

He did not answer.

Not yet.

Two hundred years had passed.

The divide between Orasis and the Ashelun tribe had only grown wider.

The towering city of Orasis was nearing completion. Its golden spires stretched high, its foundations unshaken by time. Soon, it would touch the clouds—a monument to Oras's vision, his defiance, and his dream of ruling above all.

But even the heavens would not remain silent.

One day, as the people of Orasis worked tirelessly on the final structures of their great city, a light descended from the sky.

It was not the burning sun, nor the silver glow of the moon, but something pure—something divine.

And within that light, a figure appeared.

Dressed in flowing white robes, with a radiant glow surrounding him, Ashel descended from the heavens, his once-mortal form now adorned with a pair of shining wings.

Gasps filled the city. The workers stopped, frozen in awe. Even Oras, seated upon his throne in the great palace, felt his heart waver for a brief moment.

Then Ashel spoke.

"My son... please, stop this."

His voice was filled with sorrow. A father's plea.

Oras stood, his golden crown gleaming under the sunlight. His expression was unreadable. "Father... You have returned."

"Ashel," the people of Orasis whispered, some falling to their knees. "It is the firstborn... returned from the heavens!"

Ashel's gaze softened as he looked upon his son. "I have come to warn you, Oras. This city—you must not complete it. You must not reach beyond what was meant for us."

Oras narrowed his eyes. "And why should I listen?"

"Because it is not the path our people were meant to walk," Ashel said, stepping forward. "You are seeking something beyond our place, beyond our purpose."

Oras let out a sharp breath, then turned away, walking back to his throne. "You speak of 'purpose' as if we were meant to live in the dirt. Look around you, Father. I have built a kingdom that rivals the heavens themselves!"

Ashel's eyes glistened. "My son... power and greatness do not bring joy. They do not bring peace."

Oras clenched his fists. "And what would you have me do? Return to the past? To the days where we wandered without purpose?"

Ashel stepped closer. "No, Oras. I would have you return to your family."

A silence fell between them.

Oras's fingers curled around the armrest of his throne. His jaw tightened. His father's words struck deep—but he refused to waver.

"No," he said firmly. "I will not stop. I will not turn back."

Ashel's wings drooped slightly, his heart breaking.

Tears welled in his eyes. His son no longer obeyed him.

No longer listened.

He was lost.

With a heavy heart, Ashel turned away, leaving the grand halls of Orasis behind.

He left without another word, his wings carrying him toward the lands of the Ashelun tribe.

The moment his children saw him, they ran to him.

"Father!"

They clung to him, tears streaming down their faces. They had not forgotten him.

Ashel held them close, embracing them all. "I have missed you," he whispered. "All of you."

They wept with joy, cherishing every moment.

But his time was short.

The Architect had only granted him a few days to be with his children before he would return to the Garden.

Even so, Ashel smiled. "Do not cry," he told them gently. "This is not the end. One day, we will all be together again. As a family."

The Ashelun people listened, their hearts full of love.

But above them, Orasis loomed.

And Oras's defiance would soon bring consequences upon them all.

The days passed far too quickly.

Ashel cherished every moment with his children, walking among them, teaching them the ways of old. He told them stories of the past—of the Garden, of Lunara, and of the Architect's mercy.

They listened intently, holding onto his every word, fearing the moment he would leave again.

On the third and final day, as the sun began to set, Ashel gathered them one last time.

"My children," Ashel said, his voice both strong and sorrowful. "My time here is ending."

The Ashelun people stood in silence, grief heavy in their eyes.

"Father..." Althea whispered, stepping forward. "Must you really go?"

Ashel nodded. "Yes. The Architect only allowed me this brief moment with you. But know this—I am always watching, and I will always wait for you beyond this world."

Edros clenched his fists. "We are not ready to let you go again."

"You must be strong," Ashel said gently, resting a hand on Edros's shoulder. "For there are trials ahead. And the world will soon change."

The people murmured in confusion, but before they could question his words, a sudden tremor shook the earth.

A low, distant rumble came from the direction of Orasis.

Miran turned toward the city in the far distance, its towering spires gleaming in the evening light. "Something is happening," he said.

Ashel's gaze darkened. He knew.

He turned to face the heavens and spoke softly, "Architect... is it time?"

The sky did not answer, but in his heart, he already knew.

Oras had gone too far.

And the final warning would soon be given.

Meanwhile, in the heart of Orasis, Oras stood atop the tallest tower, looking out over the vast land below.

The city was nearly complete.

It would not be long now. Soon, they would ascend beyond the heavens themselves.

But as he gazed upon his kingdom, a sudden gust of wind tore through the sky, carrying a voice that echoed through the grand halls of Orasis.

"Oras, son of Ashel."

The king froze.

"You have defied the balance. You have built a kingdom not of wisdom, but of pride. You stand upon the edge of ruin."

The people of Orasis looked around in fear. The sky darkened, the air growing heavy with something unseen.

Oras's eyes burned with anger. "Who dares speak to me like this?" he roared.

"You know who I am."

A beam of light broke through the clouds.

And from it, a figure descended.

He was unlike anything they had seen before—his form radiant, his presence commanding. Though humanoid in appearance, he bore no flaws of mortality. His robe shimmered like the stars, his gaze deep as the endless void.

The people of Orasis fell to their knees.

But Oras did not.

He knew.

This was the Architect's messenger.

Oras narrowed his eyes. "I will not bow."

The messenger's gaze did not waver.

"Then this is your last warning."

"Cease your ambition. Abandon this city. Or face the consequences of your pride."

Oras laughed. "Consequences? You threaten a king in his own domain?" He spread his arms. "Look around you! My people thrive, my city reaches the sky! This is what I have built with my own hands. And you expect me to throw it away?"

The messenger did not move.

"You were warned."

Oras scoffed. "Do whatever you will. I will not stop."

The messenger closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Then, without another word, he vanished into the light.

The people of Orasis held their breath, waiting for something to happen.

But nothing did.

Oras smirked. "See? Nothing. They have no power over us." He turned back to his people. "Continue the construction! We shall complete Orasis, and we shall claim the heavens as our own!"

A great cheer erupted.

And far above, unseen by mortal eyes, the Architect watched in silence.

The time for patience had come to an end.