Ashel and Lunara knelt before the Architect, their radiant forms filled with sorrow. Though they had ascended to the Garden once more, their hearts ached for the child they had left behind.

"Architect," Ashel spoke, his voice steady but pleading. "Oras has strayed from the path, but he is still our son. We beg you—have mercy."

Lunara clasped her hands together, her eyes filled with pain. "Do not cast him into eternal ruin. Let there be another way."

The Architect stood in silence, gazing upon them with infinite wisdom. He had seen the pride of Oras, the defiance in his heart. Judgment was inevitable. But the love of a parent, even beyond death, was a force that could not be ignored.

Finally, the Architect spoke.

"Very well. The punishment will not be eternal. But neither will it be gentle."

Ashel and Lunara exchanged glances, waiting for his decree.

"I shall take from them the one thing that unites them. Their tongues will twist, their words will change, and they will no longer understand one another."

A heavy silence followed.

Lunara placed a hand over her heart. "They will be... divided?"

The Architect nodded. "Scattered. Forced to wander, as you once did."

Ashel lowered his head. "And the Ashelun?"

"They will remain untouched."

A heavy wind stirred in the Garden, as if the very heavens themselves acknowledged the decision.

Then, the Architect lifted his hand.

A great storm rose above Orasis.

Dark clouds swirled, and a powerful wind howled through the city, sending shivers down the spines of all who dwelled within. The people turned their gaze toward the sky, confusion turning to fear.

Oras, standing atop his grand tower, narrowed his eyes. "What is this?"

A sudden crack echoed through the air.

The tip of the tower—the peak of his ambition—shuddered. Then, before his very eyes, it began to crumble.

Stone shattered, tumbling from the sky like falling stars.

Panic erupted in the streets. People screamed, scattering in all directions as debris rained down. The heavens themselves seemed to rage against the city, tearing apart its highest point.

Oras stepped back, shielding his face as the wind roared around him. "No... NO!" His voice was swallowed by the storm.

His people fell to their knees, watching helplessly as the peak of Orasis—their final step toward the heavens—was reduced to ruins.

Then, a strange sensation rippled through them.

The voices of the people began to change.

Words became foreign. Sounds twisted. Conversations broke apart into meaningless noise. Where once they had spoken as one, now none could understand the other.

Fear turned to chaos.

"What are you saying?!" one man cried to his brother, but his words were nonsense to him.

Another woman clutched her child, trying to calm him, but even her soothing voice was now unrecognizable.

Oras's own advisors turned to him, shouting desperately, but their words were a meaningless jumble.

Oras's heart pounded. He tried to speak—to command his people—but the moment he opened his mouth, he too realized... his language was not the same.

The mighty city of Orasis, once united under one voice, was now a land of confusion.

And in that confusion, Oras's kingdom crumbled.

The storm faded, but the damage had already been done.

The people of Orasis, unable to understand one another, began to turn on each other. Disputes erupted. Groups split apart. The once-mighty kingdom, built on the foundation of unity, collapsed under the weight of its own division.

Oras, the king who had sought to reach the heavens, stood among the ruins of his dream.

His ambition had turned to dust.

He fell to his knees, his hands clenched into fists.

The heavens had spoken.

And he had lost.

The storm had passed, but the damage remained.

The grand city of Orasis, once a towering monument to ambition, was now a fractured land. Its people, who once spoke with one voice, now stood divided—unable to understand one another.

Oras watched from the ruins of his tower, his hands trembling at his sides. His people—his kingdom—were scattering. The confusion had turned into fear, and fear into desperation.

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Men and women shouted at each other, but their words were meaningless. Friends had become strangers. Families were torn apart, unable to communicate. Some tried to cling together, using gestures and expressions, but others gave up entirely—abandoning the city to seek new lands where they could start over.

Oras took a step forward, his mind racing. This wasn't supposed to happen.

He clenched his fists, anger rising in his chest.

"This is not how it ends..." he muttered.

But even his own voice sounded foreign to his ears.

From the distant hills, the Ashelun people stood in silence, watching as Orasis collapsed before them.

Miran's expression was grave. "It's over..." he whispered.

Edros exhaled, a mixture of relief and sadness in his gaze. "No. This is just the beginning."

Althea turned her eyes toward the heavens, her heart heavy. "Father... is this truly the fate that was decided?"

They had all heard the storm. Felt the power of the heavens shaking the land. Now, before them, was the evidence of the Architect's judgment.

The people of Orasis were lost, confused, and breaking apart. Their once-glorious city was nothing but a symbol of what happens when ambition defies the will of the heavens.

Miran closed his eyes. "We must return home. There is nothing left for us here."

"But what about them?" Althea asked, looking at the people of Orasis, who were beginning to disperse.

Edros sighed. "They will find their own paths. Just as we have."

With that, the Ashelun turned back, leaving the ruins of Orasis behind.

As the last of his people abandoned the city, Oras remained at the base of his broken tower. He refused to move.

He refused to accept defeat.

"I will rebuild..." he muttered under his breath. "I will find a way..."

But there was no one left to hear him.

The mighty city of Orasis had become a graveyard of broken ambition.

Oras, once a king who had sought to touch the heavens, was now a ruler of nothing.

And as he looked up at the sky, his father's final words echoed in his mind.

"My son, do not let your pride consume you."

He closed his eyes.

For the first time in his life, he felt truly alone.

The ruins of Orasis were silent. The once-thriving city, built in defiance of the heavens, was now nothing more than shattered stone and echoes of lost voices.

Oras stood amidst the wreckage, his hands trembling. His people had left him. His vision had crumbled. His father had wept for him.

And now, there was nothing left.

Oras clenched his fists, his breath ragged. I was wrong...

He looked up at the sky, his vision blurred with unshed tears. He had spent his life reaching for the heavens, yet now, when he needed them most, they were silent.

Slowly, he fell to his knees.

"...Father. Mother," he whispered. "Can you hear me?"

There was no answer. Only the cold wind brushing against his skin.

His shoulders shook. I have nothing left.

He pressed his forehead to the ground, desperation breaking through his voice.

"Architect... I beg you. I was blinded by my pride. I lost everything because I did not listen. If there is even a shred of mercy left for me—" his voice cracked, "—please... forgive me."

The heavens did not respond.

Oras swallowed hard, his chest aching. He stood up slowly, his steps unsteady.

There is no forgiveness for me.

With heavy feet, he walked into the nearby forest. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, and the trees stood tall and unyielding, untouched by the destruction of his city.

He reached for the strongest vine he could find, wrapping it around his hands. He tied it to the sturdiest branch above him, pulling it tight.

Then, with a deep breath, he placed the loop around his neck.

One last time, he looked toward the sky.

"...Forgive me."

Before Oras could take his final step, a pair of hands tore the vine from his neck.

Strong, familiar arms pulled him into a tight embrace. A warmth he had not felt in centuries enveloped him.

Oras's eyes widened.

No... It couldn't be.

He looked up, his vision blurred with tears.

"Mother...? Father...?"

His parents stood before him—not as celestial beings, but as the mother and father he once knew.

Lunara's hands trembled as she cupped his face. "My son... what have you done to yourself?"

Oras broke. His knees gave out, and he collapsed into their arms, gripping them as though they would disappear if he let go.

"I-I'm sorry," he sobbed. "I missed you. I—" His words choked in his throat. "I don't deserve to see you again."

Ashel held his son tighter. "Oras, no matter what you've done, you are still our child."

Lunara kissed his forehead, her tears falling onto his skin. "And you are not alone."

For the first time in centuries, Oras felt warmth—not from ambition, not from pride, but from love.

And for the first time since his city fell, he allowed himself to hope.

High above, the Architect watched. His expression unreadable, his presence vast yet gentle.

"This is not pity," his voice echoed softly. "The garden has always been the home of Ashel and Lunara... and their children."

He turned his gaze to them.

"Ashel. Lunara. Will you bring your son home?"

Ashel met the Architect's gaze and nodded. "Yes."

Lunara held Oras's hand. "He will never be alone again."

The Architect closed his eyes.

"So be it."

Oras could not stop sobbing. Even as his parents held him close, even as their warmth surrounded him, the weight of his actions refused to fade.

He couldn't bring himself to meet his father's eyes. How could he?

"Father... I disobeyed you. I... I ruined everything," Oras choked out, his voice trembling. "I don't deserve this... I don't deserve you both."

Ashel sighed softly, placing a hand on his son's shoulder. "Oras... a father does not stop loving his child because of one mistake. You lost your way, but you have returned to us."

Lunara gently wiped Oras's tears away. "No more tears, my son. You are home now."

Behind them, the Architect watched in silence. He did not speak, nor did he interfere. This moment was theirs alone.

With a quiet gaze, he turned and walked away, his presence fading into the air. But before he fully vanished, his voice echoed once more.

"The moment you step into the garden, your sin is cleansed."

Oras flinched. His breath hitched.

Cleansed...?

He hesitated, glancing at the glowing portal before them—the entrance to the place his parents once called home. Could it truly be that simple?

Lunara held his hand, and Ashel stood beside him.

They walked together, guiding their son forward.

The moment Oras stepped through the threshold... everything changed.

Warmth.

The scent of fresh earth and blooming flowers filled his lungs. A gentle breeze caressed his skin. The air itself felt lighter, as if a heavy chain had been lifted from his very soul.

And then—he felt it.

A strange sensation surged through his body, like water washing away the years of sorrow and regret. His limbs tingled, his breath steadied, and before he could process what was happening—

He was young again.

His aged hands had become smooth. His frail form had regained its strength. He stood as a boy of sixteen, just as he had been before he sought to build Orasis.

Oras gasped, touching his face in disbelief. "I... I feel—"

Lunara beamed, cupping his cheeks. "Whole again."

Ashel chuckled, ruffling his son's hair. "Now, you can finally live without burden."

For the first time in centuries, Oras smiled. Truly smiled.

The past no longer held him captive. The sorrow in his chest had lifted. He was finally where he belonged.

While peace had returned to Oras, the world outside was shifting.

The Ashelum tribe flourished, guided by Miran, Edros, and Althea. They honored their ancestors, upheld their traditions, and built a future founded on unity.

But beyond their lands, hidden within the forests, the scattered remnants of Orasis watched.

They had lost everything—

Their kingdom, their purpose, their very language.

They had seen the Ashelum tribe still speaking as they always had, still understanding one another.

And it filled them with envy.

Why should they suffer while their brothers and sisters lived without hardship?

They whispered in secret, their hearts turning bitter.

Thus, the seeds of unrest were sown.