The warmth of the feast still lingered in the air, but for Miran, Edros, and Althea, time itself seemed to halt.
The young boy before them stood with a knowing smile, his golden-brown hair shifting gently with the evening breeze. Though his body was youthful, his presence carried the weight of someone who had lived through countless years of sorrow and redemption.
Miran swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. "Oras... is it really you?"
The boy gave a slight nod. "Yes, Brother Miran. It's me."
Edros frowned, skepticism flashing in his eyes. "How can this be? You were old when we last saw you. You—" He hesitated, unable to say the words. "You were taken from us."
Oras took a deep breath, stepping closer to them. "I was. But the Architect has given me another chance."
Althea placed a hand on her chest. "Why... why do you look like this?"
Oras smiled gently. "This is who I am now. My sins have been cleansed, and the garden has restored me. The Architect did not bring me back to lead or rule, but to walk among you once more, as your brother."
Miran, Edros, and Althea exchanged glances. The Ashelun around them had begun to notice the exchange, murmuring amongst themselves.
Edros clenched his fists. "If you are truly Oras... then tell me—where are Father and Mother? Are they here?"
The question hung in the air. For a moment, Oras's smile faded.
Then, he spoke.
"They are waiting for us... in the garden. But one day, we will reunite again as a family, and there will be no more separation."
A silence followed his words. Some of the Ashelun lowered their heads, while others clutched their hearts at the thought of seeing Ashel and Lunara once more.
Miran exhaled slowly. "Then... what now, Brother?"
Oras looked at them with certainty in his eyes.
"Now, we prepare. There is more to come."
The murmurs of the Ashelun filled the air as they gathered around Miran, Edros, Althea, and the young Oras. Some watched in awe, others in doubt. Though he had returned, the scars of his past choices still lingered in their hearts.
One of the elders stepped forward. "How do we know you are truly Oras? The last time we saw you, you defied us, turned against us. Now you return looking younger than any of us. What proof do you have?"
Oras met the elder's gaze calmly. "I do not come to prove myself. I come as your brother."
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Miran, sensing the tension, raised a hand. "Enough. We will not cast him aside so easily. He is here, and if the Architect has allowed his return, then we must listen."
Edros crossed his arms. "Then tell us, Brother, why have you come?"
Oras exhaled, his youthful face solemn. "I came to warn you. The Forgotten are not gone. They will return—stronger, more relentless than before. And when they do, you must be ready."
The gathered Ashelun whispered among themselves. The memory of the first battle was still fresh, and now another threat loomed on the horizon.
Althea placed a hand on Oras's shoulder. "Then stay, Oras. Fight with us. We can face this together, as a family."
A sad smile crossed Oras's lips. "I cannot stay. The garden is my home now. But know this—I am not lost to you."
Miran's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Oras turned to face all of them, his voice steady. "The Architect has given me a gift. I may walk between the garden and the world as I please, without worry or restriction."
A hush fell over the Ashelun. Some looked at him with admiration, others with longing.
Edros's expression softened. "Then... this is not goodbye?"
Oras shook his head. "No, Brother. Whenever you call for me, I will be here."
With those words, a soft light surrounded Oras. A warmth filled the air, and before their eyes, he faded—returning to the garden once more.
Miran, Edros, and Althea stood together, watching the spot where he had stood.
Althea whispered, "He has been forgiven."
Miran clenched his fist, determination burning in his eyes. "Then we must make sure we are ready for what comes next."
The Ashelun knew that survival was no longer enough. The Forgotten would return, and this time, they needed more than just walls and weapons. They needed unity. Strength. A foundation that would endure beyond generations.
Under the guidance of Miran, Edros, and Althea, the tribe shed its old identity and embraced something greater. They would no longer call themselves just a people—they would build a nation. A home that could withstand time itself.
And so, they chose a name worthy of their lineage.
"Ashelia," Miran declared before the gathered people. "A name taken from our father, who guided us. This will be our home, our fortress, and our legacy."
A roar of approval erupted from the crowd. The Ashelun were no more. From that day forward, they were Ashelians.
Miran, Edros, and Althea were now 478 years old. Time had not withered their minds, but it made them aware of their limits. They could not lead forever.
Ashelia needed scholars, warriors, and builders. So they worked tirelessly, writing down everything they had learned. The scriptures of mana, the history of their people, and the teachings of Ashel and Lunara were preserved on newly crafted papyrus.
Young minds studied mana, trying to understand the flow of energy within them. Some attempted to manipulate it, forming primitive spells. Others theorized its nature, discovering its connection to life itself.
Meanwhile, the hands of inventors shaped the world around them. Tools improved, homes became sturdier, and knowledge spread faster than ever before. Under the watchful gaze of the heavens, Ashelia flourished.
Oras sat on the soft grass, his fingers idly tracing shapes into the soil. He no longer bore the weight of age or sorrow. Here, in the garden, he was as he once was—a boy full of life and warmth.
But in his heart, he knew the truth.
He had lost himself when Ashel and Lunara passed. His grief had driven him away from his siblings, pushing him down a path that led to ruin.
Yet now, in this place of peace, he had found himself again.
A chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned back, gazing at the endless sky. "I really was a fool, wasn't I?"
A gentle breeze rustled the leaves. It carried no words, yet he understood its meaning.
Smiling, Oras stood. "I won't forget who I am. Not anymore."
He turned his gaze toward the world beyond the garden. His siblings had built something new, something grand. He wasn't ready to visit just yet, but one day, he would walk among them again—not as a king, not as a ruler, but simply as their brother.
For now, he would wait.
And when the time was right, he would return.