Preface
ONCE UPON A TIME, or rather THERE WILL BE A DAY, for the reader far in time from the time I am narrating here and above all from the sad time in which I am writing, a fantastic path that leads into the most incredible world, so wonderful that a human mind could barely imagine. It is the link-pa or path of knowledge that the three divine sages of the Sodo-asak temple built. The temple is always invisible to those who are looking for it and is thought to be in a clearing in the Uk-gidh valley of Ubkra, a territory whose traces have now been lost but which is probably attributable to the current Ukrahn or ancient Ukraine. We said that three sages inhabit the temple: Gutyg, Lihf, and Ergiok. No one knows their ages, but they are probably older than the world and perhaps not from the world at all. Their power is so immense that they could create and destroy entire planets or galaxies, but they never used their power except to build the fantastic path and the unimaginable world.
You must understand and forgive as the affairs of men do not concern the three sages, or rather the three wise men can never intervene in the affairs of men, but they know everything and anticipate everything and, in some way, prevent some events from unfolding in a certain way. Everything … except the birth of Bji-furisd son of Huihbe, the kin-sha or great teacher of our planet, the planet Dtuhi and the planets illuminated by the star Arkat, and this was the most serious mistake they could make, the most serious omission. He destroyed the fantastic path and caused the dark age that arose from it, which we also live in today. But these are the events that I am about to narrate, and I leave it to the reader to interpret them and possibly prevent them from happening, better than what the three sages did or will do, thus ending the pain and suffering that accompanied or will accompany them. Could you understand how feeble the veil of time is?
Chapter I – The Dream
She stared at her hand so intensely that she thought it would disintegrate under her eyes, at any moment. She would see the skin slowly melt and the bones become dust and fall. But all this did not happen. At first imperceptibly, then faster and faster, a sphere of light, a small star, was taking shape almost in contact with her skin. She could feel its heat and incredible power, and its new and incredibly vast energy enveloped her for a moment. And then nothingness.
Atamia slumped to the ground on her knees, staring at her empty palm where the quich-pa had disappeared. A voice came faintly from millions of miles away, from another world, another dimension.
Hey Atamia, you all right? Atamia… Atam …
She woke up in the middle of the night, feeling startled. The stars, which she could see from the half-open window of her room, shone intensely.
You weren’t ready yet.
What? Who was it that was speaking? Her mind was hazy. Kris, it had to be Kris. The light. She had succeeded. Her lips parted slightly.
You could have killed yourself. Take a sip of water. What the hell did you think you were doing?
Atamia did not answer—she was happy, she had achieved what she always wanted and now she was exhausted. She laid down again and immediately fell asleep. She had a dream, an incredibly vivid nightmare that rocked the night and her mind.
In the dream, Atamia is on a bridge—or what remains of it. Destroyed by a fire and an unknown force, a skeleton remains—a bone supported by some crumbling pylons. Here and there blue flames destroy the remains of lifeless and faceless bodies. Some buildings on the edge of the clearing that the bridge crosses are still recognizable, although they too are attacked by the flames and the blind fury of the wind that feeds and propagates the blaze. In the eerie silence and darkness, she hears or imagines she hears the shaking doors dangling on their hinges. She can see soot and sparks come off with each new attack of the wind. She perceives the nauseating smell emanating from everything, putrid and unburnt as if the flames could not kill the rotten but brought it to the surface. She cannot see at the other end of the bridge, but she can catch a glimpse of a light, like that of a lighthouse that tries to defeat the darkness, smoke, and fog. Blood, blood on the road in front of her, blood on her hands, blood on her clothes, blood on what had once been fertile fields and now just a graveyard of faceless and nameless, shapeless, indistinct bodies, remains of weapons and armor like sad tombstones in memory of anyone and nothing. Again the moan of the wind, the rain that begins to fall lightly. Also aware that nothing could ever wash away the mess that mixes with her tears and the tears of the remains of the world. Thunders and electric discharges make the atmosphere even more unreal and terrible, showing what not even the most desperate mind would ever accept could come true, exposing the horror. Then she turns and starts running, first in the woods, then into the city, the cathedral to destruction. She looks for someone, someone still alive, but she does not hear screams, cries, or anything until she begins to feel like she is being observed and chased and hunted down. Ghosts, demons, nauseating creatures, sprung from who knows what filthy universe, emerged from who knows what atrocious nightmare, have taken over her world, and she along with all those who tried to stop them, lost, died, or worse. “I failed all of them.” She is looking for a place to take refuge, she is afraid, she feels she does not have the power to defend herself, she has not been able to protect anyone and she will not be able to protect even herself. “I failed all of them.” They will catch her, transform her into only God knows what, or kill her in the attempt. She cannot allow it, she must hope, still hope that something can happen, that there is still the possibility of defeating them, of defeating evil. “I failed all of them.” She retreats into the trees, moving quickly, sometimes crawling in the mud and blood, to lose her tracks, her smell, sometimes stopping, trying to pick up every slightest rustle, sometimes running furiously, hurting her face and her body, but inside knowing that they would never let her go, that the hunt would continue until the only possible epilogue: her capture and her death.
Atamia awoke sweating, panting, with much anguish and aware that her life had changed forever.
She looked out the window and breathed the fresh early morning air. She tried to relax and collect her thoughts. She left the house barefoot, without changing, and headed for the wood nearby. Here the trees were tall, with ancient trunks and branches covered with shiny leaves and silky moss. She stopped in a small clearing and began to focus on the tree in the center, as her teacher had taught her to do. She remained in that position for a long time, focusing on the tree, admiring its shapes and colors, imagining her energy flowing, filling the tree, and returning brighter, more intense, and newer. Her mind began to clear up, now she knew what the next step was to take, she had to meet the drag-pa: the master of Dumbalì, her town.
A bit of prehistory
After a cataclysm of enormous dimensions, which I cannot anticipate, the survivors had reorganized and our planet had found a new balance. The technologies had largely survived and indeed new ones were discovered, along with new drugs that extended the lives of the survivors considerably, giving way to rebuilding a new world. The substantial contribution to this rebirth came from the intervention of the populations of neighboring planets who helplessly saw our destruction and later shared their science and culture with us.
The result was a flourishing era like never before on Earth. Like a phoenix, we were reborn from our ashes. Keeping the historical memory that had brought us to the near-apocalypse, we created a new link with the world around us. We strengthened and rediscovered mental potentialities linked to nature and the energy it provided us, and we bonded with an inseparable relationship with the earth and the universe. Space flight also flourished thanks to the longevity that the new medicines provided us and to the technologies of the people of Antus V of the star Aktar, which allowed the transfer of a mass from one place in the galaxy to another in no time. Interstellar commerce developed and with it our culture and knowledge evolved infinitely. The result was new humanity, a new man in which technology and nature complement each other and interconnect harmoniously. But all of this happened a long time ago.
One day things changed quickly. In all the populated planets of our galaxy, anxiety came suddenly; no one knew what to do although everyone felt deep within themselves that something had happened; no one had seen the brief blaze on the star called Potkus, for it would have taken years before astronomers observed it. However, by that day, the change would have been achieved, whole worlds would have been destroyed and the golden age would have ended.
Chapter II – The Prophecy
In the heart of Dumbalì, nestled between ancient trees and lush vegetation, Atamia approached the sacred Drag-pa’s dwelling. The air was thick with a sense of anticipation as if the very forest held its breath in reverence. The Drag-pa, the master of the town, was renowned for his wisdom and mystical connection to the energies that flowed through Dtuhi.
The path leading to his abode was adorned with luminous flowers that glowed softly, responding to Atamia’s presence. As she approached the entrance, the intricate carvings on the wooden door seemed to come alive with ancient symbols and ethereal patterns. Atamia took a deep breath and knocked gently.
The door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit chamber filled with the fragrance of rare herbs and incense. The Drag-pa sat in meditation, his eyes closed, and a serene aura enveloped him. Sensing Atamia’s presence, he opened his eyes, which seemed to hold the wisdom of centuries.
“Atamia, my child, I have been expecting you,” he spoke, his voice resonating with a harmony that echoed through the chamber.
Atamia bowed respectfully. “Drag-pa, I come seeking guidance. I have experienced a vision, a prophecy perhaps, and I feel the weight of its significance.”
The Drag-pa motioned for her to sit, and as Atamia settled on a cushion, he gazed into her eyes with a penetrating gaze. “Tell me of your vision, dear one. The energies of Dtuhi speak in mysterious ways.”
With a voice filled with emotion, Atamia recounted her dream, the bridge in ruins, the destruction, the haunting pursuit, and the overwhelming sense of failure. The Drag-pa listened attentively, his expression unwavering.
“You have glimpsed the threads of destiny, Atamia. The universe communicates with us through visions, and yours is a potent one,” he said, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding. “The bridge symbolizes a connection, a link that has been severed. The destruction foretells a disruption in the balance, a force seeking to unravel the harmony we have forged for centuries.”
Atamia listened intently, absorbing the wisdom that flowed from the Drag-pa’s words. “But what can I do? How can I mend the bridge and prevent the impending darkness?”
The Drag-pa extended his hand, revealing a small, glowing crystal. “This is the Quich-pa, a conduit of energy and light. It is a gift from the three sages of the Sodo-asak temple, a relic of the ancient path. You must embark on a journey, Atamia, to rekindle the link between worlds and prevent the prophecy from unfolding.”
As Atamia accepted the radiant crystal, a sense of purpose ignited within her. The Drag-pa continued, “The journey will be perilous, and you will face challenges beyond imagination. Seek the guidance of the sages, Gutyg, Lihf, and Ergiok, for they hold the key to restoring the bridge and averting the impending darkness.”
With newfound determination, Atamia stood, her eyes reflecting the resolve that now burned within her. “I will embark on this journey, Drag-pa. I will do whatever it takes to mend the bridge and protect our world.”
The Drag-pa nodded approvingly. “May the energies of Dtuhi guide you, Atamia. The fate of our world rests in your hands.”
As Atamia left the sacred chamber, the luminous flowers along the path seemed to bloom with a vibrant intensity, as if nature itself acknowledged the weight of the journey ahead. The Quich-pa in her hand pulsed with energy, signaling the beginning of a quest that would shape the destiny of Dtuhi and beyond.
What will happen now? You decide. Write the next chapter.
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