🌞The Sun Rises from the East - Episode 3
- Sasteria
- Oct 7
- 3 min read
🌑 Light & Triumph
✍️ by Raffi Rahman (Sasteria)
“Light travels farther when carried by those who once knew darkness.”
🌍 The Light Beyond the Valley
Weeks turned into months.
The valley that once trembled in silence now hummed with song and life.
Children walked barefoot on warm soil, their laughter echoing where cries once lingered.
But beyond the mountains, the world was still wounded.
Letters began to arrive — folded scraps of paper carried by wandering traders and travelers.
Each one bore the same mark: a small circle of gold ink, drawn like a rising sun.
It was the Sign of the East.
It meant: We have seen your dawn. Help us light our own.
Laila held the letters close. The ink smelled of dust and distance, the words shaky yet alive.
She whispered to the boy beside her, “They are calling for us.”
He nodded. “Then the dawn must travel.”
🔥 Clash of Voices
And so it began again — not as war, but as awakening.
They journeyed beyond the valley, carrying nothing but hope and a single lantern whose glass had cracked during the years of hiding.
Everywhere they went, the people spoke in fragments — old songs, prayers, fears.
Some still believed silence was safety.
Others had forgotten how to speak at all.
Laila would stand among them and say,
“Your silence is not peace — it is a cage built by fear.”
The boy would open his parchment and read aloud verses once forbidden.
At first, the crowd murmured softly, uncertain.
Then voices rose — overlapping, colliding — a clash of voices unlike any battle ever fought.
But it was not chaos.
It was truth, dissonant yet divine — faith wrestling with fear until both became harmony.
And in that clash, something sacred was born.
🌌 The Cities Awaken
The sound of the people’s chant rolled like thunder across the plains.
Markets stilled, soldiers paused, elders wept.
The cry that began in one valley had now become the heartbeat of a nation.
Amina, now older and veiled in white, watched from a hilltop as smoke rose from distant villages — not from war, but from hearths relit after years of silence.
“This is how the East rises,” she whispered. “Not with swords, but with songs.”
Samira’s journal was no longer hidden; it was read aloud in public gatherings.
The people called it The Book of Voices.
Every page began the same way:
“In the beginning, there was fear.
But faith was louder.”
🌅 A New Dawn Across the Desert
They reached the desert frontier by spring.
There, in a place of endless sand, they built a circle of stones and lit the old cracked lantern once more.
The flame caught quickly — brighter than ever before.
From every direction, travelers arrived — men and women who had heard of the rising sun and wanted to see it for themselves.
Each brought a handful of soil from their homeland and poured it into the circle.
The ground beneath their feet shimmered gold, as if blessed by the first light of creation.
Laila stood before them and lifted her face to the wind.
Her blue eyes reflected the dawn — the same light that had once saved her people now reflected in countless others.
“The sun that rose from the East,” she said,
“is not bound to this land. It belongs to every heart that refuses to die in darkness.”
The crowd answered her in a thousand tongues,
each voice different,
each voice true.
And as the sun crested the horizon, the desert shone like glass — a sea of light stretching beyond sight.
🌞 Epilogue – The Eternal Journey
Years later, children in distant cities would wake before dawn and face the East to pray.
They would whisper stories of the woman with blue eyes and the boy with the parchment, of the valley that sang back to life.
Some said the lantern still burned somewhere beyond the dunes, lighting the paths of travelers who lost their way.
Others said the flame had entered the hearts of the people, spreading endlessly, unseen but eternal.
And on the anniversary of the dawn, they would say together:
ٱلشَّمْسُ تَشْرُقُ مِنَ ٱلشَّرْقِ
The Sun Rises from the East.
Not as a memory,
but as a promise.
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