The Poet
&
The Warrior
The South
1. Overture
"A path well known, yet never walked
A truth unveiled, yet never told
Cannot be seen with mere eyesight
Will stay hidden from dusk till dawn
The ears will hear, the years will flow
Poets will rise, warriors will glow
The earth will shake the ground will fall
Dragons and winds will seem so slow
This path we walk, the wolf will lead
The wise whale knows all that we need
An eagle watching us from above
The black wild cat makes all fear bleed"
In truth, songs compose themselves, and tales weave their own destinies. We are but mere vessels, channels through which they flow. Yet, we claim them as our own. At times, the story we cling to leads us into realms entirely unforeseen. Once there, the sole path to salvation is to press forward, into the great unknown. For to find oneself, one must first possess the courage to become utterly lost—sometimes within the blinding light, and sometimes at the very heart of darkness.
It was a time not so distant, an age when the human soul remained at peace with dreams, still capable of hearing the faint whispers of life. In those epochs when dragons held dominion over the heavens, and all living things chanted the song of existence in harmony with the stars, there lived a warrior who walked with honor. He lived in a world we once knew, but have since forgotten.
He had fought throughout his days and emerged victorious, but this time, the battle was different. It was as though a war had erupted within his own bosom, sundering his soul in twain. How could a man wage war against himself? He knew that even if he fought and conquered, he would, in the end, lose everything. It felt as though his own blade had cleft his being apart, and one half had abandoned him. He searched, but for what? He yearned, but for whom? What was the source of this profound ache? He knew not, yet he was certain of one thing: it had all begun after that ceaseless, recurring dream.
2. Warrior’s Dream
'
"I am here without a name
No one to be, no one to blame.
And This is where I find myself
At the end of every game.
It's the cold night, the same old fight
That always comes down on me
And in the eyes of the poet
Lies the only answer I see."
Can a dream seep into reality? If the thoughts and emotions born of a vision linger even after waking, could reality itself be the continuation of an unending dream? With these questions tormenting his mind, he awoke abruptly yet again, at the break of dawn. The dream that returned night after night had utterly vanquished his sleep. Who was this silhouette that vanished like a ghost just as he was about to reach them, having crossed a thousand perils? Why did they invade his slumbers, and what did they seek?
He had never beheld their face, yet he was certain he knew them. It was as if they were the wellspring of all things, harboring the answers to questions he had not yet even thought to ask. No longer was this figure a mere phantom of his sleep; they resided in his emotions, his thoughts, his dreams—in short, they were everywhere. They had become real.!
3. Poet’s Dream
"I have visions,
Unfamiliar but clear.
I have questions,
Never asked before but real.
It's the same dream, the same feeling
The same old door that always shots down on me.
In the eyes of the warrior lies the only answer I see"
4. Leaving
I
"I was a fallen angel
A lone foreign stranger
Waiting for the call to come
To ride head on into danger
The hourglass is bleeding sand
As I fall from grace
I will make my final stand
For Whatever waits beyond the edge"
It was a cool autumn morning, and the first rays of dawn had just begun to strike the long, narrow valley stretching westward over the mountains. From the crest of the hill, he gazed downward with vacant, brooding eyes. He had no inkling of his destination, no manner of plan. The only truth he knew, or rather sensed, was that he must seek and find the one from his dream. He was bound to pursue his vision; a life without it was now unimaginable.
Fear gripped him. Yet, fear and he were old companions. Time and again in the crucible of battle, his fear had kept him alive. But this hour was different. For the first time, he feared the very presence of fear.
Then, he turned to his right. His ancient comrade, his loyal steed, stood beside him. The beast was a living monument of resolve and willpower, unstoppable and unyielding. Its midnight-black mane gleamed in the sun like the crown of a noble king. Whenever the warrior looked upon him, a sense of infinite solace would wash over his soul.
Suddenly, the tempest of thoughts in his mind vanished like a scattering cloud. He vaulted onto his steed and urged him into a fierce gallop down the ridge, plunging into the valley. At that exact moment, the cry of an eagle pierced the heavens like a slashing blade. Raising his eyes, he beheld a colossal eagle whose vast wings seemed to span the twin horizons. It soared directly above him, level with the clouds. Then, abruptly, time slowed, and his steed quickened. Lightning flashed within his eyes, and the wind began to whistle in his ears. As the valley beneath him shifted and reshaped as if coming alive, the warrior found himself advancing into a reality entirely unknown.
The West
5. Bozkır
"The earth seems wasted from long ago
How did I miss this place of old?
A no man's land where hope is lost
Winds of fear blow so strong
As I gaze into my soul
Horizon's lost, the sun fades slow
I will face this fate I caused
Even if my blood runs cold"
Pull yourself together! None of this can be real! You have been on the road for a mere three or four hours. How could an entire season have withered away?"
While striving to comprehend his location and time, he gazed around in utter bewilderment amidst the windswept steppe. He was certain he had ridden his horse relentlessly westward, yet he possessed not the slightest inkling of his whereabouts. All he could see was a barren steppe hemmed in by towering mountains, and the season was winter. He had to escape this place with haste, lest they perish from either the biting cold or starvation. For days, he roamed the foothills of the mountains searching for an exit, but it was in vain. There was no path.
Then, near the mountains in the northern reaches of the steppe, he chanced upon an ancient olive tree. It bore a hollow vast enough to offer shelter, but his horse could not fit within. Winter was descending, and a choice had to be made. He was forced to part ways with his ancient friend and companion, for from this point onward, none could follow him. “There is no need for both of us to die here,” he reasoned, and sent his horse back.
He was now alone. For a vast span of time, he found sanctuary within the hollow of the tree, surviving on its olives and the wild roots he managed to unearth. For days on end, he wrestled with the darkness, the cold, and the pangs of hunger. There was no soul to cry out to for aid, no one to speak with. Nor could he lay the blame upon another; the choice to come to this desolate, uninhabited realm was his alone. Yet, he stood firm by his resolve, never doubting its righteousness for a single heartbeat. He had to face his solitude and the consequences of his choice alone, and face them he did. For he knew that whatever the outcome, he existed at that very moment precisely where he was meant to be, when he was meant to be, exactly as he was meant to be.
At last, though the winter felt eternal, it receded. On a spring morning, as he searched once more for a way out, a steppe wolf suddenly appeared in the distance, at the foot of the mountain. The warrior sprinted toward it, but before he could reach the creature, the wolf vanished into the mouth of a rocky cavern. Without a moment's hesitation, the warrior pressed onward and plunged into the darkness of the cave.
6. The Dragon
"I keep the gate, I hold the key
I have the fire, I own the wind
I'm the one to burn you down
To push you hard, to break your will.
Many have dared to test their strength,
Many have fallen giving their best,
Once you've faced me, there's no turning back.
And your life is what you bet
I've been here long before time
Before the wisdom, before the rhyme
Look for me and you'll feel cursed
But that’s the fuel for those who thirst"
The warrior found himself within a vast cavern with a soaring ceiling. After descending through the gloom for a time, he reached a tunnel faintly illuminated by the glow of a fire emanating from deep within. He advanced with burning curiosity. Following a breathless, arduous march, he arrived at a sharp bend. After a brief pause, he rounded the corner and was instantly confronted by the source of the light: a colossal red dragon!
As his breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened with terror, an instinctive warrior reflex took hold—he managed to draw his blade. That reflex saved his life, for the moment the dragon perceived him, it lunged. There was no time for thought. Against this peril that had arisen when he least expected and was least prepared, he had to wager his very existence, for there was no turning back.
He faced the dragon as it assaulted him with all its terrifying might. His shield, scorched by the beast's torrent of flame, became too hot to hold; his sword groaned under the relentless fury of its talons. To make matters worse, the dragon’s hide was as thick as iron armor, virtually impervious to his blade. It felt as though every adversary he had ever combated in his life had reincarnated into this singular beast, attacking without reprieve. The warrior’s muscles were as taut as steel cables. Every limb agonized as if tearing from the strain of resistance, yet through his sheer, unyielding resolve, he began to advance, driving the dragon back into the abyssal depths of the cavern.
They had descended profoundly into the earth, finally reaching the heart of a volcano where lava flowed like a torrential river. At that precise moment, the dragon ensnared the warrior, intending to cast him into the magma. But with a deft, agile maneuver, the warrior found an opening and plunged his sword into a vulnerable fissure beneath the dragon’s wing. Writhing in agonizing torment, the dragon suddenly seized the warrior and soared at breakneck speed from the volcano's heart up toward the heavens.
As they breached the clouds, both were utterly spent from the savagery of their duel. Moreover, grievously wounded, the dragon could no longer sustain flight. Ultimately, spinning through the air like a maelstrom, they fell headlong back toward the earth. Overcome by exhaustion, the vertigo of the spin, and the violent shift in altitude, the warrior lost consciousness, and together, they crashed into the boundless ocean.
7. The Wise
"Beyond knowledge, lies it all
It’s where all the mysteries fall
We’ve been watching for ages long
Waiting for you to hear the call
We’ll hold the space, the time, the hour
Keeping guard, protecting the ground
When you wake, your soul will shine
Feeling blessed, your hardships gone"
Upon the violent impact, the warrior and the dragon were cast to opposite sides of the waters, and the warrior's unconscious form began to sink into the deep. At that moment, the ancient wise healers—the whales—arrived. They had borne witness to his titanic struggle in the heavens. One of the whales took him within its massive maw, shielding him. Through a timeless expanse that felt like eternity, they mended and healed the wounds of both his flesh and his spirit. Then, when the hour was ripe, the whales deposited the warrior upon the shores of a northern isle. But this, of course, was no ordinary isle.
The North
8. Sea Shells (Master’s Call)
"Am I asleep or wide awake?
Both feel the same as mind starts to shake
Is it real that I see him now
My master has found me somehow
Take me home where I belong
Give me back what I have lost
I lived through hell to come so close
To myself… the one I choose"
The warrior returned to consciousness to the rhythmic churning of the waves and the whispering song of seashells upon the shore. As he struggled to piece together his memories, he marveled at how profoundly renewed and whole he felt. He must have lost his senses after crashing into the sea with the dragon, yet how had he reached this shore when he ought to have drowned long ago?
Slowly, the visions and emotions flooded back. He recalled being enveloped by titans of the deep, remembering the deep and delicate acoustic vibrations that had resonated through his entire being. He remembered the boundless grace and safety that had enfolded him.
Then, right before his eyes, he beheld his master, who had passed away years ago, gazing down at him with a serene smile. Suspended in a state of consciousness between dream and reality, the warrior truly believed he was asleep. "Am I dead?" he asked his master. His master replied, "Yes, in a manner of speaking. The old you has perished, but the new you is more alive than ever, for you have been reborn, liberated from your fears and cleansed of your sorrows." "Where am I? What must I do now?" the warrior inquired. "You are where you must be, in the hour you are meant to be. There are no errors. Whatever path you take, it shall lead you to the one ," his master answered, and vanished into thin air.
9. Heroes
Having gathered his strength, the warrior journeyed from the shore deep into the heart of the forest for a great length of time. Suddenly, he stood before an ancient stone structure, partially choked by creeping ivy. The edifice was built with a primordial geometry resembling a pyramid, tapering with each ascending tier. Flanking the stone-paved approach to the structure were colossal pillars, and before each pillar stood a full-scale effigy of a warrior.
Examining the statues, the warrior reached the entrance steps and halted before a massive, towering double door of heavy timber. There was no latch nor handle upon it. He knocked. He waited. Naught changed. He threw his weight against it, but it would not budge.
Then, he noticed a sequence of symbols engraved in a circular formation upon the wooden panels. Yet, one space where a symbol ought to have been was vacant. The circle was broken. Driven purely by instinct, he placed the palm of his sword-hand upon that void. A sudden flash of amber-white light erupted from his palm, startling him, and he withdrew his hand in haste. He inspected his palm; all was normal. Then he looked at the door, at the spot where his hand had rested. In the space that had been vacant moments before, a newly etched symbol had manifest. The sigil consisted of intertwined geometries bounded within a thick ring. Upon the perimeter of the circle, runic characters were inscribed in an unknown tongue. He focused his gaze upon the writing, and, through some inexplicable wonder, he deciphered it instantly: The Poet and The Warrior!
At that exact moment, the massive timber doors flung wide. As a current of cold, dim air rushed out and struck his body, he stepped inside, finding himself within a vast hall with a soaring ceiling. Arranged in a grand circle around the hall stood titanic warrior statues, each exceeding three meters in height. The floor was paved with a monochrome, marble-like stone of black and white.
He walked toward the center of the hall. For a fleeting moment, he fancied he heard whispers brushing against his ear, and the hairs on his neck stood on end. Following a brief pause, he drew a deep breath and pressed onward. At the absolute center of the hall, he encountered a green cylindrical platform, raised just a single step high, crafted from an ethereal stone. He tilted his head backward. In the roof above, directly aligned with the diameter of the platform, he beheld a circular aperture fashioned from iridescent natural crystals, through which the sunlight filtered. The hour of noon had arrived, and the sun sat at its zenith.
Filled with awe, he ascended the platform and looked upward. At that precise instant, a thick shaft of light, born from the heart of the crystals above, pierced through his entire body with the speed of lightning and poured into the stone beneath his feet. The whispers he thought he had imagined suddenly multiplied into a roaring chorus; his limbs grew numb, and the blinding radiance forced him to bow his head. The final sight he glimpsed before his senses faded was the green stone beneath him bursting into emerald flames.
The hall had transformed into a realm divine, and the statues had stirred to life. Fixing their glowing eyes upon the warrior, they spoke in a singular, thunderous voice:
“We've seen kingdoms fall
We've seen children rise
We've seen eagles fly
Against the north wind, into the stars.
We've lived through seasons, they came and passed
We've faced each fear cold and fast.
We've fought with heart, and earned our names
Yet never did we do it for ourselves
On our path we've suffered and bled
Braves walked on, and cowards fled
In this void where existence melts
You can't lie, nor can you act
The first and the final, this hour, this space.
Our legacy to you: a pure heart, a soul free of trace."
The East
10. The Poet & The Warrior
"From different paths and various lives.
Here we are we meet at last
All this time just to realize
You were me all from the start.
The way of the feather followed the sword
Cut through fear ’till there’s no more
Words healed wounds as pain grew old
Shadows ceased, as our light showed
The blow of the strike and the power of the rhyme
Whistles like the wind, burns like fire
Like earth gives life and rivers run deep
Our soul is free, forever alive"
Our soul is free, forever alive
When all returned to its rightful state, the warrior was still trembling. It felt as though his body had been shattered into a million fragments, merged with all existence—both animate and inanimate—and then reassembled. He was as wise as one who had lived a thousand lifetimes, yet as light and serene as a newborn babe. At long last, he understood who he was, yet simultaneously, he bore no sense of identity. He was free. Furthermore, he knew not even what he had been liberated from. But most importantly, he now knew the identity of the one he sought: The Poet.
He lingered within the stillness of this grace for a time, then stepped down from the stone and made for the exit. He stepped outside. Night had fallen. A colossal, plate-like full moon hung at the zenith, illuminating the forest as though it were day. His perception was sharper than it had ever been. The forest echoed with a thousand varieties of sound, yet he recognized them all, listening with profound tenderness. Not a single grain of fear remained within his breast. He could perceive every movement, every shadow, and distinguish every sound instantly. It was as if he could feel every living thing individually. The moonlight, the whispering wind, the trees, the insects, the piping birds, the howling wolves—all things, living and dead, were his kin. And in a sudden flash of realization, he understood: all the wars he had ever waged had never been external; they had always been within, and now, they were finished.
At that moment, a dark shape moving in the distance to his right caught his attention. Looking closely, he discerned a massive jaguar whose midnight fur gleamed like velvet beneath the moonbeams. As he locked eyes with its luminous, burning yellow eyes, it felt as though lightning had struck his mind. There was something miraculous about this beast. The moment he moved to approach it, the jaguar turned into the depths of the forest. It was by no means fleeing from the warrior; rather, it seemed to beckon him to follow.
The warrior plunged into the woods after the predator. The jaguar moved through the forest with the fluid ease of a fish through water. At times it would materialize in the moonlight, at others it would dissolve into the shadows, yet it never permitted the warrior to lose its trail. Ultimately, as they neared the crest of a wooded hill, the warrior observed the great cat halting in a clearing at the ridge's end. He emerged into the clearing behind it. The full moon was so immense and brilliant that, for a moment, it felt as though one could reach out and touch it. The jaguar was supremely elegant, yet possessed an immense, awe-inspiring majesty. It fixed its golden gaze upon him. The warrior’s heart hammered against his ribs with sheer exhilaration.
11. One
Then, in an instant, the radiance of the great cat's fur began to intensify like the shimmering of the stars. It grew so blindingly bright that its pitch-black coat vanished from sight, transforming ultimately into a mesmerizing, incandescent orb of amber-white light. The warrior strove to comprehend the wonder unfolding before him, straining his dazzled eyes to their absolute limit so as not to miss a fraction of it.
Slowly, from the depths of the luminous orb, a human silhouette began to materialize, and in that moment, the warrior could scarce believe his eyes. This was the very scene he had encountered a thousand times within his slumbers. The Poet stood there, directly before him. He wished to call out, but just as in his dreams, his voice failed him. He sought to step forward, but his feet felt as heavy as blocks of iron. At that moment, tears began to stream from his eyes. Had he returned to the beginning? Was everything he had endured in vain? Had he traveled that immense road and survived those tribulations merely to be ensnared in the same dream once more?
No. After all he had lived through, he would not allow the poet to slip through his fingers again. Summoning every ounce of his resolve, he gathered his might and lunged forward like an arrow loosed from a bow, finding himself directly in front of the poet. Due to the brilliant radiance, he still could not discern their face. At that exact instant, the silhouette extended a hand toward the warrior. He, too, extended his trembling hand and brushed the hand of the poet.
Time ground to a halt. Then, a sudden eruption of light—so brilliant it cast even the full moon into shadow—enshrouded them both, and in a heartbeat, they vanished.
And the forest was suddenly cloaked in absolute silence…
"No words to be told
No songs to be sung
No wars to be won
For the one and only one.
Only unity... to be lived as one."