He took a handful of the city’s ashes.
The clamour of the people’s grief fell silent.
A mother whispered:
Our birthplace is this burned land.

O people who have worn your wounds
like a robe of diamonds,
you whose every scar upon suffering hands
is an enduring story of hope and resistance:
these ashes are not your end, but your beginning.
The fire that engulfed your existence
will become your resurrection.
And you will rise,
stronger than every battle
you have ever fought.

Thus spoke the third Saoshyant.

Aydin Areta