See the stars above you shining,
guiding you along
Hear the music in the forest,
as you make your journey home

When the nights are getting colder,
and when you lose your way
Feel my hand upon your shoulder,
and remember you're not alone

The scent of summer wine on the breeze
The lantern soaring over the sea
Wherever we go, you need to know
That as long as you are by my side,
we'll never be far from home

For you, you light up every corner of the world
You fill the air with joy and life

So please, when you feel it's going wrong
Just take a moment, cast your burdens to the wind
And listen as I sing you a song

Long days that turn into sleepless nights
The memories we share shine so bright
Wherever we go, you need to know
That as long as you are by my side,
we'll never be far from home

For you, you light up every corner of the world
You fill the air with joy and life

So please, when you feel it's going wrong
Just take a moment, come back to our special place
And there the wind will sing to you of
How you light up every corner of the world
And make us all feel so alone

You know, when the time has come to journey home
Every star and every cloud
Smiling down on you, Traveler.

When Shah Ramshahr’s tower finally perished, like a honey-hued poisoned dream swallowed by briny winds and blowing sand,
royal power drifted among countless short-lived states like morning dew, only to be buried again in blood and tears.
Beneath the sapphire dome, the nobles who once offered their reins to the tyrant broke free of their bits—
yet chased after false masters calling themselves sages, plunging into a game of blood and sand upon the sun-scorched wasteland.

Proud people of Tulaytullah — long had they cast aside the silent warnings of the wise—
realized only after their ambitions had scattered with the name of Gurkan the price of rebellion.
When the brutal Khagans rode in on fine steeds, no warriors remained to guard the Garden of Endless Pillars.
Those drunk on dreams of gilding could only bow again, like tame cattle, before a new master.

Greedy soldiers and taxmen came from afar, stripping the already numb townsfolk.
Though the pale-blue royal court called itself benevolent, its harshness toward its subjects never changed.
Under foreign hoofs there were always some who sought solace in poeticized memories,
singing in the cool shadows beyond the burning sun of King Humayun’s brief hegemony.

To free his people from their chains, the young noble Goudarz descended into the temple buried deep under the sands.
Legend said the palace belonged to the Ibis King, the wisest of the Seven Sages, envoy of stars and moon.
It was an almost hopeless gambit, for every plan to save the nation fell before an army blazing like the sun.
Tighnarian’s sages had long since fled, and the grand temple of the desert’s great wise man lay drowned beneath an iron sea of sand.
Yet in the dry depths of the spring there truly came, to his prayer, a sacred and ancient echo…

“Child of blood and breath, you crave the might of scorching sun and sandstorm, thinking to raise a tower again from drifting dunes.
I can grant you the power no prophet or believer has yet witnessed, as one grants brine to a thirsty camel.
But the Mistress of Flowers and Oases once left three riddles to the King Deshret whom I serve.
That wise and luminous master, even to his dark poisoned sleep, never solved their meaning.
If you can lift the veil of this doubt that has long bound me, I shall grant you kingship as a gift.”

The young Goudarz answered:
“O holy one of oracles, of writings, of healing and wisdom—then tell me these ancient riddles.
I will offer a mortal’s answer with pure intent, for my journey allows no shadow of falsehood.”

Thus the sage monk spoke:
“What arises and flourishes, yet always dies in turn?
It waxes like the moon, and wanes like the moon.
Both the wise and the foolish desire it often.
Yet it swells and ebbs in the chambers of the heart?”

The young Goudarz replied:
“You speak of intrigues and betrayals—the weakness and fatigue bred beneath the robes of sages who preach goodness.
Because of their weakness the sapphire dome fell, and the people wept.”

The sage monk laughed and did not refute the noble youth’s answer,
but as promised placed the scepter of “deception” into the boy’s hand.

Thus the name Goudarz faded from the chronicles,
replaced by the majesty of King Saleb Dowleh.
The warrior once intolerant of lies wove kingship with cunning,
casting a mirage of a golden age beneath the twilight’s rainbow glow.

…

Until even the most perfect lie could no longer restrain voracious power,
Until the constructs of the Lord of Sands could no longer fake divine epiphanies,
The Ibis King’s voice sounded again, asking the same question.
The aged king, to the mourning song of Gurabad, gave his final answer:

“O holy one, I can utter nothing but falsehood— even I cannot trust my own words.
All that is left to me is to draw my sword and die fighting, at least not betraying the brothers who came to my aid.
O holy one, whether you seek truth or falsehood, drink from my blood while it is yet warm.”

After that, the crown was seized by foreign Dei until all the nations were ground to dust by the desert wind.
And as moonlight ambered and thickened like honey, the sage kept the king’s last true intent as the answer.