...I don't dare presume to mention her true name, let alone overstep my bounds as an earthly being to judge her divinity. I, Sunitha Cosamvi, a servant of shallow intellect, have merely recorded the stories heard from the sages who followed her in the past and nowhere else. These words are as true and evident as my own existence.

When the moon's shadow shattered, hordes of beasts emerged from the deepest depths of the abyss and devoured living creatures by the thousands. Of those she created, none could escape their destined annihilation. The goodness, peace, and wisdom she had bestowed — all perished before this pure malice without exception. Under that sneering waning moon, the black tide of decay surged over the deserts and through the valleys, turning clear springs once interlaced with roses into puddles of filth, defiling the earth as mortals trembled with despair. The sages called it The Black Tide, for it was a dark flood that swallowed up fields, villages, and cities.

She witnessed this all with her own eyes and wept bitterly for the sorrow and suffering of the living. Her tears fell to the ground, dispelling the foul flames and giving birth to blossoms abounding with sweet dew from the once barren and scorched earth. However, the root cause of the blight still lay beneath the earth, and the shadow of death continued to obscure the once luminous moonlight. Thus, she vowed to save the creatures of the earth, embarking on a final journey together with her followers.

She followed the dappled light and shade until she entered a long-since ruined forest. With each step she took, a thousand Nilotpala Lotuses bloomed in her wake. Every calamity — raging fires, death, and destruction — all receded before the wonder of her wisdom. Fragrant flowers bloomed and proliferated again in this dead domain and remain as abundant today as the gravel in the Ardravi River. Even hurricanes abated into gentle exhalations before her singing, causing the bells on her lapels to sway as they rang out elegantly. All the spirits, their envoys, humans, and the inhuman rejoiced and praised her name, for she is indeed the most sagacious and the most merciful.

In the depths of the forest, she collected grass to use as an instrument, picked flowers for a crown, and played a flawless tune with a Karrenay. In an instant, thousands of demonic troops were reduced to dust and scattered to the four winds, never to be found again. She gently brushed away the tears of the forest creatures and soothed their anguish, just as she once blew the wind of life across the barren sea of sand, like the emissary of an eternal oasis from time immemorial.

But this land remained broken, its heart devoured by evil spirits and monsters who made it their dwelling — a cavern of the damned where neither sun, moon, nor fire shine. The dust they took for treasure and the sludge served as their delicacies, like birds clad in feathers but unable to soar in the skies. She decided that she would go to the dark cave and enter that evil place that none might depart, continuing on this path of no restitution, this sojourn of utmost purity and mercy.

She stepped alone to that emptied earthly heart and softly touched its timeless face, becoming the immortal Gaokerena and the earth itself. Every thread of spiritual knowledge and every sweet-smelling plant is her undying will. Another flourishing sea of flowers rolled around her, jade in color, rosy in fragrance and dewy as heavenly raiment. The songs of a hundred birds surrounded her, praising the life that she had at last reclaimed, like a mortal trading their old clothes for fresh ones, casting off their original shackles, and ascending to the eternal temple.

Many people had never before heard her voice, or if they had, they did not know it was her. Those who disseminate well because they hear words from far and wide are as rare as those who teach well because they understand the truth. Her will is all-pervading and as indestructible as intellect itself. None can destroy the indestructible, for there has never been an absence of existence in this world, nor the existence of absence.

It must be known that the forest was once overrun by a black tide of beasts. The moonlight spilling over the still water was as shattered as the dream it reflected, and the endless labyrinth too collapsed in the burning flames. The lord of all animals let out a furious roar with its dying breath, then fell protecting all that she had entrusted to him. But the memories themselves did not shatter, collapse, nor fall. Like the wisdom she left behind, they were unborn, imperishable, eternal, and ancient.

Following her guidance, the princess of the kingdom of dreams gently snapped off the white branches and rebuilt the verdant hunting grounds from the withered fallen leaves, while the children of the forest, having set forth their ambition, were able to sleep peacefully in the end once more. No matter how much they suffer, the hunter always finds their way home — This is the first and final promise she made to the children, and to the adults who were once children.

Perhaps the moon dust scattered over the world will one day fade away like morning dew, but for those things that remain in memories — all those sweet dreams and thoughts — their purity will remain as unchanged as a pearl that even the grinding and whittling of a thousand winds and sands may not alter.

Finis.