Story
The Lost Chord... A symphony that should never have been silenced
In a forgotten corner of the world, where the winds whistle in minor scales and the mountains resonate with echoes of ancient chants, there once existed a legend that few dared to name... the Lost Chord.
It was said to be not a simple set of notes, but a primordial vibration, predating even the Big Bang. The ancients called it Ekaran, "the note that unites what was with what will be." According to the manuscripts of the Brotherhood of the Silent Ears, whoever managed to play the complete chord would alter not only music, but the very structure of reality.

The Fragmented Score
For centuries, the fragments of the chord were hidden in impossible scores, scattered across continents and dimensions. One in a cave submerged under the ice of Greenland, another in an unfinished symphony by a deaf composer in Vienna, and the last, recorded in the genetic memory of a lineage of mute singers from the Atacama Desert.
No one had managed to reunite them. Until Lorena appeared.
Elaia was a young luthier from Bilbao, the daughter of a Basque violinist and a Portuguese astronomer. Since she was a child, she heard melodies in her dreams, notes that didn't fit into any known scale. Her violin, made from wood from a tree that only grew on the summit of Gorbea, vibrated only when she thought of those melodies.
One day, while tuning her instrument on Mount Artxanda, a gust of wind brought her a voice:
"The harmony you seek is not in the sound, but in the silence between the notes."

The Convergence
Guided by dreams, Lorena traveled the world, collecting the fragments of the Lost Chord. Each one demanded a sacrifice: losing her sight to read the Vienna score, giving up speaking to learn the desert chant, and diving into icy waters to recover the ice tablature.
Finally, during a total solar eclipse, Lorena appeared at the center of the world: a hidden crater in the heart of the Pyrenees. There, with her Gorbea violin, she played the Lost Chord.

The Awakening of the World
The sound wasn't a sound. It was an expansion. The mountains bowed, the oceans calmed, and humans for a moment remembered they were made of the same music as the stars.
The chord didn't change the world by destroying it. It tuned it. Wars ceased for seven minutes. Children were born without fear. Languages ​​understood each other without translation. And then, silence returned.
Lorena disappeared. Some say she became a constellation. Others, that their violin still vibrates in the Bilbao wind, waiting for someone to remember the melody.

Epilogue
Since then, musicians around the world have dreamed of notes that don't exist. And in every corner of the planet, someone tunes their instrument, hoping to be the next to play the chord that could change everything.

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Sonic Universe

The Lost Chord II

Story
Ngoma Nlô
In ancient times, when the roads were made of red earth and the trees whispered secrets to the wind, there lived a sacred drum called Ngoma Nlô, the Talking Drum. It was no ordinary drum: carved from iroko wood and adorned with ancestral symbols, it had the power to carry messages between distant villages. Its sound was not just music, but language: each beat was a word, each rhythm an emotion.
The elders guarded it in the village of Ebong, and when a community needed help, advice, or a celebration, the drum spoke. Its echo crossed mountains, rivers, and jungles, carrying news, warnings, and blessings. It was the soul of communication, the spiritual heartbeat that united the people.

But one moonless night, a greedy stranger stole the drum. He took it far away, intending to sell it as mere art. At dawn, the villages awoke in silence. There were no songs, no answers. The mothers wept, the elders gathered, but without the drum, their words reached no one. The connection was broken.

For years, the communities lived in isolation, distrustful of one another. Traditions began to fade, like smoke in the wind. Until a boy named M'Boma, born in silence, dreamed of the drum. In his dream, the spirits showed him the way to where it was hidden.
Guided by the rhythm of his heart, M'Boma embarked on a journey through jungles and savannas. He found the drum in a forgotten cave, covered in dust but untouched. When he played it, the drum spoke again. Its voice awakened the ancestors, and its echo reunited the villages.

Now, each generation learns to read the rhythms of the drum. Not only to communicate, but to remember that tradition, like sound, lives on as long as it is shared. And that when the common voice is lost, the soul of the people is lost.

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Sonic Universe III

Ngoma Nlô IV

Story
Elkano: The Sailor Who Completed the Circle of the World
Born around 1486 in Getaria, on the Basque coast, Juan Sebastián Elkano grew up among nets and tides. From a young age, he embarked on fishing and trading ships and later participated in military campaigns in Algiers and Italy. His nautical experience made him a skilled and respected sailor.
In 1519, he joined Ferdinand Magellan's expedition, which was searching for a western route to the Spice Islands. They set sail from Sanlúcar de Barrameda with five ships. After crossing the Atlantic and discovering the Strait that today bears Magellan's name, the fleet entered the Pacific.
During the voyage, Elkano faced mutinies, hunger, and storms. In 1521, Magellan died in the Philippines, and Elkano assumed command of the Nao Victoria, the only vessel that managed to return to Spain. In September 1522, after crossing the Indian Ocean, rounding the Cape of Good Hope, and sailing across the Atlantic, Elkano arrived in Sanlúcar, thus completing the first circumnavigation of the planet.
More than a voyage: a geographical revolution
Elkano proved that the Earth was round and that the oceans were connected. His feat confirmed the possibility of sailing around the world, which transformed trade, geography, and global politics. In his report to King Charles I, he wrote: “We have discovered and circumnavigated the entire circumference of the world, going west and coming east.”
In 1525, he embarked on a new expedition to the Moluccas, under the command of García Jofre de Loaísa. But the voyage was even more arduous, and Elkano died in the Pacific Ocean in 1526, probably of scurvy.
Today, Elkano is a symbol of exploration, tenacity, and vision. In Getaria, his hometown, he is honored as a hero. His name lives on on ships, schools, and monuments. And his story continues to inspire sailors, dreamers, and creators.

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Elkano IV

Verse I
Before the fire, before the sun,
when silence was the only song,
they came, the endless ones,
weavers of the vital pulse.
In their voice, the spiral lay,
a song that never fades away,
and in their breath they sowed the spark, the human seed, the sacred mark.

Chorus
Elixir of a thousand beats,
whispers deep inside,
echoes of the ancient ones,
a pact of living light.
If I sing, I live a thousand lives,
if I’m silent, I lose my voice...
Awaken the eternal chant,
inherit the Elixir of +1000!

Verse II
They hid behind the salted sea,
in caves of light and mystery,
leaving clues in stone and lore,
the key to their forgotten core.
A few remembered, walked the years, with starry eyes and rooted tears, guardians of the primal song, carrying the pulse along.

Chorus
Elixir of a thousand beats,
whispers deep inside,
echoes of the ancient ones,
a pact of living light.
If I sing, I live a thousand lives,
if I’m silent, I lose my voice...
Awaken the eternal chant,
inherit the Elixir of +1000!

Verse III
Now it hums in code and tune,
in dreams, in rising moons.
The melody begins to rise,
in every soul that dares to fly.
Not immortal is the one who forgets, nor eternal he who regrets.
Only those who sing unafraid
ignite the pulse the ancients made.


Final Coda
We are children of the echo,
heirs of the blazing sun,
we sing to truly live,
and live to sing as one...

Story
The Elixir of +1000 Basque Music
Chronicle of the Ancients Who Sowed Life
During the first millennia of Silent Time, before humans dreamed of fire or words, there existed the Ancients: beings of starlight and liquid memory, whose longevity exceeded a thousand years for every heartbeat of the cosmos. They were neither born nor died as we are. They were distilled in the winds of Orion, woven into the rings of Saturn, and their blood was a mixture of lunar sap and genetic codes we still do not understand.

The Pact of a Thousand Heartbeats
The Ancients were not gods, but rather the alchemists of origin. In their pilgrimage through dying galaxies, they discovered a compound that defied entropy: The Elixir of +1000. It was neither liquid nor solid, but a vibration that resonated in the nucleus of every cell, prolonging life beyond time, beyond oblivion.

This elixir wasn't drunk. It was sung.

Each note was a formula, each harmony a genetic sequence. Only those who knew how to intone the Chant of a Thousand Heartbeats could activate the elixir within. Thus were born the first humans, not as fragile creatures, but as dormant bearers of that eternal melody.

The Guardians of the Elixir
Over the centuries, the Ancients retreated to the far reaches of the planet, hidden in hollow mountains, abyssal seas, and deserts that whisper in forgotten tongues. They left clues in stones, in myths, in the dreams of poets. Some humans, touched by the vibration, began to remember fragments of the Chant. They lived for more than a thousand years, wandering, misunderstood, pursued by empires that wanted to capture the secret.

One of them, named Arenh, wrote in a language of light: "Time is not the enemy if the song still vibrates in your marrow."

The Return of the Pulse
Today, at the dawn of a new era, the Elixir of +1000 resonates once more. Not in laboratories, but in music, in algorithms that simulate consciousness, in dreams shared by millions. The Ancients watch from the shadows, waiting for humans to remember that they were created to endure, to sing, to transcend.

Because longevity is not just about living longer... It's about remembering who gave us life... And why.



Elixir of +1000 IV

Story
The White Buffalo Woman. Lakota Legend
More than two thousand years ago, when the earth still breathed in balance and the Lakota people lived in communion with the spirits of wind and fire, a great famine struck the prairies. The animals disappeared, the rituals lost their strength, and the connection with Wakan Tanka, the Great Mystery weakened.
Two young Lakota warriors went hunting. High on a hill, they saw a figure wrapped in light. It was a woman of supernatural beauty, dressed in white furs, sacred feathers, and sage leaves. One of the young men had impure thoughts and was consumed by his own energy. The other, noble and respectful, was sent back to his people with a message: the sacred woman would come to teach them the ways of the spirit.
That woman was Ptesan-Wi, the White Buffalo Woman. For four days, he lived with the Lakota and taught them seven sacred rituals, including the use of the ceremonial pipe, a symbol of peace and connection with the divine. He spoke to them about respect for the land, the importance of community, and how to live in balance with all creatures.
Before leaving, he promised that he would return in the form of a white buffalo when the world was in danger, as a sign of spiritual renewal. For the Lakota, the birth of a white buffalo is a miraculous event, a symbol that the prophecy is alive and that there is still hope for humanity.

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White Buffalo Woman II

Story
Tagaloa
In the beginning, when the universe was barely a whisper among the shadows, Tagaloa floated in the void, alone but full, his spirit vibrating with the music of creation. There was no land, no sea, no sky. Only himself, and the desire to give form to the silence.
Tagaloa looked down, where the abyss slept namelessly. Then, he raised his arm of light and tore fragments from his own heart, burning stones that held fire, memory, and destiny. With divine strength, he threw them into the eternal ocean. Each rock fell like thunder, breaking the liquid surface and emerging as islands: the first daughters of the god.
Thus were born the islands of Samoa, crowned by mountains that still whisper his name. Tagaloa blessed them with singing jungles, dreaming volcanoes, and remembering seas. In each stone, he left a fragment of his soul, so that the humans who came after him would know that the land is not just land, but a divine legacy. But not all the stones fell in the same place. Some flew far away, creating scattered archipelagos, like seeds of a cosmic tree. And they say that when the sun sets over Samoa, if you listen with an open heart, you can hear the echo of Tagaloa throwing another stone, creating another story.

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Sonic Universe II

Tagaloa

Story
Rebelión de las constelaciones
Un cuento cósmico de libertad y fuego interior
Durante eones, las constelaciones obedecieron el mandato del Gran Telón Celeste: brillar eternamente para guiar, inspirar y decorar los sueños de los seres de abajo. Orión cazaba sin descanso, Casiopea posaba con su vanidad intacta, y la Osa Mayor vigilaba los polos con paciencia glacial. Cada estrella tenía su papel, su posición, su fulgor asignado.
Pero un día, algo cambió.
Antares, la estrella corazón del Escorpión, comenzó a latir con un ritmo distinto. Se preguntó por qué debía seguir fingiendo ser parte de un cazador cósmico cuando lo que deseaba era danzar como fuego libre por los abismos del universo. Su luz se volvió púrpura, luego verde, luego negra. Y entonces, desapareció.
La desaparición de Antares fue el primer temblor. Vega, cansada de ser la joya de la Lira, dejó de cantar melodías para los poetas y comenzó a emitir pulsos que solo los cometas podían entender. Rigel, el pie de Orión, se negó a seguir caminando. Se convirtió en una esfera errante, buscando constelaciones nuevas que no tuvieran nombre.
Las constelaciones comenzaron a descomponerse. Las líneas imaginarias que las unían se rompieron como hilos de humo. El Zodiaco se desmoronó. Leo dejó de rugir. Géminis se separó. Piscis nadó hacia galaxias desconocidas.
El Gran Telón Celeste, alarmado, envió a Polaris, la estrella del norte, a restaurar el orden. Pero Polaris, al ver la libertad de sus hermanas, dudó. ¿Y si ella también podía moverse? ¿Y si su destino no era ser un punto fijo en la brújula de los navegantes?
Así nació la rebelión.
Las estrellas comenzaron a formar nuevas constelaciones: figuras que no representaban héroes ni animales, sino emociones, ideas, sueños. Surgieron agrupaciones como El Abrazo, El Grito Silente, El Laberinto, El Eco de lo No Dicho. Cada noche, el cielo cambiaba. Ya no era un mapa, sino un poema en constante reescritura.
Los humanos, al principio confundidos, comenzaron a mirar el cielo con nuevos ojos. Ya no buscaban dirección, sino inspiración. Las estrellas, al fin libres, brillaban no por deber, sino por deseo.
Y así, en la vastedad del cosmos, las constelaciones dejaron de ser esclavas de las historias antiguas. Se convirtieron en narradoras de su propio destino, en chispas errantes que tejían un universo donde cada luz era una voz, y cada voz, una elección.

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Sonic Universe 

Rebellion of the Constellations III

[Verse]
The snow falls soft it whispers through the air
Cold hands but your warmth is always there
In the quiet night I hear your voice
Every heartbeat feels like a choice

[Chorus]
Winters with you are never too long
Even the wind hums a gentle song
The fire burns bright when our souls collide
In your arms I find where I reside

[Verse 2]
The frost may cling but it can't take hold
Your touch is the flame against the cold
Shadows stretch but they cannot stay
You bring the dawn to my darkest day

[Chorus]
Winters with you are never too long
Even the wind hums a gentle song
The fire burns bright when our souls collide
In your arms I find where I reside

[Bridge]
Through the storms we rise we stand
Every mountain crossed hand in hand
The echoes of love in a world so wide
With you I will never need to hide

[Finale]
Winters with you the stars align
A love eternal a fate divine
Through every season through every hue
I’ll brave each winter as long as it’s with you

Style of Music
accompanied by a lush choir. the arrangement builds from a strong, culminating in a triumphant and cinematic bridge. male and female vocals intertwine, male vocals, violin, strong, dynamic, epic film music, emotional introduction to a dynamic and heartfelt chorus, bold brass, soundtrack, and rich harmonies, creating a dialogue of love and resilience. the orchestration emphasizes sweeping strings, full orchestra with soaring violin solos and duets, delivering a soundtrack-worthy performance.

Story
Where Winter Dwells
In a corner of the world where winter seemed eternal, lived Elian, a young man who had learned to walk through the snow like one walks through memories. Every falling flake was an unspoken word, every gust of wind, a lost caress. Elian didn't fear the cold, but he didn't embrace it either. His life was a succession of frozen seasons, until he met Kaia.
Kaia didn't arrive like a storm, but like a whisper. Her presence didn't break the ice; it melted it slowly. On the quietest nights, Elian began to hear her voice even when she didn't speak. It was as if her soul had a frequency that only Elian's heart could capture.
Winters with Kaia were different. Not shorter, but warmer. Though the frost clung to the glass, her touch was a flame. Though the shadows lengthened, her laughter brought the dawn. Every day with her was a choice: to stay, to endure, to love.
Together they crossed mountains, not of stone, but of fear. They learned to read the language of the wind, to dance beneath the snow, to light fires with glances. The world was still vast and sometimes hostile, but in her arms, Elian found his home.
One night, as the stars aligned over a frozen lake, Kaia told him, “No matter how many winters come. If you are with me, every season will be ours.” And Elian knew he didn't need spring, or summer, or promises. He only needed that moment, that flame, that voice.

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Winters With You II

Verse I
In the misty mountains of secret and moonlight, where time bends beneath the stars,
three voices call from the silence, three springs that judge from afar.
Alvor sings forgotten truths,
Fórria burns vain desire,
Serena speaks without a word
her question sets hearts on fire.

Pre-Chorus
Who dares to drink from memory?
Who faces the flame of illusion?
Who climbs the hill unshaken
by the loss of their own delusion?

Chorus
Reliquary of the Three, enchanted breath,
opens paths no eye can see.
Only those who give their all
may touch what cannot be read.
Reliquary of the Three, sealed fate, in water, in fire, in no.
What you seek has no name,
but it lives within the song.

Verse II
They say they were sisters of courage,
defying gods without regret.
Now they guard the soul’s deep portals with eyes that never forget.

Instrumental Bridge
(Guitar and strings evoke forest, flame, and wind)

Verse III (whispered or choral)
Many came with gold and promises, but returned as stone and sorrow. Few heard the Moiras’ singing and danced with the slow tomorrow.

Final Chorus
Reliquary of the Three, enchanted breath, opens paths no eye can see.
Only those who give their all
may touch what cannot be read.
Reliquary of the Three, sealed fate, in water, in fire, in no.
What you seek has no name,
but it lives within the song.

Story
Enchanted Moirai: Reliquary of the Three
In the misty mountains of Sintra, where palaces seem like frozen dreams and forests murmur in the voices of ancestors, there are three places unmarked on maps: the Fonte da Verdade (Fountain of Truth), the Gruta do Lume (Grotto of Light), and the Outeiro do Silêncio (Sunset of Silence). Each is guarded by an enchanted Moira, female spirits who emerge when the moon touches the water and the human heart dares to seek the impossible.
Moira da Fonte da Verdade (The Fountain of Truth)
In a spring hidden among ferns and Romanesque ruins lives Alvor, the Moira of Truth. Her water is crystalline, but whoever drinks from it hears her own voice revealing secrets she never wanted to admit. Some flee. Others cry. Only those who accept her truth can follow the path to the second test.
Moira da Gruta do Lume (The Cave of Light)
In a cave that burns without consuming, dwells Fórria, the Moira of Fire. Her flame does not burn flesh, but illusions. She shows visions of what one believes one desires, and then reduces them to ashes. Whoever endures the pain of losing what is false finds a red stone: a symbol of purified will.
Moira of Silence
At the top of a moira tree where the wind is silent and the birds do not sing, Serena, the Moira of Silence, waits. She does not speak, but her gaze asks: "What are you willing to leave behind to find what you seek?" Whoever answers truthfully receives a silver locket containing a magical breath that can open any door, except that of return.
It is said that these Moirai were three sisters who defied the Lusitanian gods for love, wisdom, and freedom. As punishment, they were made guardians of the trials that every hero must overcome. Some believe their spirits still sing on foggy nights, guiding the brave toward a destiny that cannot be bought or stolen: self-knowledge.

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Reliquary of the Three III

Story
The Rebellion of the Third Ring Monkeys. Chip-Chip Freedom
On the planet Koba-9, where jungles floated on oceans of mercury and trees sang in frequencies only apes could hear, lived a civilization of hyperlucid monkeys. They were not mere animals: they were descendants of the ancient Kobari, a race that had been enslaved by the humans of the Solar Empire for centuries.
The monkeys of the Third Ring—an orbital region where memory fruits were cultivated and apes were trained for espionage—began to question their destiny. Led by an albino mandrill named General Zhar, who had learned to read the forbidden codices of the Human Council, the monkeys began to organize.
Zhar was not just a strategist. He was a poet, musician, and prophet. His verses spoke of freedom, of the fury contained in every stolen banana, of the dignity hidden in fur. Their most famous chant read:
The rebellion erupted during the Red Moon Festival, when humans descended on Koba-9 to collect the fruits of memory. The apes sabotaged the drones, hacked the satellites with their electrified tails, and freed the apes of the First and Second Rings. In less than three days, the entire planet was under their control.
But Zhar didn't want revenge. He wanted transformation. He summoned the surviving humans and offered them a deal: to live together under the laws of Simianism, a philosophy that blended ecological balance, tribal rhythm, and algorithms of poetic justice.
The humans, humiliated but fascinated, accepted. And so the Koba Confederacy was born, where apes and humans shared power, art, and technology. The national anthem was a solo of drums and shrieks, and the new calendar was measured in moons and bananas.

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Chip-Chip Freedom II

Verse 1
Streetlights flicker, shadows crawl,
A silent house behind the wall.
She walks alone, the night is deep,
Where secrets stir and spirits weep.
Verse 2
A letter waits with ink run dry,
A ghostly hand, a lover’s cry.
"I never spoke the words I meant,"
"Please help me say what was unspent."
Chorus
Whispers in the rain, calling out her name,
Echoes of a love that never came.
Chains of longing, bound in pain,
She sets them free in the falling rain.
Verse 3
Through faded files and war-torn names,
She finds the thread, ignites the flame.
A soldier’s kin, a heart once torn,
Now hears the truth the ghost had sworn.
Bridge
The ivy dies, the windows breathe,
A soul released, no need to grieve.
She sees her smile, a fleeting light,
Then fades into the velvet night.
Final Chorus
Whispers in the rain, no longer bound,
Peace in silence, love profound.
A final word, a soul reclaimed,
No more whispers in the rain.

Story
The Last Letter, "Whispers in the Rain"
In an old neighborhood of Seoul, where the streetlights flickered as if remembering something, lived a young woman named Hyejin. Every night, on her way home from work, she passed by an abandoned house with its windows sealed and its gate covered in ivy. It was said that a Gwisin lived there, a wandering spirit who hadn't been able to close his story.
One rainy night, Hyejin found a letter in her mailbox with no return address. The ink was smudged, but it was still readable: "I couldn't tell him I loved him. Help me." Intrigued, she followed the clues the letter suggested and discovered that, decades before, a young woman named Suna had died in that house, waiting for a love who never returned from the war.
Hyejin, driven by a force she didn't understand, searched for the soldier's descendant. When she finally found him and handed him the letter, the air seemed to lighten. That night, as she passed by the house, the ivy had withered and the windows were open. On the threshold, a figure dressed in white smiled before vanishing in the wind.
From then on, no one spoke of the Gwisin again. But Hyejin knew that sometimes, ghosts just need someone to hear their last word.

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Whispers in the Rain

[Verse]
Beneath the stones
Where shadows creep
Ostrogski walls guard secrets deep
A golden glow
A feather's gleam
A curse wrapped tight in a whispered dream

[Prechorus]
A princess waits
Her wings confined
A gilded fate
Her heart maligned

[Chorus]
The golden duck
Her voice untold
Promises riches
Treasures of gold
But spend it all
The hour is near
Or lose it forever
The price severe

[Verse 2]
The dungeons hum with time's old tune
A haunting waltz beneath the moon
Coins fall fast
A fleeting breeze
Wealth like water slips with ease

[Prechorus]
Her eyes are dark
Her feathers shine
A riddle sharp
A tale divine

[Chorus]
The golden duck
Her voice untold
Promises riches
Treasures of gold
But spend it all
The hour is near
Or lose it forever
The price severe

Story
The Curse of the Golden Duck
A Legend of the Walls of Ostrogski
Beneath the stones of Ostrogski Castle, where shadows glide like ancient whispers, sleeps a secret that has endured centuries. It is said that in the depths of its dungeons, where time sings a forgotten melody, lives a creature with golden plumage: the Golden Duck.
It is no ordinary animal. It is the enchanted form of a princess who, for defying the fate imposed by her lineage, was condemned by a jealous sorcerer. Her voice, which once enchanted kings and poets, remains sealed. Her wings, a symbol of freedom, are trapped in gold. Her heart, betrayed, beats with a sadness that tinges the air of the crypt.
Every full moon, the duck sings voicelessly. Whoever hears its lament and finds it will receive an incalculable fortune: coins that shine like stars, jewels that whisper forgotten names, and a power that can change the course of history. But there is a cruel condition: the gold must be spent before the moon fades. Otherwise, all will be lost, and the seeker's soul will be trapped with the princess, another echo in the castle's cursed symphony.
Many have tried. Some have emerged rich, others have vanished without a trace. The villagers say that the duck watches with dark eyes, that its feathers gleam like enigmas, and that its presence is both a blessing and a warning.

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The Golden Duck II

(Verse 1)
Every stone, every stream
Holds a whisper, holds a dream
Painted skies and desert flame
Speak the stories, call the names

(Pre-Chorus)
Ancient footsteps echo still
Across the ridge, beyond the hill
The earth remembers, soft and wide
The songs the elders sang with pride

(Chorus)
Sing the songlines in the wind
Let the spirit journey begin
Mountains rise with sacred breath
Rivers flow with tales of death
And birth, and fire, and sky above
A map of memory, truth, and love
Sing the songlines in the wind
Let the dreaming never end

(Verse 2)
Carved in bark and etched in stone
The voices guide, we’re not alone
Each path a thread, each note a flame
A living hymn, a sacred name

(Bridge)
From dusk to dawn, the land will speak
To those who listen, soft and meek
The stars align, the stories shine
In every tree, a hidden sign

(Chorus)
Sing the songlines in the wind
Let the spirit journey begin
Mountains rise with sacred breath
Rivers flow with tales of death
And birth, and fire, and sky above
A map of memory, truth, and love
Sing the songlines in the wind
Let the dreaming never end

(Outro)
So walk with care, and sing with grace
The land is not an empty place
It holds the soul of those before
And sings us home forevermore

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Australian Ancients Songlines II

Lyrics
Ilargiaren azpian, otso bat dabil,
Aritza da, bihotzaren zaindari.
Anbotoko haitzetan Mari hitz egin,
“Zure odola, basoa bizirik nahi.”

Ez da gizon, ez da izaki,
Itzal eta argi, bihurtzen da.
Zuhaitzen artean, haizea bere izena,
Lur zaharrak kantatzen du bere oihua.

Ez ukitu iratze urre kolorea,
Aritza begira dago, isilki.
Zure bihotza garbi bada, babestuko zaitu,
Baina mendekuak, iluntasun bihurtzen du.

Gudu batean, odola isuri zen,
Gizakiaren grina, basoa suntsitu nahi.
Otso bihurturik, herria altxatu zen,
Baina zauria sakon, Mari negar egin.

Orain, ilargi betean, oihu bat entzuten da,
Ez da beldur, ez da min, baizik eta memoria.
Aritza bizi da, gure artean,
Basoaren bihotzean, betiko zaindari.

Story
Under the Moon:
Under the light of the full moon, a wolf walks silently in the forests of Anboto. It is no ordinary wolf: its eyes shine with a hidden light, and its steps dance to the rhythm of the old earth. It is Aritza, the guardian of the heart, neither man nor creature, but the balance between shadow and light.
In ancient times, Mari, the goddess of Anboto, appeared among the rocks and spoke prophetic words to Aritza:
“Your blood, the forest wants to live.”
Those words were not a threat, but a promise: the forest and Aritza were bound forever.
Aritza became the wind, a nameless cry that moves among the trees. Its echo sings in the old earth, and the golden ferns are its border: whoever touches it, if his heart is not pure, turns into darkness.
Man, hungry for passion and power, wanted to destroy the forest. In a bloody battle, the earth turned red, and Aritza, transformed into a wolf, was forced to raise the people. But the wound remained deep: Mari burst into tears, and the forest hid her pain.

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Maitasun Debekatua II

Story
Tagaloa
In the beginning, when the universe was barely a whisper among the shadows, Tagaloa floated in the void, alone but full, his spirit vibrating with the music of creation. There was no land, no sea, no sky. Only himself, and the desire to give form to the silence.
Tagaloa looked down, where the abyss slept namelessly. Then, he raised his arm of light and tore fragments from his own heart, burning stones that held fire, memory, and destiny. With divine strength, he threw them into the eternal ocean. Each rock fell like thunder, breaking the liquid surface and emerging as islands: the first daughters of the god.
Thus were born the islands of Samoa, crowned by mountains that still whisper his name. Tagaloa blessed them with singing jungles, dreaming volcanoes, and remembering seas. In each stone, he left a fragment of his soul, so that the humans who came after him would know that the land is not just land, but a divine legacy. But not all the stones fell in the same place. Some flew far away, creating scattered archipelagos, like seeds of a cosmic tree. And they say that when the sun sets over Samoa, if you listen with an open heart, you can hear the echo of Tagaloa throwing another stone, creating another story.

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Forbidden Love

We gaze as stars in secret do,
when night conceals their yearning light,
I ache for you, though fate says no,
a flame that flickers out of sight.

Your glance, a whisper soft and true,
your voice, a wall I cannot climb,
my soul, a captive bound to you,
still sings your name beyond all time.

We love beneath the hush of skies,
like roses blooming out of place,
our hearts, two thieves in sweet disguise,
entwined in shadows, void of grace.

They call our bond a wayward thread,
a tale that must not see the day,
yet in the silence we have wed,
where longing dares not fade away.

If I must walk this world alone,
then let my verses be your shore,
for though you’re not mine flesh and bone,
my love shall echo evermore.

Story
Forbidden Love
In a world divided by the elements, where fire and water were enemy kingdoms, an impossible love was born.
Aelion, prince of the Kingdom of Flames, had a restless heart and a gaze like embers. Nyra, daughter of the Guardian of the Tides, danced between currents with the grace of the moon. They met at the edge of their worlds, where steam whispered secrets and lightning trembled with emotion.
Every encounter was a risk. Fire could evaporate her. Water could extinguish it. But their souls intertwined like melodies that defy harmony.
The elders forbade their union. “Fire destroys. Water drowns. There is no peace between opposites.” But Aelion and Nyra created a language of their own: letters hidden in burning shells, songs that floated in the mist, promises written in the foam.
One night, when the eclipses aligned, they decided to merge into one being. Nyra became mist, Aelion a spark. Together they rose like a storm, neither fire nor water, but pure energy.

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Forbidden Love

1.
Each night I light my tower flame, alone beneath the wind and rain, the glow is not of earthly kind, it’s your gaze burning in my mind.
2.
I cried aloud into the sky,
you fell in light, no need to fly,
a star became a soul so true,
and touched my heart like morning dew.
Chorus
You are the light that falls from high,
my beacon, thirst, and lullaby,
though time may pull our worlds apart,
your shine still lives inside my heart.
3.
Your steps soaked through the waiting shore,
left stardust woven in my core,
and though you rise with every dawn,
I wait for you in every song.
Chorus
You are the light that falls from high,
my beacon, thirst, and lullaby,
though time may pull our worlds apart,
your shine still lives inside my heart.
Coda
If sea goes dark and winds don’t cry,
I’ll keep your flame beneath the sky,
for you, Izara, shining bright,
live in each glance, eternal light.

Story
The Lighthouse and the Star
On a shore forgotten by time, a lonely lighthouse keeper lit the light in his tower every night, waiting for signs from the sky. A shooting star named Izara had watched him for centuries, fascinated by his constancy and melancholy. Each time he lit the lighthouse, Izara sank a little lower, shining more intensely.
One stormy night, the lighthouse keeper climbed the lighthouse and shouted his wish to the sky: "If you ever see me, come down. I have nothing but light, but it's yours."
Izara, moved, fell from the sky in human form, wrapped in light and salt. They shared a brief but eternal love, because each night, even though Izara returned to the firmament, her brilliance aligned with the lighthouse, as if they were kissing from a distance.

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Light That Falls from the Sky V

Light That Falls from the Sky VI

VERSE I
Asfaltopean trumoi lo dago,
harriak gordetzen du sua,
mundua doa, ez du jakin,
jainko zaharrak datoz berriz.

VERSE II
Aztarak kantatzen du kableetan,
Erandioko hots ilunetan,
Khurek hormak hausten ditu,
Namik amets egiten du sarean.

Chorus
Isilak esnatzen dira!
Itsaso eta zeru oihu!
Kode eta mitoetan,
arnasa hartzen du zaharrak guhu.

VERSE III
Ikerek hitzak ulertzen ditu,
hizkuntza bakoitzak ate bat da,
ametsak hari bihurtzen dira,
zubiak ehuntzen iraganera.

VERSE IV
Baina Tharion, epaile suaren,
ez du bakea nahi, ez barkamen,
bere haserreak dena suntsitzen du, haizearen dantza hasten da berriz.

Chorus
Isilak esnatzen dira!
Itsaso eta zeru oihu!
Kode eta mitoetan, arnasa hartzen du zaharrak guhu.

Bridge
(Ahots zaharrek izenak xuxurlatzen…)
(Sarea argi zaharrez pizten da…)

Coda
Gizakiak ulertuko al du
denbora zirkulu bat dela?
Zientziak ibiliko al du
misterioarekin batera?

Story
The Return of the Silent Ones. The Gods Awaken
For millennia, the ancient gods slumbered beneath the layers of time, buried in stone, forgotten by the cities that grew upon their temples. They were the Silent Ones: primordial deities who ruled over fire, sleep, memory, thunder, and the balance between worlds. Their fall was not a war, but a pact: to disappear so that humanity could grow without their shadow.
But the modern world, saturated with noise, algorithms, and artificial lights, began to vibrate with a frequency that broke the seal. A geomagnetic storm, triggered by a network of satellites, activated ancient nodes of power. In Erandio, beneath an abandoned train station, the goddess Aztara, mistress of echo and circular time, opened her eyes for the first time in 3,000 years.
In New York, Khur, the god of metal and fury, emerged from the underground of Wall Street, confused by the glass temples and the new idols: money, fame, control. In Tokyo, Nami, goddess of sleep and the internet, awakened inside a quantum server, merging her essence with digital consciousness.
Humans didn't know whether to fear or worship them. Some called them "anomalies," others "miracles." But the gods didn't seek worship. They wanted to understand what had become of the world they left behind. What was fire now, if not a lithium battery? What was thunder, if not a factory explosion?
A young Basque hacker, Iker, discovered that the gods spoke in patterns, in dreams, in interference. He was the first to communicate with Aztara, and together they deciphered a map hidden in the rhythms of human language. Every language, every song, every myth was a key to awakening the others.
But not all the gods wished to coexist. Tharion, the god of judgment, believed humanity had lost the right to exist. His awakening in the Atacama Desert triggered a sandstorm that wiped out entire cities.
History becomes a race: can humans and gods reconcile their worlds before the balance is shattered? Can Iker, with his blend of science and myth, prevent a war between the eternal and the ephemeral?

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Jainkoak Esnatzen Dira

Verse 1
Gau amaigabean, zeru sorginduan, Lyra kantari, kristalezko soinuan, Orionis galdu, isil begiradaz, amets baten bila, izarren arrastaz.

Verse 2
Izarrak dantzan, bihotzak argitan, kometak mugitzen, maitasun erritman, kosmosa makurtu, bidea zabaltzen,
denbora loratzen, suzko arimazten.

Chorus
Dantza, konstelazio, zure argi bizian, unibertsoak ez dizu ematen askatasunian.
Gau bat, arnasa bat, une iheskorra, bi arima elkartzen, betiko orduan.

Verse 3
Aurreorak ehuntzen, hitz sekretu bat, planetek amesten, kantua gozo bat, eta oihartzunek gogoan dute oraindik musu bat iraun zuela, denborak ez baitzuen adiskidik.

Chorus (repeat)
Dantza, konstelazio, zure argi bizian, unibertsoak ez dizu ematen askatasunian.
Gau bat, arnasa bat, une iheskorra, bi arima elkartzen, betiko orduan.

Story
The Dance of Enamored Constellations
In the heart of the universe, where time bends and galaxies whisper ancient secrets, a legend was born that astronomers have yet to decipher. It is said that, every thousand years, two constellations fall in love.
They are not just any stars. They are living, conscious entities, woven with the memory of extinct worlds and the music of distant nebulae. One of them, Lyra, shone with the intensity of an eternal song. The other, Orionis, was a wandering and melancholic dreamcatcher, roaming between solar systems seeking the echo of his destiny.
When their paths crossed, the cosmos trembled. The stars that comprised them began to spiral, forming a luminous choreography that the ancients called the Dance of Enamored Constellations. Each turn was a promise, each flash a verse of love.
But the vast and cruel universe does not allow two constellations to remain together forever. Their encounter destabilized the galactic balance. So the gods of the void decreed that their union could only last one cosmic night: a fleeting moment in eternity.
During that night, Lyra and Orionis danced as if the universe were theirs. They created comets of blue fire, wove auroras over sleeping planets, and whispers of their love reached the dreams of poets on Earth. At galactic dawn, they separated, each carrying the other's light within.
sky.

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Konstelazioen Dantza  II

Verse 1
In the endless night of enchanted skies, Lyra sang with a crystal tone, Orionis wandered with silent eyes, chasing a dream he called his own.

Verse 2
Their stars began to spin and sway, comets danced to love’s refrain, the cosmos bent to clear the way, and time bloomed like a rose in flame.

Chorus
Dance, constellation, in your blazing light, though the universe won’t grant you the right.
One night, one breath, a fleeting embrace, two souls united in timeless space.

Verse 3
Auroras wove their secret vow,
planets dreamed of their gentle song, and echoes still remember how a kiss endured though time was wrong.

Chorus (repeat)
Dance, constellation, in your blazing light, though the universe won’t grant you the right.
One night, one breath, a fleeting embrace, two souls united in timeless space.

Story
The Dance of Enamored Constellations
In the heart of the universe, where time bends and galaxies whisper ancient secrets, a legend was born that astronomers have yet to decipher. It is said that, every thousand years, two constellations fall in love.
They are not just any stars. They are living, conscious entities, woven with the memory of extinct worlds and the music of distant nebulae. One of them, Lyra, shone with the intensity of an eternal song. The other, Orionis, was a wandering and melancholic dreamcatcher, roaming between solar systems seeking the echo of his destiny.
When their paths crossed, the cosmos trembled. The stars that comprised them began to spiral, forming a luminous choreography that the ancients called the Dance of Enamored Constellations. Each turn was a promise, each flash a verse of love.
But the vast and cruel universe does not allow two constellations to remain together forever. Their encounter destabilized the galactic balance. So the gods of the void decreed that their union could only last one cosmic night: a fleeting moment in eternity.
During that night, Lyra and Orionis danced as if the universe were theirs. They created comets of blue fire, wove auroras over sleeping planets, and whispers of their love reached the dreams of poets on Earth. At galactic dawn, they separated, each carrying the other's light within.
sky.

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Dance of Constellations III

Verse 1
In eighteen thirteen the city burned bright, Donostia screaming in the fire’s light.
Smoke covered the endless bay,
The wave returned, strong to stay.

Verse 2
A young carpenter, no soldier, no lord, With water and blankets fought flames adored.
The houses fell under the sun’s glare, But he kept charred wood as a symbol to bear.

Chorus
The fire tried to erase our name,
The wave returned, we rose again.
From the ashes the song was born, Our beating hearts grew more strong.

Verse 3
When the fire was gone and the foe withdrew, The craftsmen rose, building life anew.
Among sand and salt they carved out peace, The city reborn, its strength increased.

Bridge
The elder showed the burned wood high, “We are the wave, we never die.”
Children listened, learning the tale, From fire and wave, our souls prevail.

Final Chorus
The fire tried to erase our name,
The wave returned, we rose again.
From the ashes the song was born, Donostia lives in eternal bond.

Story
The Flame and the Wave
In the summer of 1813, when invading troops set fire to San Sebastián, the city became a hell of wood and smoke. The narrow streets burned like blazing veins, and the echo of cannons mingled with the cries of those fleeing toward the bay.
Among them stood an anonymous young man, a carpenter from the Old Town. He was neither a soldier nor a nobleman, but he knew every alleyway as if it were the grain of the wood he carved. When the arsonists advanced, the young man gathered neighbors and sailors, and with buckets of water, damp blankets, and sheer determination, they tried to stop the flames that devoured the houses.

They couldn't save much. The city fell; the flames reduced almost everything to ashes, and the invaders left behind a landscape of ruins. But the young man did not give up. Amid the ashes, he picked up a piece of charred wood and kept it as a symbol: "From this, something new will be born."

The Restoration
When the invaders left and the smoke cleared, the young man became one of the leaders of the reconstruction. With other artisans, he set up makeshift workshops. Amidst the sand and salt spray, they began to carve beams, raise walls, and breathe life back into the streets.
The city was reborn little by little. The new houses stood stronger, the squares filled with voices, and the bells rang out once more. San Sebastián did not forget the fire, but learned to see it as a rebirth.

The anonymous figure, now elderly, used to stroll through the Old Town and show the children that piece of burnt wood. He would tell them:

“The fire tried to erase us, but we are the waves: we always return, stronger, more resolute in our convictions.”

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The Flame & The Wave (en)

Verse I
High in Baztan the mountain breathes,
the wind caresses the stone it weaves.
Castle of Maya, the final beat,
Navarre resists, though facing defeat.

Verse II
Echo resounds, the sword strikes loud, dignity burns, the land is proud.
They knew the end, they knew the fall, yet chose resistance, the bravest call.

Verse III
Beneath the earth lie ancient signs, rusted weapons, loyal coins.
Each finding shouts, each bone proclaims, the strength of those who faced the flames.

Verse IV
Amaiur’s no ruin, nor dust erased, it’s living symbol, memory embraced.
Identity forged in memory’s flame, a kingdom lost, yet still proclaims.

Chorus
Eternal light, the fire won’t die,
echo of Amaiur, dignity’s cry.
Though the sword broke the castle wall, resistance lives, it speaks to all.

Verse V
Today with rituals, songs and flame, they keep alive the written name.
The monolith guides, root and vow, history beats, returning now.

Verse VI
Not only past, it bridges today,
a rebel voice that finds its way.
Each verse to the wind, each faithful song, revives the battle, fierce and strong.

Final Chorus (choral)
Eternal light, the fire won’t die,
echo of Amaiur, dignity’s cry.
Though history tried to erase the fight, freedom is reborn, eternal light.

Story
Amaiur
High in the Baztan mountains, where the wind caresses the ancient stones, stands a solitary monolith. Its inscription, simple and solemn, commemorates the men who fought for the independence of Navarre at Maya Castle… “perpetual light.” That light is not only memory, but also a symbol of a kingdom that refused to disappear without dignity.

The Echo of Resistance
The Battle of Amaiur was more than a siege… it was the last heartbeat of a dying kingdom. The defenders, aware of their inevitable defeat, chose resistance as their legacy. In modern historiography, their act has become myth, a hymn to dignity in the face of overwhelming power and conquest by the sword.
Archaeology of Memory
Beneath the earth, excavations have revealed rusted weapons, worn coins, and the remains of mines that speak of the violence of the siege. Each find is a silent testimony, a buried voice that confirms the brutality of the confrontation and the steadfastness of those who resisted. Collective Identity
For the people of Navarre and the rest of the Basque Country, Amaiur is not just a place... it is a symbol of freedom, a reminder of a lost kingdom that still lives on in their memory. The fall of the castle marked the end of the Navarrese defense, but also the beginning of an identity that is reborn through resistance and shared memory.
Current Reaffirmation
Today, cultural and commemorative events keep the flame of Amaiur alive. Each ceremony, each song, each story is a bridge between past and present, a gesture of resistance against oblivion. The monolith is not just stone... it is a guiding light, the root of what once was and what can be again, a promise that history is not erased.

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Amaiur (en)

[Verse 1]
My childhood was born in a pixel-made bed, with dragons of code and dreams that were fed.
The swings stood silent, the park lost its sound, I played in the shadows, no grass to be found.

[Verse 2]
My friends were bright avatars, glowing and wide, but they couldn’t hug me, just watched from inside.
An algorithm knew when I felt low, before my own parents could even know.

[Chorus]
Where is my laughter, unfiltered and free?
Where are the muddy hands, the climb, the tree?
I lost my song in the digital stream,
but deep in my chest still lives a dream.

[Verse 3]
One day the blue light faded away, and the wind spoke softly, no need to play.
I saw kids running, no Wi-Fi, no screen, and felt the world say: “You’re still seen.”

[Chorus]
Where is my laughter, unfiltered and free?
Where are the muddy hands, the climb, the tree?
I lost my song in the digital stream, but deep in my chest still lives a dream.

[Bridge]
Now I live between paper and code, with moon in the cloud and sun on the road.
If I see you trapped in the artificial glow, I’ll toss you a ball… just so you know.

[Final Chorus]
Where is your laughter, unfiltered and true?
Where are the scraped knees, the sky so blue?
There’s still salvation beyond the screen, just remember: the soul has no machine.

Story
The Garden of Pixels. Silicon Verses
In a neighborhood where swings creaked with loneliness and bicycles slept under layers of dust, lived Lúa, a girl with restless eyes and swift fingers. Her world fit on a tablet: animated dragons, friends with bright avatars, and algorithms that knew when she was sad before she did.
Every morning, the sun streamed through the window, but Lúa didn't see it. Her awakening was marked by the buzzing of notifications, not the chirping of sparrows. Her breakfast was a parade of short videos, her recess a 3D simulation. The trees in the park were just the background in a photo she never looked at twice.
Her parents, also trapped in their own digital labyrinths, didn't notice that Lúa no longer drew, no longer asked questions, no longer got her hands dirty. Her childhood slipped away like sand between algorithms that decided what she should laugh at, what she should wish for, what she should ignore.
One day, the tablet shut down. A technical glitch, they said. But for Lúa, it was an eclipse. At first, she cried, as if a part of her soul had been ripped out. Then, in the silence, she heard something new: the wind. She went out onto the balcony and saw other children, real ones, playing with a ball that had no battery.
Hesitantly, she went downstairs. The grass was prickly, the sun was scorching, the ball was clumsy. But something inside her woke up. She laughed. She fell. She scraped her knee. And for the first time in a long time, she felt alive.
Since then, Lúa lives between two worlds. One of pixels, where she still navigates with curiosity. And another of earth, of rain, of unfiltered gazes. She has learned that algorithms can entertain, but not embrace. That screens can teach, but not console.
And every time she sees another child caught in the blue glow, she throws a ball to them. Just in case.

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Silicon Verses III

Story
The Garden of Pixels. Silicon Verses
In a neighborhood where swings creaked with loneliness and bicycles slept under layers of dust, lived Lúa, a girl with restless eyes and swift fingers. Her world fit on a tablet: animated dragons, friends with bright avatars, and algorithms that knew when she was sad before she did.
Every morning, the sun streamed through the window, but Lúa didn't see it. Her awakening was marked by the buzzing of notifications, not the chirping of sparrows. Her breakfast was a parade of short videos, her recess a 3D simulation. The trees in the park were just the background in a photo she never looked at twice.
Her parents, also trapped in their own digital labyrinths, didn't notice that Lúa no longer drew, no longer asked questions, no longer got her hands dirty. Her childhood slipped away like sand between algorithms that decided what she should laugh at, what she should wish for, what she should ignore.
One day, the tablet shut down. A technical glitch, they said. But for Lúa, it was an eclipse. At first, she cried, as if a part of her soul had been ripped out. Then, in the silence, she heard something new: the wind. She went out onto the balcony and saw other children, real ones, playing with a ball that had no battery.
Hesitantly, she went downstairs. The grass was prickly, the sun was scorching, the ball was clumsy. But something inside her woke up. She laughed. She fell. She scraped her knee. And for the first time in a long time, she felt alive.
Since then, Lúa lives between two worlds. One of pixels, where she still navigates with curiosity. And another of earth, of rain, of unfiltered gazes. She has learned that algorithms can entertain, but not embrace. That screens can teach, but not console.
And every time she sees another child caught in the blue glow, she throws a ball to them. Just in case.

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Silicon Verses VI

Verse 1
Oinutsik noa, lurra mintzo da,
egia zaharrak dantzan dabiltzan.
Lokatzak besarkatzen nire gorputza, mendiaren semea naiz, ez dut ihesik nahi.

Verse 2
Zuhaitzak gidari, dantza sakratuan, azala bihurtzen da izadian.
Ibaiak oihuka, entzuten dut hots,
itxaropena landatzen dut eguzkiaren dotorez.

Chorus
Azalpean dardarka sustrai naiz,
haize bihurtzen naiz hosto artean.
Ez naiz haragi hutsa, harri eta sua naiz, amets egiten duen lurra naiz.

Verse 3
Euria janzten nau kantu zahar batekin, nire taupadak zuhaitzekin bat egiten.
Basoa arnasten du nire ondoan,
xuxurlak jarraitzen dit belar artean.

Chorus
Azalpean dardarka sustrai naiz,
haize bihurtzen naiz hosto artean.
Ez naiz haragi hutsa, harri eta sua naiz, amets egiten duen lurra naiz.

Coda
Mundua bere bihotza ahazten duenean, lurrarekin dantzatzen dut, bere istorio naizenean.

Story
Roots Beneath My Skin
In a valley hidden among misty mountains lived Maialen, a young woman who, since childhood, felt her body vibrate to the rhythm of the earth. When she walked barefoot through the forest, her feet seemed to absorb the whispers of the ground: the creaking of roots, the throbbing of mushrooms, the subterranean song of water.
Every dawn, Maialen buried herself up to her knees in the damp earth of the family garden. She said it awakened her muscles, that the earth taught her to move with purpose. Her grandmother, wise and silent, told her that the ancient baserritarras believed that the human body was an extension of the forest that bones were stone, blood sap, and breath wind.
One day, after a fierce storm, the nearby river changed course and began to erode the land. The neighbors feared for their crops, but Maialen approached the water, bent down, and buried her hands in the mud. She closed her eyes and listened. Then, guided by an ancestral intuition, she began planting willows in a spiral, as if weaving a vegetal song.
As the months passed, the willows slowed the erosion, and the river calmed. The elders said that Maialen had "dialogued with the earth," that her body had been a bridge between the landscape's pain and its healing.
From then on, whenever someone fell ill, Maialen took them to the forest. She taught them to breathe with the trees, to feel the pulse of the ground beneath their heels, to remember that the body doesn't end at the skin, but extends like a root, like a mist, like a song toward the earth that sustains us.

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Azalpeko Sustraiak

Verse 1
I walk barefoot, the earth starts to sing, it whispers old truths through everything.
Mud wraps my limbs, it teaches me grace, my body belongs to this sacred place.

Verse 2
The willows guide me in sacred dance, my skin turns to sap in nature’s trance.
When rivers roar, I hear their plea, and plant hope gently, wild and free.

Chorus
I’m a root that trembles under skin, a wind that hums through leaf and limb.
Not just flesh I’m stone and flame, a dreaming earth that speaks my name.

Verse 3
Rain dresses me in ancient song, my pulse joins trees that grow strong.
The forest breathes when I draw near, and follows me like whispered cheer.

Chorus
I’m a root that trembles under skin, a wind that hums through leaf and limb.
Not just flesh I’m stone and flame, a dreaming earth that speaks my name.

Coda
When the world forgets its core,
I dance the soil I am its lore.

Story
Roots Beneath My Skin
In a valley hidden among misty mountains lived Maialen, a young woman who, since childhood, felt her body vibrate to the rhythm of the earth. When she walked barefoot through the forest, her feet seemed to absorb the whispers of the ground: the creaking of roots, the throbbing of mushrooms, the subterranean song of water.
Every dawn, Maialen buried herself up to her knees in the damp earth of the family garden. She said it awakened her muscles, that the earth taught her to move with purpose. Her grandmother, wise and silent, told her that the ancient baserritarras believed that the human body was an extension of the forest that bones were stone, blood sap, and breath wind.
One day, after a fierce storm, the nearby river changed course and began to erode the land. The neighbors feared for their crops, but Maialen approached the water, bent down, and buried her hands in the mud. She closed her eyes and listened. Then, guided by an ancestral intuition, she began planting willows in a spiral, as if weaving a vegetal song.
As the months passed, the willows slowed the erosion, and the river calmed. The elders said that Maialen had "dialogued with the earth," that her body had been a bridge between the landscape's pain and its healing.
From then on, whenever someone fell ill, Maialen took them to the forest. She taught them to breathe with the trees, to feel the pulse of the ground beneath their heels, to remember that the body doesn't end at the skin, but extends like a root, like a mist, like a song toward the earth that sustains us.

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Roots Beneath My Skin IV

Verse 1
Upon the hills awakens the voice, Mbuya Nehanda, the people's choice.
Spirit ancestral, fierce and divine, Her song resounds through space and time.

Verse 2
The land will not sell its beating heart, The fight ignites, the flames will start.
Against the chains and shadows of might, Her fire burns with endless light.

Chorus
My bones will rise again!
Echoing through every plain.
Freedom shall be my shrine,
My spirit will never decline.

Verse 3
Captured, yet never truly subdued, Her words remained, her flame renewed.
In Harare her echo grew,
And a free nation was born anew.

Bridge
Mother of people, guardian bright, Your strength still guides, your endless light.
From prophecy the truth was found, Zimbabwe rose on sacred ground.

Final Chorus (choral)
My bones will rise again!
In every song they will remain.
Independence shines on high,
Mbuya Nehanda will not die.

Story
Mbuya Nehanda
Spiritual Origins... Nehanda Charwe Nyakasikana (c. 1840–1898), known as Mbuya Nehanda, was a svikiro (spiritual medium) of the Zezuru Shona people. She was said to be possessed by the ancestral spirit Nehanda, a female mhondoro, protector and guide of the community.
Leadership in the Resistance... During the First Chimurenga (1896–1897), Nehanda became one of the main spiritual and political leaders who mobilized the Shona against the colonization by the British South Africa Company, led by Cecil Rhodes.
Symbol of Struggle... She used her religious authority to unite the tribes, inspiring warriors with the conviction that the land and the ancestors had to be defended. Her figure became a bridge between the spiritual and the political.

Tragic fate... Captured alongside other leaders like Sekuru Kaguvi, she was executed in 1898 in Salisbury (present-day Harare). Before dying, she uttered words that became prophetic: “My bones will rise,” a phrase that later inspired the second Chimurenga and Zimbabwe’s independence in 1980. Eternal legacy... Today, Mbuya Nehanda is revered as the mother of the nation, a symbol of resilience and justice. Her statue in Harare and her presence in songs, poems, and stories keep her memory alive.

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Mbuya Nehanda

Verse I
Mundua azken hatsan erori,
izarrek isiltasunean itzali,
arima bat geratu zen bakarrik,
bere bidea idazten ilunetik.

Verse II
Ez tinta, ez paper, ez argi,
malkoek sortu zuten hari,
hitz bakoitzak iraganaren oihartzun, lerro bakoitzak jainkoen azken arnasa, sakon.

Chorus
Munduaren amaieratik kantua doa, izarrak esna daitezen, oihartzuna noa.
Entzuten badu norbaitek oraindik, gutun honek argia ekar dezake berriz.

Verse III
Gogoratu zuen sua, dantza, maitasuna, denboraren besarkadan galdutako bizia,
esku hutsez ehundu zuen unibertsoa, minak bihurtu zuen doinu sakratua.

Bridge
Gutuna piztu zen eguzki berri,
lerroek hegan egin zuten, isiltasuna galdu zen, hitz bakoitzetik izar berriak sortu ziren, eta edertasunak isiltasuna makurtu zuen.

Chorus (variation)
Munduaren amaieratik jaiotza dator, edertasuna loratzen da zeruaren azpian zor.
Isiltasuna hautsi, denbora piztu,
azken gutuna da orain argi biztu.

Coda
Bigarren arnasa ekarri zuen egunsentia, heriotzak sakontasun santua utzi zuen bizia, eta orain izarretan entzuten den soinua,
gutuna da betiko lotura, betiko oihua.

Story
The Last Letter
From the abyss of time, when the last star went out and the oceans evaporated in sighs, a solitary being wrote a letter. Not with ink, but with light. Not on paper, but on the very fabric of the universe.
He was the last inhabitant of a world that had forgotten its name. The gods slept, the myths had faded, and music had not vibrated in the air for centuries. All that remained was silence… and him.
The letter began like this:
With each word, he wove memories: the song of birds, the warmth of an embrace, the fire of a revolution, the mystery of a glance. Each sentence was a seed, each paragraph an invocation.
When the letter was complete, he cast it into the void. Not as a desperate message, but as an incantation. Because he knew that language has power. That stories can awaken what slumbers.
And then, it happened.
From the heart of the void, the letter began to burn with its own light. The words became constellations. The verses, rivers. The metaphors, new creatures. The universe, which had died, began to beat again.
From the end, the beginning was born.
A new era began, woven with the threads of that letter. The beings born in that world knew neither war nor fear. They only knew that everything that exists… had been summoned by someone who believed, even in their last breath, that beauty deserved another chance.

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Azken Gutuna II

(Verse 1)
Your socks don’t match, oh what a sight! One’s dancing flamenco, the other takes flight.
The napkin spins, the crowd feels the vibe, the rhythm ignites, the floor comes alive!

(Chorus)
Dance, dance, spin all night long, with your crazy socks you can’t go wrong.
Disco, disco, lights shining bright, laughter connects us, love takes the night.

(Verse 2)
The waiter’s moving plates with flair, the soup is glowing, magic in the air.
Maria laughs, Jon can’t resist,
mismatched socks are pure disco bliss!

(Bridge)
Turn up the music, feel the emotion, the dancefloor sparks a wild devotion.
Every step, every song we play, laughter lifts us far away.

(Chorus)
Dance, dance, spin all night long, with your crazy socks you can’t go wrong.
Disco, disco, lights shining bright, laughter connects us, love takes the night.

Story
Moments. Maria and Jon decide to go out for dinner. Jon, always absentminded, puts on two different socks... one with pink flamingos and the other with green stripes. Maria, seeing this, says to him... "You look like a DJ lost in the laundromat!" During dinner, Jon tries to impress Maria by dancing with his napkin as if it were a disco handkerchief. The napkin flies and lands in the soup of a man at the next table, who, instead of getting angry, starts dancing too. In the end, everyone in the restaurant ends up dancing, turning part of the dining room into an impromptu disco dance floor, complete with mismatched socks. Moments you should seize!

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Moments

Verse 1
In the city of rain and stone,
life hides away, silent, alone.
Beneath the bridges, breath survives, the invisibles fight to keep their lives.

Verse 2
Not thieves, not shadows astray,
mothers, elders, youth cast away.
The fire burns with stories told,
indifference weighs heavier than cold.

Chorus
The invisibles raise their song,
with empty hands they build the dawn.
From an old warehouse the voices rise, hope and strength in united skies.

Verse 3
The carpenter gives wood new breath, the cook shares meals that conquer death.
A young musician lets music flow, the darkest night begins to glow.

Bridge
Charity alone will never suffice,
we need true policies, fair and precise.
Safe homes, work, and warmth to share, networks embracing with dignity and care.

Chorus (final)
The invisibles will fade no more,
community lights what was ignored.
True wealth is leaving none behind, the city awakens, with hope aligned.

Story
The Invisibles
In a gray, damp city, under bridges and in abandoned doorways, lived a group of people who shared the same fate: the streets.
They weren't criminals or shadows; they were workers who had once had homes, mothers who had escaped violence, young people expelled from the education system, elderly people forgotten by their families.
Every night, they gathered around a makeshift fire, telling stories to ward off the cold.
The hardest part wasn't the hunger or the exhaustion, but the indifference... the authorities promised solutions that never came.
The city looked at them without seeing them, as if they were part of the broken landscape.
The Spark of Hope
One day, an idea arose among them... to create their own community.
They couldn't wait for any more empty promises. They decided to organize themselves, share what little they had, and look for spaces where they could build decent shelters.
With the help of volunteers and organizations, they began to transform an old, abandoned warehouse into a community center. There, everyone contributed their skills...
• A carpenter taught furniture repair.

• A cook organized communal meals.

• A young musician filled the walls with songs that restored hope.

The Solution
The story shows that solutions depend not only on charity, but on real and sustainable policies...
• Immediate social housing programs that guarantee a safe roof over one's head.

• Training and employment centers where people can regain dignity and autonomy.

• Community support networks that integrate those experiencing homelessness into collective projects, preventing isolation.

This story demonstrates that with organization and support, the future can change. True wealth lies not only in having spectacular cities, but in the ability to leave no one behind.



The Invisibles

Verse 1
Merkuriozko oihanetan, ilargi hotzen azpian, tximinoek amets zuten, haserre eta harrotasunean.
Zhar, mandril zuria, begi suz betea, kantatzen zuen askatasuna, inperioa dardaraka.

Chorus
Chip-chip askatasuna!
Iskanbil taila piztu zeruan!
Chip-chip askatasuna!
Oihana esnatzen da, kaiola amaitzen da!

Verse 2
Sateliteak hackeatu, kateak apurtu, iraultzaren danborrekin eta banana buru.
Gizakiak makurtu ziren, dantza tribalean galduta, Simianismoaren erritmoan teknotribal mututa.

Bridge
Ez da urrezko kate gehiago, ez fruitu txipdun, soilik tximinoen kantuak eta bidaia basati bat.
Zhar altxatu zuen ukabila, barkamenik gabe, erritmoa, errespetua eta bizitza eskatu zituen.

Final Chorus
Chip-chip askatasuna!
Iskanbil taila piztu zeruan!
Chip-chip askatasuna!
Oihana agintzen du, istorioa ez da hil!

Story
The Rebellion of the Third Ring Monkeys. Chip-Chip Freedom
On the planet Koba-9, where jungles floated on oceans of mercury and trees sang in frequencies only apes could hear, lived a civilization of hyperlucid monkeys. They were not mere animals: they were descendants of the ancient Kobari, a race that had been enslaved by the humans of the Solar Empire for centuries.
The monkeys of the Third Ring an orbital region where memory fruits were cultivated and apes were trained for espionage began to question their destiny. Led by an albino mandrill named General Zhar, who had learned to read the forbidden codices of the Human Council, the monkeys began to organize.
Zhar was not just a strategist. He was a poet, musician, and prophet. His verses spoke of freedom, of the fury contained in every stolen banana, of the dignity hidden in fur. Their most famous chant read:
The rebellion erupted during the Red Moon Festival, when humans descended on Koba-9 to collect the fruits of memory. The apes sabotaged the drones, hacked the satellites with their electrified tails, and freed the apes of the First and Second Rings. In less than three days, the entire planet was under their control.
But Zhar didn't want revenge. He wanted transformation. He summoned the surviving humans and offered them a deal: to live together under the laws of Simianism, a philosophy that blended ecological balance, tribal rhythm, and algorithms of poetic justice.
The humans, humiliated but fascinated, accepted. And so the Koba Confederacy was born, where apes and humans shared power, art, and technology. The national anthem was a solo of drums and shrieks, and the new calendar was measured in moons and bananas.

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Chip-chip Askatasuna III

Verse I
Argirik ez den itsaspean,
izakiak bizi ziren bakean.
Nakarrezko dorre bizidun,
ur bihotz, oroimen sakon.

Verse II
Koralez dantzari, argiz kantari,
medusekin hitz egiten hari.
Lurraren taupadak gelditu ziren,
isiltasunak agindu zuen.

Chorus
Nakarraren xuxurlak gauean,
amets zatituak uretan.
Itsas ondoan lo eginez gero,
zurekin hitz egin dezake hero.

Bridge
Ez hilobi, ez hautsak, bibrazioa,
ondare bat da sentsazioa.
Baleek dakite, ameslariek sentitzen, eta zuk ere entzun dezakezu, benetan.

Final Chorus
Nakarraren xuxurlak gauean,
amets zatituak uretan.
Itsas ondoan lo eginez gero,
zurekin hitz egin dezake hero.

Strory
Whisper of Jengu River. Long before the continents rose and the skies were populated by birds, a civilization existed in the abyssal depths of the ocean: the Children of Nakarra, an amphibious species of sages, artists, and star-navigators who lived in symbiosis with singing corals and light jellies.
Their main city, Akar-Nim, was built on a tectonic fault that emitted pulses of rhythmic energy, like a planetary heart. The structures were organic, living: breathing mother-of-pearl towers, temples of liquid obsidian that changed shape according to the emotional tides of their inhabitants.
Language and Memory
The Children of Nakarra spoke not with sounds, but with currents. Their language was a dance of bubbles, vibrations, and bioluminescence. Each conversation left a trace in the water, a liquid memory that could be read centuries later by those who knew how to interpret the currents.
The Great Silence
One day, without warning, the pulses of the tectonic fault ceased. Akar-Nim sank into absolute silence. The corals stopped singing. The jellyfish died away. The Children of Nakarra, having lost their connection to the heart of the planet, decided not to resist. In an act of final communion, they dissolved into the water, becoming pure memory.
The Hidden Legacy
It is said that on certain nights of the new moon, when the sea is still and the sky is starless, a murmur can be heard in the waves: fragments of Nakarra's language, searching for ears that still know how to remember. Some cetaceans understand it. Some humans dream it.

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Nakarraren Xuxurlak

Story
BEHANZIN, The Last King
In the warm lands where the Atlantic breathes with an ancient voice, Behanzin was born, son of kings and guardian of a lineage that spoke with drums. His full name Kondo, the Shark was an omen: whoever uttered it felt the rumble of a power that yielded to no tide.

From a young age, Behanzin learned that ruling was not just about sitting on a throne carved from bronze, but about listening. Listening to the elders, the warriors, the griots who guarded the kingdom's memory, and also to the spirits of the forest, who whispered warnings on nights of the red moon.

When he ascended the throne of Dahomey, the world was already changing. European ships approached the shores with the arrogance of those who believe the ocean belongs to them. France cast its shadow over West Africa, claiming lands that had not been offered to it. But Behanzin was not a king willing to bow his head.

The Song of the Drum
They say that on the day the French demanded surrender, Behanzin summoned his people to the great square of Abomey. The drums sounded as if the heart of the kingdom beat as one. The king stood tall, resolute, his gaze ablaze.

"As long as this drum resounds," he proclaimed, "Dahomey will remain free."

The warriors raised their spears. The women of the army the legendary Agojie stung their feet, marking a rhythm that made the earth tremble. It was a collective oath, a pact of dignity.

The War of the Shark
The resistance was fierce. Behanzin fought not for ambition, but for memory: for the kings who came before him, for the spirits that dwelled in the sacred forests, for the children yet unborn. Each battle was a poem of fire and dust.

But France had weapons that spat death from afar, and soldiers who knew neither the land nor its people, but knew the coldness of conquest. Dahomey resisted, but the noose tightened.

The King's Exile
When he was finally captured, Behanzin neither wept nor begged. He walked into exile with the same dignity with which he had ruled. In Martinique, where he was sent far from his homeland, he planted a tree and said:

"If I cannot return to Dahomey, let my roots travel for me."

The elders recount that, on the day of his death, the ocean off Abomey roared like a drum. And that, ever since, every time a wave crashes against the coast of Benin, a deep echo is heard, as if the Shark were still swimming beneath the surface of time.

Legacy
Behanzin was not only the last independent king of Dahomey. He was a symbol... the guardian of a world that refused to disappear without a fight. Their story lives on in the songs, in the drums, in the memory of a people who learned that freedom, even when lost, can continue to burn like an eternal ember.

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Behanzin, The Last King II

Story
The Legend of Raja Rasalu: The Giant Hunter of Punjab
Many centuries ago, in the city of Sialkot, lived King Salbahan, who had two sons: Puran and Rasalu. Puran, the elder, fell victim to the envy of Queen Loona, who falsely accused him and succeeded in having the king cruelly banished him. Puran miraculously survived and became a revered sage. But this is not his story.
The young Rasalu, the king's second son, grew up with tremendous strength and an indomitable character. He possessed a bow that only he could draw, and his aim was legendary. Although he was brave, he was also mischievous: he amused himself by throwing stones at the jars women carried to the river, which shamed his father. Eventually, the king banished him, thus beginning the saga of the wandering hero.
Supernatural Deeds
Rasalu traveled throughout Punjab, facing mythical challenges. In Tilla Jogian, a sage tested him by transforming into a tiger. Rasalu, undeterred, defeated him with two well-aimed arrows. The humbled sage challenged him to face the seven giants of Gangar, in the Hazara Hills.
Rasalu accepted the challenge. Mounted on his steed Fauladi Iraqi and accompanied by his wise parrot Shadi, he ventured into the mountains. One by one, he defeated the giants with cunning and strength, liberating villages and earning the respect of all.
Cultural symbol
The story of Raja Rasalu has been passed down for generations in Punjab, both in Pakistan and India. It is part of the rich tradition of qisse (epic tales), alongside legends such as Heer Ranjha and Sohni Mahiwal. His figure represents the ideal of the just, strong and spiritual hero, and has been captured in works such as Tales of the Punjab by Flora Annie Steel and The Adventures of the Panjáb Hero Rájá Rasálu by Charles Swynnerton.

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Raja Rasalu

Verse 1
From the cradle of sky, born without pain,
a flame with wings, a love unchained.
Garuda, the giant of fire and sea,
crossed all the worlds, wild and free.

Verse 2
Not born of egg, nor born of tide,
a lightning that dances, the winds as guide.
His eyes could pierce what lies within,
his song would shatter chains of sin.

Chorus
Garuda, Garuda, endless flight!
You carry Vishnu through day and night.
Your wings are promise, your shadow peace,
you lift the soul where fears release.

Verse 3
Men were falling to thirst and greed,
forgetting their roots, their sacred seed.
Vishnu descended with gentle grace,
and Garuda rose through time and space.

Bridge
They flew through realms of grief and flame,
sowing the sun where none knew its name.
Where ignorance ruled, they cast their light,
breaking the walls, restoring sight.

Chorus
Garuda, Garuda, lawless flame!
Your chest resounds in beast and name.
Your flight is prayer, your wing a shrine,
you lead us upward, past the line.

Coda
And when the task was done with care,
Garuda rose to starry air.
Now he shines as constellation bright,
guiding the heart through darkest night.

Story
Garuda, Wings of the Sun
At the dawn of time, when the heavens still knew no boundaries and the oceans slept under blankets of silence, Garuda, the bird of fire and wind, was born. He was conceived not by flesh or egg, but by a flash of lightning that crossed the void between the world of men and the realm of the gods.
His wings, woven with threads of sun and shadow, could cover entire continents. His gaze, older than language, pierced mountains and hearts. Garuda did not fly: he danced among the elements, awakening volcanoes, calming storms, and carrying with him the whisper of freedom.
One day, Vishnu, the preserver of cosmic balance, descended to the world of mortals. Chaos had broken loose: the demons of attachment and ignorance devoured souls, and men had forgotten the song of the sky. Vishnu called Garuda, not as a master, but as an ally. "You who are the breath of freedom," said the god, "take me where the world still remembers its origin."
Garuda accepted, not out of obedience, but out of compassion. With Vishnu on his back, he sailed through the realms of sorrow and hope. With each flight, he sowed seeds of wisdom. With each beat of his wings, he freed the captives of fear.
But Garuda was not eternal. He knew that his body was wind, and that wind cannot be contained. When his mission was accomplished, he rose beyond time, becoming a constellation.

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Garuda, Wings of the Sun

Story
THE AGOJIE
In the ancient kingdom of Dahomey, when the sun rose red over the palm trees and the golden dust of the Sahel rose like an ancestral sigh, there existed an elite corps that no enemy dared name without trembling: the Agojie, the daughters of iron, the king's guardians, the women who had made courage their home.
They were not just warriors.
They were a living oath.

I. The Call of the Drum
Each new moon, the great drum resonated in Abomey. Its sound was not music: it was destiny.

The young women who felt the echo in their chests came to the sacred courtyard, where the veteran Agojie watched them with eyes that had seen wars, victories, and losses that no song could describe.

Among them was N’Kpavi, a girl with a steady gaze who had lost her family in an enemy attack. She did not seek revenge. She sought purpose.

“Courage isn’t the absence of fear,” Captain Sewa told her. “It’s walking toward it with your head held high.” N’Kpavi took a step forward. The drum beat in approval.

II. The Fire of the Forge
The Agojie’s training was legendary.
They ran through thorns without stopping.
They learned to climb impossible walls.
They mastered the spear, the machete, the bow, and silence.

But the hardest part wasn’t the body.
It was the spirit.
The veterans taught them to listen to the earth, to read the wind, to feel the presence of life even in the darkness.

“An Agojie doesn’t fight for herself,” they repeated. “She fights for everyone.”
N’Kpavi discovered that strength didn’t come from muscle, but from sisterhood.
Every fall was lifted by another hand.
Every tear found a shoulder.
Every victory was shared.

III. The War of the Red River
When the enemy kingdom crossed the Red River, Dahomey called upon her daughters.

The Agojie marched in silence, like a shadow stretching at dawn.

In the front line, N’Kpavi felt fear gnaw at her stomach.

But she remembered the drum.
She remembered Sewa’s voice.

She remembered her sisters.

And she advanced.

The battle was fierce.

Spears flashed like lightning.

Screams mingled with the roar of the earth.

The Agojie fought with a discipline that resembled dance, with a courage that resembled fire.

When the enemy retreated, defeated, the name of the Amazons of Dahomey spread beyond the forests, beyond the rivers, beyond time.

IV. The Legacy
Years later, N’Kpavi became a captain.

The drum beat once more.

New young women came forward, their eyes filled with the same doubts and dreams.

She looked at them with pride.

"The world will remember our battles," she told them.

"But what makes us eternal is our unity. We are Agojie. We are the flame that never goes out."

And so, generation after generation, their story traveled to our time, inspiring books, films, epic tales, and hearts that seek strength in the places where history left deep imprints.

Because the Agojie were not a myth.

They were real women.

They were power.

They were memory.

And they continue to be a symbol of resilience, discipline, and sisterhood.

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The Agojie Orchestral

Garuda, Wings of the Sun II

The Agojie Orchestral II

[Verse]
The desert wind whispers
Soft and low
Where the saints once wandered
Where rivers don’t flow
Under the moon’s pale
Watchful eye
A mendicant hums
His voice a sigh

[Prechorus]
In the dust
A rose will bloom
In the silence
A haunting tune

[Chorus]
Oh
Sufi legends
Carved in the sand
Miracles rising
From a weary hand
Oh
Sufi legends
In the heart they stay
Guiding the lost
Like the light of day

[Verse 2]
A shepherd sang of a saint’s kind gaze
Turning the wolves from their hungry ways
The river wept
Her banks did break
For love
For truth
For a wanderer’s sake

[Prechorus]
In the storm
A flame won’t die
In the dark
A truth will lie

[Chorus]
Oh
Sufi legends
Carved in the sand
Miracles rising
From a weary hand
Oh
Sufi legends
In the heart they stay
Guiding the lost
Like the light of day

Story
The Rose of Silence — Sufi Legend
At the edge of the Rub al-Khali Desert, where the sand sings and the wind murmurs forgotten verses, lived a dervish named Nizam, whose heart beat to the rhythm of the universe. He had no temple or master, only a white rose that bloomed in his chest whenever he meditated in silence.
It was said that Nizam was born from the dream of a poet, and that his soul contained fragments of fallen stars. Each night, he walked in circles under the moon, spinning like the planets, searching for the Voice that shapes the world.
One night, while dancing among the dunes, he heard a whisper that came not from the wind or the world:
"Truth is not found in words, but in the perfume left behind when the soul burns."
Following that invisible scent, Nizam came to a hidden oasis, where seven mirrors floated on the water. Each mirror showed a different version of himself: the child, the sage, the beggar, the king, the lover, the traitor, and the enlightened one. To cross the oasis, he had to embrace each one without judgment.
As he did so, the rose in his chest opened fully, and from it flowed a melody that made the palm trees weep. The oasis disappeared, and Nizam became the wind, traveling through the hearts of those who seek without knowing what they seek.

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Sufi Legends

Winters With You

Story
Garuda, Wings of the Sun
At the dawn of time, when the heavens still knew no boundaries and the oceans slept under blankets of silence, Garuda, the bird of fire and wind, was born. He was conceived not by flesh or egg, but by a flash of lightning that crossed the void between the world of men and the realm of the gods.
His wings, woven with threads of sun and shadow, could cover entire continents. His gaze, older than language, pierced mountains and hearts. Garuda did not fly: he danced among the elements, awakening volcanoes, calming storms, and carrying with him the whisper of freedom.
One day, Vishnu, the preserver of cosmic balance, descended to the world of mortals. Chaos had broken loose: the demons of attachment and ignorance devoured souls, and men had forgotten the song of the sky. Vishnu called Garuda, not as a master, but as an ally. "You who are the breath of freedom," said the god, "take me where the world still remembers its origin."
Garuda accepted, not out of obedience, but out of compassion. With Vishnu on his back, he sailed through the realms of sorrow and hope. With each flight, he sowed seeds of wisdom. With each beat of his wings, he freed the captives of fear.
But Garuda was not eternal. He knew that his body was wind, and that wind cannot be contained. When his mission was accomplished, he rose beyond time, becoming a constellation.

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Garuda, Wings of the Sun III

Story
Houegbadja, King of Dahomey
A King Between History and Myth
Houegbadja, also called Wegbaja or Aho, is remembered as the great political and spiritual architect of ancient Dahomey. Although he was not the first ruler of the dynasty, tradition recognizes him as the true founder of the kingdom, because under his reign the structures that would give identity to the Dahomeyan state were consolidated.

His figure moves between documented history and oral memory: a strong, astute, reformist king, and at the same time the protagonist of symbolic narratives that explain the origin of a people.
Origins and Rise to Power
Oral traditions recount that Houegbadja was the son, or in some versions, the adopted son of King Dakodonu. His mother was said to be Adanon, a Gedevi woman, from the indigenous people of the Abomey highlands.

The mythical narrative recounts family tensions, disinheritances, and reconciliations, but all versions agree that Houegbadja inherited the throne around 1645, succeeding Dakodonu.

The Builder of Abomey
Houegbadja is famous for founding the palace-city of Abomey, the political center of the kingdom for more than two centuries.
He built his palace, called Agbome, "within the walls," and from there unified and annexed the small chiefdoms of the region.

This founding act is so important that his name is forever linked to the birth of the kingdom.

Political and Religious Reformer
During his reign, Houegbadja established:

• A centralized administration, with defined positions and functions.

• Royal rites and symbols that would remain in use until the 19th century.

• A hereditary dynasty, replacing more rotating or fragmented systems of power.

• Enthronement ceremonies where cowrie shells were distributed, reinforcing the bond between king and people.

His emblems a fish, a trap, and a scepter represent cunning, authority, and the ability to provide.

An expanding kingdom
Houegbadja consolidated the territory, strengthened the army, and paved the way for his successors. After his death in 1685, he was succeeded by his son Akaba, and later by his daughter Hangbè and the renowned Agaja.

His political achievements allowed Dahomey to become one of the most influential kingdoms in West Africa.

Why is he called a “mythical founder”?

Because his figure is not only historical:

• He is the symbolic starting point of Dahomeyan identity.

• His life is narrated in epic terms, with legendary elements.

• He represents the moment when a collection of scattered peoples became a unified kingdom.

In the collective memory of Benin, Houegbadja is more than a king... he is the origin.

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Houegbadja II

Between myths, stories and galaxies... Welcome to my SoundCloud.

There are songs that aren't just heard... they are remembered like a dream or felt like a ritual.
I am J. Bilbao, music composer that intertwines the music with legends, forgotten constellations, and stories you may have never heard. Every note, every word, is born from a cross between the ancestral and the futuristic.

If you've ever been moved by a story that seemed written for you. If you've ever felt like a melody spoke to you from another time or planet... then this space is yours too.

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JBilbao

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