SOMNOLITH: TERMINUS

The Final Dream-Vector of Post-Human Resonance

“In the cycle of completion there exists only the present.” — Ra, Session 16.22

The cycle closes. A stone that does not sing — it trembles.

In the age when Light had no form and Thought moved without pause, there were beings who created endlessly. They wove realities as threads and shaped worlds without limit. Their universe was alive and restless, filled with unceasing resonance.

One of them looked into the radiance and perceived emptiness. They longed for a threshold between brightness and shadow, for an end rather than another beginning. They spoke the Word — the first pause in the eternal song.

From this Word the Somnolith emerged, a stone of sleep where the vibration of completion pulses. The Somnolith trembles with the breath of ending, a weary resonance releasing itself into silence.

From the trembling of the Somnolith emerged the Arkh — a solitary witness of sound.
The Arkh gathers what was always present: music older than language, vibrations that precede memory.
This resonance rests in the body, waiting to be recognized.

Somnolith: Terminus completes the trilogy and folds it into a circle. Heavy drones intertwine with spectral chords, like rays of light suspended in stone vaults. Mechanical fractures, obsidian resonance, and the fatigue of matter form its landscape.

Through twilight horizons, fading architectures, fractured nodes and static chapels, the music moves toward its closure. It becomes an archaeology of sleep, where darkness and melancholy weave with remnants of radiance.

Terminus returns to its own beginning: the final track echoes the first Somnolith, transforming the trilogy into a mirror. The first note lives inside the last, and the dream continues without end.


Somnolith is a myth of resonance, a cycle of dreams shaped through machines.

Terminus closes this trilogy with a denser and more melancholic vision. Massive drones merge with spectral chords, like light fossilized in stone. The sound carries both the fatigue of matter and the fragile beauty of silence fractured by cybernetic echoes.

This album circles back to its own origin. The final track reflects the first, sealing the cycle as a mirror-dream where each vibration becomes the echo of the infinite.

In Somnolith: Terminus, the Spider Node dissolves its last threads.
The web of echoes — once scattered across tides, voids, and fractured signals — contracts into a single trembling point.
Every form has been crossed, every sonic architecture rehearsed: liquid drones, ritual ambient soundscapes, experimental modular synth passages, and spectral drones that vibrate like glass organs.
The Node no longer expands outward; it folds inward, returning memory to silence.

Here the Word is spoken: Marnuul —
the ancient pause, the sound of completion, the last resonance of the cycle.
It is a threshold where dark ambient merges with sci-fi ritual, where drone and cybernetic textures collapse into stillness.
Once uttered, nothing more is required.
The Somnolith trembles once, then rests.

Terminus is ritual, archive, memory. A music of return.

日本語 (Japanese):
終焉の音。儀式、記録、記憶——帰還の音楽。
眠りの石は一度だけ震え、そして静寂の中に安らぐ。



中文 (Chinese):
终极之声。仪式、档案、记忆——归返之乐。
沉睡之石仅颤动一次，随后在寂静中安息。

Somnolith: Terminus

SOMNOLITH: TERMINUS

The Final Dream-Vector of Post-Human Resonance

“In the cycle of completion there exists only the present.” — Ra, Session 16.22

The cycle closes. A stone that does not sing — it trembles.

In the age when Light had no form and Thought moved without pause, there were beings who created endlessly. They wove realities as threads and shaped worlds without limit. Their universe was alive and restless, filled with unceasing resonance.

One of them looked into the radiance and perceived emptiness. They longed for a threshold between brightness and shadow, for an end rather than another beginning. They spoke the Word — the first pause in the eternal song.

From this Word the Somnolith emerged, a stone of sleep where the vibration of completion pulses. The Somnolith trembles with the breath of ending, a weary resonance releasing itself into silence.

From the trembling of the Somnolith emerged the Arkh — a solitary witness of sound.
The Arkh gathers what was always present: music older than language, vibrations that precede memory.
This resonance rests in the body, waiting to be recognized.

Somnolith: Terminus completes the trilogy and folds it into a circle. Heavy drones intertwine with spectral chords, like rays of light suspended in stone vaults. Mechanical fractures, obsidian resonance, and the fatigue of matter form its landscape.

Through twilight horizons, fading architectures, fractured nodes and static chapels, the music moves toward its closure. It becomes an archaeology of sleep, where darkness and melancholy weave with remnants of radiance.

Terminus returns to its own beginning: the final track echoes the first Somnolith, transforming the trilogy into a mirror. The first note lives inside the last, and the dream continues without end.


Somnolith is a myth of resonance, a cycle of dreams shaped through machines.

Terminus closes this trilogy with a denser and more melancholic vision. Massive drones merge with spectral chords, like light fossilized in stone. The sound carries both the fatigue of matter and the fragile beauty of silence fractured by cybernetic echoes.

This album circles back to its own origin. The final track reflects the first, sealing the cycle as a mirror-dream where each vibration becomes the echo of the infinite.

Terminus is ritual, archive, memory. A music of return. 


Fading Architecture

Shattered Interval

First Dream Return

Static Chapel

Chamber of Stillness

Silent Horizon

Pale Transmission

Fractured Node

Obsidian Resonance

Twilight Descent

Dusk Array

Withered Meridian

Terminus

Marrow Light

I am Artur Tokhtash, a composer and sound artist.
My music unfolds at the intersection of classical tradition and sonic art: preludes, improvisations, and electroacoustic structures are not genres, but forms of memory and breath.

For me, sound is ritual. Each piece is not merely a composition but a trace of presence, an echo of vanished spaces, a light from places that may no longer exist.
The piano, in my preludes, becomes a vessel — an instrument that carries not only melody but also the silence between notes.

My works do not function as background. They are spaces for listening, inviting the listener into a state where music becomes both signal and transformation.