Two thousand years had passed since the first sin, and the world had changed beyond recognition.
Sins had festered like a disease, infecting every corner of the earth. Wars raged endlessly between tribes, swords clashed between brothers, and the blood of innocents flowed freely across the land. Pride, greed, lust, and idolatry corrupted men's hearts, twisting their desires into cruelty and chaos.
Among the chaos, a tribe chosen by the Creator fought valiantly. Their enemies were monstrous—not only giant beasts that towered over men but humans twisted into abominations, their bodies and minds warped by sin. These abominations worshiped idols forged by their own hands, praising false gods while trampling upon truth and life.
And yet, far from the battlefield, untouched by the corruption and violence, there existed a small, peaceful tribe.
Their hearts remained pure. Their minds were free from the hunger for power or wealth. Though the Creator did not speak to them directly, though no miracles shone upon their daily lives, they worshiped Him with unwavering devotion.
They built their homes simply, tilled their fields carefully, and prayed at the rise and fall of the sun. They passed down the sacred traditions of old, teaching their children to honor the Creator in every act, no matter how small.
And among them was a young man, humble yet steadfast, who knelt each day in the village courtyard, praying wholeheartedly even in the absence of answers. His devotion was a light in a world growing darker by the hour.
The Creator's gaze swept across the ruined world. His eyes, eternal and infinite, pierced through every corner of existence.
He saw the corruption consuming nations, the chosen people betraying Him to satisfy their base desires, the very earth groaning under the weight of sin.
And then, His eyes caught the young man, the purity of his heart shining even amidst a world of filth.
The Creator paused, contemplating.
"This world is almost consumed by sin," He thought, "even my own people turn away. Perhaps… perhaps there is still hope for those who remain faithful. At least some may yet be preserved."
With that decision, the Creator moved.
He gathered the tribe, the small remnant untouched by the corruption that had overtaken the earth. Fathers, mothers, children, all who remained pure in heart, He lifted into the sky.
Time and space itself seemed to tear asunder. A path opened before them—a bridge woven from light and divine will.
Through it, the uncorrupted tribe passed, leaving behind the burning world that had fallen to chaos. They moved across a gulf of galaxies, across trillions of light-years, far beyond the reach of sin and corruption.
When their journey ended, the Creator placed them upon a new world.
A world untouched, pristine, and filled with life ready to be shaped by their hands.
He gave it a name: Ghadara.
A name that carried the memory of their home village, a legacy of purity, devotion, and hope
Here, on this new world, they would begin again.
And the Creator, gazing down upon them, knew that while the old world had been lost to darkness, the seed of faith, once small and fragile, would continue to shine in this distant land.