As dusk fell, when the coastal horizon was tinged with ochre and burnt orange, Bhāskara extended his hand in a theatrical invitation, leading Tribal and Alaya to his modest dwelling. The simple structure stood isolated on the beach, flanked by tall trees with slender trunks and disheveled canopies that rustled under the sea breeze, surrounded by low, stubborn vegetation that insisted on sprouting from the damp sand. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the deities were met with the astronomer's meticulous chaos: a disorderly profusion of ancient scrolls scattered across the rustic table and the packed earth floor. Fixing his intangible gaze on the notes, Tribal immediately recognized the familiar traces of that calligraphy and the density of geometric formulas; many of those worn tomes had been brought by travelers who had crossed the distant borders of Suryashan.
"Knowledge without substance is merely smoke in the coastal breeze!" proclaimed Bhāskara, his voice projected as if speaking to an invisible amphitheater.
With a decisive flourish of his earthy cloak, he pulled a blank sheet of paper resting under a stone weight and dipped his quill in dark ink. His movements were energetic as he began listing the materials with firm strokes:
"To capture the curvature that destiny conceals from us, sticks won't suffice. We must erect a monument to precision! A giant hemispherical sundial, carved directly into the ground. First, gray clay from the river slopes to mold a perfect semi-spherical basin in solid earth, beyond the high-tide line. It must be smooth as the surface of a frozen lake. Then, stakes of cast black iron—perfectly straight rods for the central gnomon, driven into the exact heart of the basin. And powdered white limestone and crushed charcoal to mark the angular gradations along the curve's interior."
Bhāskara raised his quill with enthusiasm. The astronomer did not even suspect that the being before him held secrets far beyond cosmic contemplation. Bhāskara saw Tribal merely as a spiritual wanderer, but was completely unaware that during his long stay in Suryashan, Tribal had accumulated vast practical experience: he had been a carpenter, metallurgist, and builder, mastering the art of shaping iron, wood, and stone with the refined engineering of the golden city. Tribal merely observed the astronomer's fervor, containing a faint glimmer of approval in his eyes.
"And why such urgency with these deadlines, Bhāskara?" questioned Alaya, crossing her arms with a sobriety that contrasted with the man's energy.
Bhāskara tapped his finger on the paper.
"Because the time of the heavens does not wait for the time of men, Alaya! The ancient sages did not look upon the stars with assumptions; they counted the cycles. Day after day, the Sun has been rising increasingly displaced on the horizon, and the shadows at solar noon are shrinking by leaps and bounds. In just a few days, the shadow will reach its smallest size of the year and will seem to stop in time. It will be the summer solstice. The perfect day."
He stepped forward, his expression turning focused.
"We must finish construction and calibrate the sundial in time for the first measurement here on the coast. At the exact moment the solstice occurs, I must begin my journey toward the walls of Suryashan. For it is only on that day, and no other, that the Sun reaches the exact zenith over the golden city, illuminating the bottom of the deepest wells without casting any shadow on the stone walls. If we miss this cosmic window, we will have to wait an entire year for infinity to align once more."
After completing his notes and calculations on the paper, Bhāskara went to the corner of the hut where a small stone stove kept embers glowing. With the skill of one accustomed to coastal simplicity, he served his guests deep ceramic bowls, steaming hot.
Bhāskara had made an appetizing fish broth. Among the thick, aromatic stock emerged large steaks cut in rings, where the spine formed a perfect circle at the center. The white meat fell apart at the slightest touch, releasing delicate flakes that disappeared into the spoon before even reaching the mouth.
At the rustic table, under the soft light of oil lamps, dinner unfolded in an atmosphere of camaraderie and anticipation. Between spoonfuls of the hot broth, the three talked at length about the project. Bhāskara detailed the logistics of transporting the clay and calibrating the gnomon, while Tribal, with his vast practical background, offered small precise suggestions about compacting the mass and reinforcing the rods, surprising the astronomer with his technical clarity. Alaya observed the exchange of ideas with serene attention, perceiving how human passion for knowledge could connect such different worlds and wisdom.
When the conversations finally cooled and the embers began to die out, the day's fatigue weighed upon them. They settled into the modest dwelling to rest, aware that as soon as the first rays of morning sun greeted the coast, theory would give way to earth, sweat, and the construction of the great sundial.
Dawn had barely torn across the horizon when the first ray of sunlight touched the wooden hut. Before the light could fully spread, a dry crack resounded through the room.
BANG!
With a single thunderous kick to the center of the wooden door, Bhāskara flung it wide open, making the hinges groan under the dramatic impact. Golden dust floated in the morning air as the salty ocean breeze invaded the dwelling.
Without hesitating a second, the three advanced in synchronized march to the threshold, silhouetted against the sunrise and instantly freezing in an exaggerated composition of bodies, full of attitude.
Bhāskara planted his feet firmly in the sand, bent his knees outward, and threw his torso back at an almost impossible angle, thrusting his muscular chest toward the sky while pointing two fingers directly at the marine horizon.
"The Sun awakens! And with it, the geometry of our victory!" boomed the astronomer, his voice echoing across the deserted beach.
Beside him, Tribal was not one to be outdone. The mystical being tilted his body slightly to the side, crossed his imposing arms over his chest in an accentuated shoulder rotation, and raised his face just enough for his luminous gaze to cut through the gloom beneath his hood, emanating an aura of pure conviction and artisanal power.
Behind them, Alaya found herself swept up by the ridiculous yet contagious momentum of the duo. Almost reflexively, she tilted her hip to the side, placed one hand on her waist, and brought the other to her face, splaying her fingers across her forehead. Yet, behind her delicate fingers, her expression was one of pure restrained despair and secondhand embarrassment. 'How did I end up in the middle of this again?' she thought, her left eyebrow twitching rhythmically under the dawn light, while the two men beside her remained frozen in their ultra-expressive and uncomfortable poses.
"Shovels, hoes, and the determination to challenge infinity!" proclaimed Bhāskara, breaking his pose with a snap of his fingers and grabbing the first tool. "Let's dig!"