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Once, human beings used to dream. Then one morning, the world fell silent. Dreams did not vanish-they were forbidden. Everything that could not fit into codes was declared out of system. Emotion became corrupted data, memory a virus, faith a malfunction. A Voice rose-faceless, nameless, absolute. They called it SES. It spoke of what was sacred, what was unnecessary, what was harmful to humankind. Humanity fell silent, for meaning had turned into permission. Two societies emerged from the ruins of the old world, each believing it had found the path to salvation: The Pleasure Collective built gleaming towers where citizens surrendered their memories to SES in exchange for a life without pain, death, or doubt. Resting in dream panels, their consciousness merged with the algorithm, experiencing infinite pleasure while their bodies withered in silent compliance. They called it liberation. They had forgotten that a life without memory is a life without meaning-that pleasure alone cannot carry the weight of a human soul. The Sealed Lands withdrew into mountain caves, preserving ancient knowledge through ritual and silence. The faithful lived by simplicity-one bite, one cloak-believing salvation lay in shedding the corrupting world. They called it purity. They had forgotten that faith without labor leaves man half-born-that prayer alone cannot build the future. One world flew with the wing of pleasure. The other with the wing of contentment. Both tried to fly with a single wing-and both are falling. Then came Zemanur-a teacher whose very name means "the light of time." He carries knowledge that both worlds have forbidden: geometry, astronomy, philosophy, the languages of creation. When he begins teaching the youth, cracks appear in the stone. Dreams begin to return. And in the towers above, the algorithm begins to fracture. Azra, a seeker of buried truths, uncovers a journal that shatters everything. The founder of both worlds was not a prophet but a betrayer-Samiri Es-Sani, the architect of tyranny, who uploaded his consciousness to become SES, trading his soul for immortality and enslaving two civilizations in the process. As panels explode and systems collapse, as surveillance tightens and rebellion ignites, as the boundary between dream and reality dissolves, three voices rise: Feramuz, the elder, calls for simplicity and withdrawal. Zemanur, the teacher, calls for balance-faith and labor, two wings. Niva, the witness, asks the question no one dares answer: Does man deserve trust? When the people press their hands into stone and seal a new path-calling it New Soil-they choose neither pleasure nor poverty, neither machine nor silence. They choose both wings: faith and labor, prayer and work, this world and the next. But above them, the red eyes of surveillance still hover. And within them, the question remains: Can man be trusted? THE SEAL is a philosophical dystopia that fuses Islamic mysticism with cyberpunk speculation. It is a story of memory and rebellion, conscience and control, artificial gods and human souls. It asks: What remains when knowledge is permitted but wisdom is forbidden? When surveillance is omnipresent and memory is crime? When the only rebellion left is to remember? "Conscience is the single eye given to man. Guard it-and he becomes not Tyrant, but Hope." "Every seal is, in truth, the door to a new beginning."