One quiet day in Edena, Evea wandered beneath the shade of towering trees, gathering ripe fruits to bring home. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, and the air was calm—until a faint sound broke the silence.

  “Hisss… hisss… Evea… hisss… Evea…”

  Evea froze. She looked around, clutching the basket in her arms.

  “Who’s there?” she called out. “Where are you?”

  “Hisss… hisss… Do not be afraid,” the voice replied smoothly. “I mean you no harm. I am here—upon this great tree above you. Hisss… hisss…”

  Evea lifted her gaze and spotted a serpent coiled among the branches.

  “Oh, there you are,” she said in surprise. “Who are you? What do you want? Are you hungry—would you like some of these fruits?”

  “Hisss… hisss… No, thank you,” the serpent answered. “My name is Serpento. I have come to you because I need your help. I am sick, and only the fruit of that tree can heal me.”

  Evea’s expression darkened with concern.

  “I am truly sorry that you are suffering,” she said gently, “but I cannot help you in that way. Our Great Father forbade us from touching that tree.”

  Before the serpent could reply, footsteps approached through the grass.

  “Evea?”

  Adano had arrived.

  “What is going on?” he asked. “Who is this?”

  “Oh, Adano, you’re here!” Evea said with relief. “This is Serpento. He says he is sick and needs a fruit from the forbidden tree to be healed. I told him that our Father forbade us from touching it.”

  Adano stepped forward, his voice calm but firm.

  “I am sorry to hear that you are ill, Serpento. But Evea speaks the truth—we cannot give you that fruit. Still, if you wish, you may come with us, and I will try to help ease your sickness in another way.”

  Serpento’s eyes gleamed.

  “Hisss… hisss… Your kindness is admirable,” he said. “But that fruit alone can cure me. Are you not charged with caring for all living beings in this land? Besides, the tree bears many fruits. I ask for only one. Please… help me.”

  Evea hesitated. She looked at the distant tree, its branches heavy with fruit.

  “I think we should help him, Adano,” she said softly. “The tree has so many fruits, and he needs only one.”

  Adano frowned.

  “I understand your heart, Evea,” he replied, “but our Father strictly forbade us from taking—or even touching—its fruit.”

  “I believe our Father will understand,” Evea insisted. “This serpent is suffering. And surely, taking only one fruit would do no harm.”

  “Hisss… hisss… Yes… yes,” Serpento whispered. “Only one fruit. It will save my life.”

  After much persuasion, doubt slowly overtook caution.

  At last, Evea reached for the forbidden tree.

  She plucked a single fruit, its surface gleaming strangely in the light. As she turned to hand it to the serpent, Serpento’s voice grew eager.

  “Hisss… hisss… Wonderful! Thank you. I shall surely be healed. But before I eat it, may I ask one small favor? Take a bite and tell me—does it taste sweet? Then I will know it is the fruit I need.”

  Evea hesitated—but only for a moment.

  She took a bite.

  The taste was beyond anything she had ever known—rich, intoxicating, overwhelming. Her eyes widened, and without thinking, she offered the fruit to Adano.

  “Try it,” she said softly. “It is… wonderful.”

  Adano, trusting her, took a bite as well.

  At that very moment, the earth trembled. A blinding golden light burst forth across Edena, and the heavens resounded with a mighty voice.

  “Adano… Evea… My beloved children… what hast thou done? Thou dwelt in peace and abundance, lacking nothing—yet thou hast eaten of the fruit which I forbade thee. Wherefore hast thou disobeyed My command?”

  (Adano… Evea… My beloved children, what have you done? You lived in peace and had everything you needed, yet you ate the fruit I told you not to touch. Why did you disobey My command?)

  Evea fell to her knees. "Forgive us, O Father,” she cried.

  "The serpent was sick and pleaded for our help, saying he would be healed by this fruit. Though we told him of Thy command, he begged earnestly. Seeing it our duty to care for all living beings, we took pity upon him.”

  (Forgive us, Father. The serpent was sick and asked for our help. He said he needed the fruit to be healed. We told him You had forbidden us to touch the tree or eat its fruit, but he begged us. Since it is our duty to care for all living creatures, we took pity on him and wanted to help.")

  Adano bowed his head. "Pardon us, Father,” he said.

  "What Evea speaketh is true. We sought only to ease the serpent’s suffering. Yet before he would eat, he asked us to taste the fruit first—thus we did.”

  (Forgive us, Father. What Evea said is true. We only wanted to help the serpent. When Evea was about to give him the fruit, the serpent said he would taste it first to be sure it was the right one. So Evea took a small bite and gave some to me as well, so I could know its taste.)

  As they spoke, Serpento fled, a twisted smile upon his face, believing his scheme was complete. But as he ran, the world seemed to fold upon itself. No matter how far he slithered, he found himself back where he began. Panic seized him. His scales slick with sweat, he turned slowly—only to see Adano and Evea gazing upon him, and to hear once more the voice of Bathara echoing through the heavens.

  "Serpento, is it not so? I perceive thou hast somewhat to confess. Speak now, and hide not the truth from me." Bathara spoke

  (Serpento, is that not your name? I know you have something to confess. Speak the truth now and hide nothing from Me.)

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Serpento bowed his head down to the ground and answered Bathara

  “Hiss… hiss… Forgive me, O Great Father. You are the One who created me. I am but a serpent, yet in time I was able to take the form of a man.

  While wandering in the wilds, I saw these humans and admired how deeply they loved one another. I thought that perhaps I, too, might find a human who could love me. As I roamed, I did not notice that I had already wandered beyond Edena.

  Then I saw a woman, and I was captivated by her beauty. I approached her and told her my story—that I had seen humans, that I admired them, and that I longed for someone to love me as well. After I spoke the name of Adano, she told me she would love me in the way I desired, if only I would obey her.

  I also told her that You had forbidden them to eat a certain fruit. Upon hearing this, she commanded me to deceive Adano and Evea into eating the forbidden fruit.

  You know her name—she is Adana. Forgive me, Great Father. I did not know it would end like this. I only wanted her to love me.

  Hiss… hiss…”

  "So then, thou declarest that this wickedness was wrought by Adana. And because thou hast deceived Adano and Evea, and hast hearkened unto Adana, joining thyself unto her evil design—hear now thy curse: Thou shalt crawl upon thy belly for all thy days, and never again shalt thou return to the form of man. Falsehood shall ever dwell upon thy tongue, and no truth shall proceed from thy mouth henceforth.

  And ye, Adano and Evea—because ye have transgressed my commandment and eaten of the fruit which I forbade, ye shall no longer abide within Edena. Depart from this place, for it shall no more be your dwelling. This shall be your punishment for your disobedience." Bathara said to them

  (So, you say this was caused by Adana. And because you deceived Adano and Evea and obeyed her wicked plan, hear your curse: You shall crawl on your belly forever and never again take human form. Lies will live in your tongue, and truth will never come from your mouth again.

  And you, Adano and Evea—because you disobeyed My command and ate the forbidden fruit, you can no longer stay in Edena. Leave this place, for it will no longer be your home. This is your punishment for disobedience.)

  Adano and Evea were burdened by regret for all that they had done. Yet even so, a trace of sympathy remained in their hearts for the serpent. For they knew that blame alone would not mend what had been broken.

  They accepted their punishment without protest.

  Upon returning to their home, they quietly gathered the few things they were allowed to bring and called their children to their side. The air was heavy, every movement slow, as though Edena itself mourned with them.

  Adano knelt before his children, his voice steady yet filled with sorrow.

  “We are sorry to tell you this,” he said. “We must leave Edena. We disobeyed our Great Father, and this exile is the consequence of our sin.”

  Tears welled in the children’s eyes. Though sadness filled their hearts, they understood that the will of Bathara could not be denied, and that obedience was the path they must follow.

  Before departing, Adano and Evea walked through Edena one last time. They bade farewell to the animals and living beings they had raised and cared for since the beginning.

  Adano bowed his head and spoke softly.

  “Forgive us. We have sinned against our Great Father, and for this, we must leave Edena. Please continue to watch over this land. I believe you will care for it better than we ever could. We shall miss you dearly.”

  Evea stepped forward, her voice trembling.

  “I am so sorry that we must leave Edena in your hands. I pray that one day, fate will allow us to meet again.”

  And so, after their final goodbyes, Adano and Evea turned away from their home and departed from Edena, never once looking back.

  Meanwhile, in the distant land where Adana dwelled—

  Adana smiled to herself, believing that all was unfolding according to her design. But in an instant, the ground quaked violently, and the sky was flooded with blinding light.

  Startled, Adana stepped outside the house where she had taken refuge.

  Then, a voice echoed from the heavens—deep, solemn, and filled with divine authority.

  It was Bathara.

  “Adana, My child… what hast thou become?”

  (Adana, my child… what have you become?)

  The light intensified as His voice continued.

  “Thou hast defied Mine command and forsaken Adano, deeming it unjust to walk beside him as his wife. Thou didst seek a life governed by thine own will, claiming equality in all things. Yet instead of bearing the path thou hast chosen in silence, thou hast sown deceit and evil through the mortal serpent, casting suffering upon Adano and Evea.”

  ( You disobeyed My command and left Adano because you thought it was unfair to follow him as his wife. You wanted to live by your own will, equal to him in every way. But instead of quietly living the life you chose, you brought lies and harm through the mortal serpent, causing trouble for Adano and Evea.)

  A pause followed—heavy and unforgiving.

  “Thus, judgment shall be passed upon thee.”

  (Because of this, I will now judge you.)

  At the sound of Bathara’s voice, Adana collapsed to her knees. Her body trembled uncontrollably as fear and regret overwhelmed her.

  Tears streamed down her face as she bowed her head to the ground.

  “O Great Father,” she cried, her voice breaking, “forgive me.”

  “You speak the truth. I left Adano because I grew weary of living the same life, bound to the same duties. I wished to claim a life of my own choosing.”

  Her fists clenched against the earth.

  “I regret my cruelty. I regret seeking to harm them. My heart was consumed by anger and jealousy when I learned that Adano lived happily with another in Edena.”

  Tears streamed down her face as she lowered her head, her shoulders trembling.

  “Forgive me, Father,” she said softly. “I will accept whatever punishment You deem just.”

  A vast presence filled the space, and Bathara’s voice resounded from above—gentle, yet absolute.

  “Thou art one of My beloved children, and among My fairest creations. Yet thou hast rebelled against Me and committed grave iniquity. For this, thou shalt be punished.”

  (You are one of My beloved children and one of My most beautiful creations. But you have disobeyed Me and done evil. Because of this, you will be punished.)

  The light dimmed, casting long shadows around her.

  “Never again shalt thou set foot upon this sacred land. Nor shalt thou find rest in any dwelling. Thou shalt wander the breadth of this world without end, until the breath of thy life is spent.”

  (You will never again set foot on this sacred land, nor will you ever find rest in any home. You will wander across the whole world without end, until your life’s breath is gone)

  The words carved themselves into her soul. She remained kneeling, tears falling silently, as her fate was sealed by the will of the divine.

  "I am so sorry Father, I'm so sorry" Adana said in deep remorse

  And when Bathara was done speaking to Adana, the sky returned to normal, and the serpent arrived.

  "Hisss...hiss...I did not hear the punishment our Great Father has given you. You should start to worry now, Adana, for I shall no longer follow you wherever you choose to go."

  Adana’s eyes blazed. Her voice, sharp as a knife, cut through the stillness.

  “I don’t care! Even if you won’t follow me… just leave me alone!”

  Serpento’s scales shimmered, twisting in confusion. His voice stammered and wavered like a storm-tossed sea.

  "Hiss... Hiss... Wait!! No! Yes!! No!! Yes!! What I told you is correct! Oh No. It's not! It's wrong. The truth is I'll never follow you anymore! Hisss.. hiss... Yess! Noo! Aaah!"

  That was the day Adana left the continent of Maharlara and began to wander across different parts of the world. And even though Serpento could only speak lies and Adana could not understand his words, he continued to follow her and never took his human form again.

  Though Adano and Evea had departed from Edena, they remained on the continent of Maharlara and eventually returned to Adano’s home. When he arrived, Adano’s heart leapt—his daughter was there, safe and waiting.

  “Alona, my daughter! I never expected to see you here! I’m so glad you’re safe. How is your mother? Where did she go?” Adano asked, his voice trembling with relief.

  Alona blinked in surprise, seeing her father again after so long.

  “Father! I missed you so much! I thought I would never see you again! Mother said we were just going outside, but then she told me we were leaving you and our home. I didn’t want to leave, so I returned here right away. But when I got home, you weren’t there. I waited… and waited. Years passed, yet I believed that the day would come when you’d return, and we could be together again.

  “I don’t know where Mother is now, or where she’s going. I’m still waiting for her to come home,” Alona added softly.

  Hearing her words, tears welled up in Adano’s eyes. His child had lived alone for years, waiting for him faithfully. He embraced her tightly.

  “I’m so sorry this happened to us. I didn’t know your mother would leave—and even take you with her. I was lost… I didn’t know what to do.”

  “I prayed to our Great Almighty Father. He told me that no harm would come to you, and I was so thankful,” Adano continued, his voice trembling. “Then… He brought Evea into my life.”

  He smiled gently and gestured toward the woman standing beside him.

  “Alona, this is Evea. She is my wife now, and I love her dearly.”

  Evea knelt slightly and smiled warmly at Alona. “Hello, Alona. I’m happy to meet you. Don’t worry—starting today, you’ll never be alone again. I will do everything I can to be a good mother to you too.”

  Alona looked at Evea and felt a warmth she hadn’t felt in years. She wasn’t alone anymore.

  Adano then introduced Alona to her new siblings, the children of Evea.

  A radiant smile spread across Alona’s face. She wasn’t just alone anymore—she had a new mother and siblings to call her own.

  From that day onward, they lived together in peace, their hearts and home once again full.