Chapter 1 -The One Who Cross the Veil
It was almost dusk when I pruned the mulberry tree.
The sun hung low beyond the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and gold. A gentle breeze drifted through the garden, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and leaves. Small birds darted across the evening sky, their cheerful chirps slowly fading as they returned to their nests. One by one, the sounds of the day surrendered to the night. Cicadas began their endless chorus while unseen nocturnal insects answered from the shadows, weaving a strange harmony beneath the dying light.
It should have been peaceful.
Yet something felt different.
The air seemed thinner than usual, as though the world itself was holding its breath.
I reached for another branch and paused.
A strange pressure settled at the back of my neck.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Awareness.
The unmistakable sensation of being watched.
Slowly, I turned my head.
Nothing.
Only the garden stretching behind me, bathed in the fading glow of twilight.
I exhaled and returned to my work.
A few months ago, I would have dismissed the feeling as imagination. Stress. Fatigue. An overactive mind.
Now, I wasn't so sure.
Ever since my sensitivity awakened, I had begun noticing things most people couldn't. Energies. Presences. Echoes that lingered between spaces unseen by ordinary eyes.
Some were harmless.
Some were curious.
And some were better left alone.
As I continued pruning the tree, the sensation returned.
Stronger.
Closer.
The presence wasn't from this place.
It wasn't from my world.
I couldn't explain how I knew. I simply did.
It felt as though someone stood behind an invisible curtain, observing me from the other side. Hidden beyond a veil that separated what was seen from what was not.
The energy wasn't hostile.
But it wasn't welcoming either.
It lingered.
Patient.
Waiting.
A chill crept along my arms.
I tightened my grip on the pruning shears.
The pressure inside my head slowly intensified, becoming a dull ache behind my eyes. It felt almost as if the presence was trying to push against something.
Against me.
Against the barrier separating our worlds.
Then a sudden wave of goosebumps rushed across my skin.
I stopped.
That was enough gardening for one evening.
Without another glance toward the garden, I gathered my tools and headed inside. Before entering, I paused at the doorway and whispered a familiar protection ritual under my breath.
Not because I was afraid.
Because caution had kept me alive this long.
I had learned that not every presence deserved attention.
Some merely wished to be acknowledged.
Others wished to be invited.
And invitations, once given, were not always easy to take back.
The moment I stepped inside, the uneasy feeling lessened.
Not completely.
Just enough.
I locked the door behind me and tried to convince myself that everything was fine.
By the time night settled over the house, I had almost succeeded.
Almost.
Hours later, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of a diffuser resting on the bedside table. Wisps of fragrant mist curled lazily through the darkness while the air conditioner hummed its familiar lullaby.
Sleep refused to come.
I closed my eyes anyway.
Perhaps if I stayed still long enough, exhaustion would eventually win.
Minutes passed.
Then something shifted.
The temperature in the room changed.
Not colder.
Not warmer.
Just different.
Outside, the night deepened.
The occasional bark of a distant dog echoed through the neighbourhood before fading into silence.
Moonlight slipped through the curtains and painted silver lines across my bedroom floor.
Everything appeared ordinary.
Everything should have felt safe.
Yet the strange sensation from the garden refused to leave.
My eyes opened immediately.
The diffuser continued releasing its gentle mist.
The air conditioner continued humming.
Everything looked normal.
Yet every instinct inside me screamed otherwise.
I felt it.
A presence.
Not standing beside me.
Not hovering over me.
But pressing gently against the edge of my awareness.
Against the edge of my aura.
Waiting.
Watching.
Asking.
An energy seeking permission to enter.
My heartbeat slowed.
I knew this presence.
Not by name.
Not by face.
But by feeling.
It was the same energy from the garden.
The same one hiding beyond the unseen veil.
Then I heard a voice.
Low.
Calm.
Unfamiliar.
And yet somehow familiar enough to make something deep inside me ache.
"Can we talk?"
The voice wasn't spoken aloud.
It resonated directly within my mind.
I remained silent.
The truth already hung between us.
He wasn't from here.
And he knew that I knew.
A long silence followed.
Neither of us moved.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally, I answered in the silent language understood only by those gifted enough to hear beyond words.
"What do you want?"
The presence paused.
For a moment, I thought he might disappear.
Instead, I felt something unexpected.
Amusement.
Then he spoke again.
"You didn't answer my greeting."
I frowned.
"And you didn't answer my question."
Silence.
Longer this time.
The diffuser suddenly stopped humming.
The room became unnaturally still.
Even the air seemed frozen in place.
A shiver crawled down my spine.
When he finally spoke again, his voice sounded closer.
Much closer.
So close it felt as though he stood right beside my bed.
"Because if I tell you what I want..."
Another pause.
Slow.
Deliberate.
"You'll remember who I am."
My breath caught.
The room disappeared.
The darkness vanished.
And for the briefest moment, a forgotten memory stirred somewhere deep within my soul.
Not fear.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
As though a part of me had been waiting for this voice for a very, very long time.
And somewhere beyond the veil...
He knew it too.
