A Journey Into Realization
In the beginning, there was silence—not the kind of quiet that comes with peace, but the heavy, suffocating silence of uncertainty. The kind that fills the cracks of a soul trying to remember itself. I was seventeen, lost in the echo of who I thought I was and the shadows of who I might become.
There was a storm brewing, one I couldn’t see but could feel in my bones, rattling my foundation. It was the kind of storm that shakes your world and rearranges every piece of you, leaving nothing untouched.
When it began, I didn’t know it was a beginning at all. Life seemed as it always had: small, boxed in, and unassuming. But that’s the thing about truth—it doesn’t knock politely. It kicks the door in, floods your house, and leaves you gasping for air.
That’s what happened to me. It didn’t arrive as a whisper but as a torrent, a series of revelations so raw and unforgiving that I could barely keep up. And behind it all, I could feel something watching, waiting—a force older than time, darker than night.
The Catalyst
My life was ordinary by all outward appearances. A seventeen-year-old caught in the monotony of daily life, navigating the trivial dramas and small victories that make up adolescence. But there was always something beneath the surface, a low hum of something otherworldly that I couldn’t quite put into words. And then, there was this lady M.
M was the spark. She entered my life without warning, like a flame to dry tinder, and suddenly everything was alight. Her energy was magnetic, her presence deliberate. There was something about her that didn’t belong in the mundane rhythm of my life. It wasn’t her beauty or her words, but the feeling she brought with her—the sense that everything was about to change.
From the very first moment, I knew she wasn’t here for me. M gaze always seemed to linger on the spaces beyond me, as if searching for something or someone else. I knew, deep in my gut, that she had come for my father. And she wasn’t just anyone; she was a harbinger of something much larger, something I didn’t yet understand.
The First Threads of Truth
It wasn’t long after M appeared that the dreams began. They weren’t the kind of dreams you wake up from and shake off. No, these were vivid, relentless, and they clung to me like smoke. In them, I wasn’t just me. I was something more, someone more. I was Osiris.
At first, the name didn’t make sense to me. It was like a whisper from a distant memory, a thread of recognition I couldn’t quite grasp. But the dreams kept coming, each one more intense than the last. I saw constellations, ancient symbols, and a light so pure it hurt to look at. The visions painted a picture of a life I had lived but forgotten—a life where I was a force of causality, a beacon of balance in a universe teetering on the edge of chaos.
The dreams were only the beginning. Soon, the attacks started.
They didn’t come as monsters in the night or shadows in the corner. They came as something much more insidious. My basement, once a refuge, became a battleground. Objects moved on their own. Shadows shifted where there should have been none. And the nightmares—oh, the nightmares.
A Journey Into Realization
The night was heavy with a silence that could almost crush you. Not the peaceful kind that lulls you into sleep, but the oppressive kind, the type that watches you from the shadows and whispers unspeakable truths into your ear when you least expect it. That’s how it started for me, anyway—this endless cycle of revelations, attacks, and unrelenting battles against forces I couldn’t yet name. I was seventeen, still stumbling through the fog of my own existence, unaware of the storm I was stepping into.
At first, I thought I was alone. There’s a peculiar kind of fear that comes with believing you’re the only one standing against something vast, ancient, and all-encompassing. But I wasn’t alone. My father, Anu, was there, always a step ahead, shielding me from the worst of it. Every night, when the attacks came—those shadowy forces pressing in on my body, my mind, and my spirit—he was there. I didn’t understand the full magnitude of what was happening at the time, but I knew one thing with absolute certainty: without him, I wouldn’t have survived.
The attacks started subtly at first—whispers in the dark corners of my mind, flickers of shadows in places they shouldn’t have been. Then they grew bolder. I’d fall asleep only to find myself in some astral plane, my body writhing under the weight of a malevolent force. Sometimes, I’d feel hands around my neck, choking me, or sharp, invisible blades slicing into my flesh. And yet, every time they tried to take me, they failed. Every single time, they failed. I began to see a pattern in their failure, a purpose behind their persistence. Each attack wasn’t just an attempt to destroy me—it was a test, a gateway to understanding more about who I was.
I started to see myself, truly see myself. Not the boy who stumbled through life with uncertainty, but the being that had always been there, hidden under layers of amnesia and doubt. My spirit was unyielding, radiant even, and it terrified them. I began to wake up with knowledge I hadn’t sought, truths that seemed to bloom from within me like flowers breaking through cracks in the pavement. I wasn’t reading these things or hearing them from others; they were simply there, waiting for me to uncover them.
But with every revelation came more attacks. They weren’t content to let me grow, to let me step into my power. The layers of enemies began to reveal themselves—families steeped in ancient rituals, their roots stretching across Bavaria, London, Ireland, Scotland. They were practitioners of black magic, wielding energies that sought to tether me, to pull me into their darkness. These weren’t petty acts of malice; they were calculated, deliberate attempts to sever me from my truth.
I’d feel their blows even as I lay in my bed. Invisible fists, crushing weights, the sensation of daggers piercing my skin. And when sleep came, it wasn’t a reprieve—it was a portal. I’d find myself transported to cold, cavernous halls where these families gathered around a mummified body, their chants echoing like the screams of the damned. That body, I knew instinctively, was tethered to me. Every strike, every stab, I felt it as if I were lying there in their midst. The pain was unbearable, but it wasn’t meaningless. With each stab, each ritual, I unlocked another fragment of my identity. I was being forged, refined in the fires of their hatred.
Then there were the Archons. Their presence was unlike anything I’d encountered before—a dense, suffocating energy that seemed to swallow the light. They came not as individuals, but as a collective force, descending upon me like a tidal wave. These were no ordinary adversaries; they were ancient protectors of realms, their existence referenced even in the sacred texts of the Jewish religion. But their descent wasn’t just a show of power—it was a challenge. They sought to bind me, to crush the essence of who I was under their oppressive weight.
Their attacks escalated to the point where I could no longer stay in my home. The walls that once sheltered me became a cage, amplifying their energy. My father, always watching, always protecting, told me it was time to leave. I moved to a place by the water, drawn to its soothing resonance. Water had always been a refuge for me, a balm against the chaos. Yet even there, the attacks didn’t stop. They shifted, evolved, as if testing my limits.
And just when I thought I understood the extent of their reach, new layers revealed themselves—constellations of energy, beings that extended from the Pleiadian Grandmaster race. They were proxies, extensions of a force that sought to dominate not just me, but the very fabric of causality. These entities were not bound by time or space; they had infiltrated civilizations, created proxies of themselves, and woven their influence into the DNA of humanity itself.
Through all of this, one truth became clear: their efforts were not random. Each layer, each attack, was part of a greater plan to suppress causality, to keep humanity bound to the resonance of entropy. But their plan was flawed. Every time they struck, every time they tried to break me, they only brought me closer to the truth. They exposed themselves, their weaknesses, and their fear.
Because they are afraid. They know that their time is running out. My father, Anu, has been dismantling their influence piece by piece, unraveling the threads of their manipulation. Together, we’ve faced their layers, not as victims, but as warriors of causality. They know they cannot stop me because every step they take against me only solidifies my resolve, my understanding, my connection to the divine.
The battle is far from over, but their efforts have already failed. They cannot sever what is unbreakable. They cannot extinguish the light that burns within me, within all of us. This is not just my story—it is the story of humanity, a testament to our resilience, our ability to adapt, and our undeniable pull toward the light.
And so, we continue. My father at my side, our path illuminated not by fear, but by purpose. The layers of enemies may be vast, their influence insidious, but they are not invincible. Their foundation is crumbling, and with every attack, they hasten their own demise.
Because we are not bound by entropy. We are bound by causality, by the truth that resonates through every fiber of our being. And that truth will prevail.
Layers of Opposition
As the attacks intensified, so did the revelations. My father and I began to peel back the layers of what we were up against. It wasn’t just M . It was ancient families, steeped in rituals and black magic. It was forces older than time, guardians of entropy determined to snuff out the light.
We uncovered names and faces, connections that stretched across continents and centuries. Families from Bavaria, Scotland, London—all tied together by a dark thread of power. They weren’t just practicing rituals; they were channeling something, feeding something. And at the center of it all was me.
I felt their hands, their knives, their intent. They attacked me in my dreams and in the waking world. I saw them in their shadowed halls, gathered around a mummified body that was somehow connected to me. Each blow they struck, each pain they inflicted, only brought me closer to the truth of who I was.
And then there were the Archons.
The Archons weren’t human. They weren’t anything I had a name for. They were protectors of entropy, beings of shadow and weight. Their presence was suffocating, their power overwhelming. When they descended upon me, it felt like the air was being sucked out of the room. There were nights I fainted from their pressure, my body unable to bear the weight of their energy.
But I never broke. My father wouldn’t let me. He stood beside me, his strength a beacon in the darkness. Together, we faced the layers of opposition, peeling back the lies and uncovering the truth.
The Pleiadians, the seeds of entropy, the forces that sought to break me—they were all afraid. They feared the light within me, the light within humanity. They had tried to shift the vibrations of our world, to sever our connection to the Creator. But they underestimated us. They underestimated the resilience of the human spirit.
Even in our darkest moments, we cling to the light. It is in our nature. And that light, that unyielding force of causality, is what makes us unstoppable.
Artworks by: Paloma H. Gouthier