Manuscript of Memory

Chapter I
An old notebook, forgotten by someone who had once lived in this house, turned her world upside down—a world that had once seemed so clear, so ordinary, so firmly rooted. In a matter of days, that former reality shattered into countless fragments. And no matter how hard she tried to gather and piece them back together—nothing worked. Or rather, something did come together—but what emerged was a surreal, grotesque mosaic. Its strange contours reminded her of all the dreams and aspirations she had once left behind—just as someone had abandoned that notebook—in the empty house of her own past.
Lera had recently moved here with her family. It was a magical descent into serenity, far from the noise and hustle of the big city. As she immersed herself in the old notebook, she realized it was no accident that she had ended up in this place, in this house. Her dreams, her strange impulses—all had been leading her to this singular point in time.
The ordinary flow of life had always felt alien to her, from the very beginning. Listening to people’s words, observing their actions, she struggled to find any lasting meaning in these little daily performances. And the more others tried to "bring her down to earth," the more tangled she became in their endless contradictions.
Eventually, at least outwardly, she had to accept the rules of the world around her. But doing so only strained the strings of her soul even further. Each day demanded from her a fierce battle between her true self and the version of her playing a role in someone else's strange theater, with its imagined fears and made-up laws. It was exhausting—and at times, it left her completely paralyzed. Only in dreams, when freed from the burden of imposed duties, could she return to herself…
"...Once again, I flew with my teacher, who now took the form of the boy from my childhood. Descending a hill with my sisters, I noticed every blade of grass, every new possibility of sprouting—my gaze lit with focused presence. Each sister has a fairy who helps you keep flying when your attention drifts. My fairy is a doll in a pink satin dress with lace. I used to fly only with my sisters. But one day, I decided to fly to the city-labyrinth, in search of myself. There, I met the mentor. And once I met him, the fairy lost her power. But I gained the flight of the brothers, while keeping the grace of the sisters. Now I never leave the game—but I rejoice in its perfection. Flying is my life…"
This was her true world. In it, she felt her boundlessness—and each night, she returned to it with joy.

Chapter II
The ancient clan of the Eternal Keepers of Time was forced to retreat at the end of the 19th century. On the eve of great global shifts—events that would reshape the timeline in accordance with humanity’s forgotten free will—the Elder summoned all the seers.
He was aware of the great mission of Love, which, above all, was to be fulfilled through the activation of a sacred union: the Elder of the Clan and the Priestess of the Solar Sanctuary. He searched for her. He knew when she would return to this world. But he did not know where their meeting would take place. The energies had become veiled… uncertain.
And then, one day, while passing through a small seaside town, he saw her.
It was a fleeting moment at a tram stop.
He was inside the tram when he noticed her through the window.
She was crossing the street in a hurry, trying to catch the tram as it began to pull away, but she didn’t make it. For a single, suspended instant, their eyes met.
And in that instant, Love swept their hearts beyond the edges of the Universe.
Sadly, it was their only, ephemeral encounter…

Chapter III
Lina was as lonely and defenseless as a child. She remembered nothing of her parents, having grown up in an orphanage attached to a boarding school for noble girls.
Despite her orphanhood, she had rarely felt deprived of anything.
She completed the academy with distinction, though it had required little effort on her part.
On that unforgettable day, she was hurrying to meet a man she had learned about from the headmistress of the boarding school.
This man could help her realize what might have been the greatest of her “mad” dreams:
to found and open a School of Legacy and Inspiration.
The Elder had searched for his beloved for many years. But time passed, and the search bore no fruit. And when he and his clan were finally forced to “vanish”, he tried, for a long while, to forget her. Deep in his soul, he knew — he hadn’t found her because he both longed for and feared that meeting.
Before their final disappearance, the High Keepers of Time left a testament, etched into the “Rose of the Winds.” It was passed on through threads of intuitive perception, carried down the channel of incarnation. Its essence spoke of an inexhaustible source of knowledge and prosperity. And the key to it would be a Seer, who by birth and by the path walked,
would reveal their belonging to that ancient lineage — and in the moment of self-realization, gain the right to unlock this powerful legacy for all of humanity.

Chapter IV
Often at night, when the stars once again gleamed brightly through the window, Lera would wake and gaze for long moments into the cloudless sky—resonant with the melody of celestial spheres. Then, quietly, like a little thief, she would take her pocket flashlight and sneak up to the attic. There, among neatly arranged cardboard boxes, in the corner by a small round window that looked like an airplane porthole, she would sit down on an old homespun rug and, like a thirsty traveler in the desert, eagerly drink in every word written in a fine, meticulous hand…
“I write this journal because I have no one else to share all that now lives within me.
Any attempt—no matter how gentle—to speak of my ideas or dreams to the other girls, ends in bewilderment at best. Laughter and whispering behind my back have become part of my daily life. They believe I’m not in my right mind. As if the essence of life lies in strictly following all the proper manners, keeping a pious expression while reading the Law of God,
and chatting with young men about nonsense—in French, of course.
Nonsense and hypocrisy!
And yet… I thank God for the kind and sensitive soul He placed in my path—my teacher, Maria Nikolaevna. Those rare evening hours I spend speaking with her bring clarity to my thoughts and wholeness to my soul.”
This stranger’s diary from the past rang with a music of otherworldly poetry.
It was laced with mystical diagrams and curious sketches—and everything in it strangely echoed the magical world within Lera herself.
When the voices of dawn birds proclaimed the coming of a new day,
Lera gently closed the thick, timeworn notebook, as though it were a sacred relic.
Faint outlines of a once-gilded monogram in the shape of the letter “P” could still be seen on the cracked leather cover. Carefully placing the old manuscript into a small cardboard box, she decided to get a bit more sleep…
________________________________________
*“The outline of the old city grew clearer through the morning haze. She walked slowly through a narrow, empty alley. Here and there, little caf;s and shops were beginning to stir with the daily bustle. Diligent workers polished windows and adjusted signs. And it seemed no one paid her any attention, something that filled her with quiet joy. She thanked the world, silently, for this solitude that allowed her to dissolve into space and become invisible.

Then, in the distance, the solemn ringing of great bells echoed from the old cathedral.
She thought about stopping at a cozy caf; for a cup of hot chocolate— but the bell’s call urged her forward, toward the hill where the silhouette of the great temple stood, its massive Orthodox dome flanked by two Gothic towers.

With each step, the chime grew louder, more commanding. People began to appear—from homes, from narrow alleyways drawn by the bells’ call. And as the crowd thickened,
she noticed the emergence of tall, faceless figures in black robes among them.

Suddenly, behind her, dry autumn leaves rustled—lifted into a swirling spiral by an invisible wind. Its sudden chill raced down Lera’s spine. At first, she thought to push deeper into the crowd, hoping the bodies might shield her from the piercing wind and the rising sense of unknown dread. But the strange whirlwind had already chosen its ‘prey’— and it was coming for her. People moved aside for it, pressing tightly together. She knew: it would find her, even if she hid beneath a monk’s black cassock. Breaking the centripetal flow toward the cathedral, she turned and began weaving in the opposite direction, twisting her path to confuse the storm. At last, she broke free and fled into a nearby alley. The echo of her heels on cobblestone rang across the empty quarter. She tried not to listen to the sounds around her. Another house, a corner. And in the roar of the approaching whirlwind, her sharpened senses caught voices.
Instinctively, she grabbed the cold iron handle of an old house— abandoned, boarded-up.
With effort, she yanked the door open. It creaked. She slipped inside and shut it behind her.
Without delay, she ran across a long corridor with patterned tile floors, scattered with fragments of old newspapers and yellowed photographs. She ran straight ahead, without looking back,
searching for some small, dark hiding place— and ended up in a wide hall with large arched windows
.
“At least… it’s just the wind,” she tried to reassure herself.

But the storm was rising outside. The house was surrounded by a spinning vortex.

“This is my dream. I’ll wake up!”
she screamed inwardly—but could not hear her own voice.

Threads of energy began pouring through every crack and gap in the house. And now—
she stood at the center of the whirlwind. It spun like a carousel, lifting from the ground all that had once lain dead and scattered— old photographs, crumpled pages. Faces from another century... some strangely familiar. The whirlwind slowed. And in the thick dust-fog, silhouettes began to form— as if emerging from non-existence. They took their places in a circle.
They were women— from every epoch and age of the world. And some of them, from Lera’s knowledge of history, didn’t belong to any known human era. One woman wore a tiger-skin tunic and carried a long spear. Another wore a lace-drenched medieval gown with an intricate hairstyle and a diadem. There were warrior-women, vestals, priestesses, and nuns.
One figure, shrouded in a soft green glow, drew Lera’s attention most of all. But try as she might— she couldn’t see her face. The woman was wrapped in a glowing mist. All Lera could make out was that she held something— a book. In her thoughts, Lera didn’t notice how silence fell. All eyes were upon her. And from them flowed a power that Lera felt in every cell of her body. Then—a voice rang out. Not from the circle, but from above. It sounded like a celestial harp—though she’d never heard such a sound before. Only later could she make out the word it spoke. From the unseen dome, descending in spirals, the voice said:
“I bestow.”
Lera awoke in the abandoned hall. She tried to gather her thoughts, the dream still pressing against the walls of her mind. Uncertain where dream ended and reality began, she moved through the dim hallway toward the exit. Pushing open the heavy door with effort, she stepped into the quiet alley. The stars winked playfully down at her from the dark sky…*
Chapter V
The third decade of the twenty-first century. Time—many had begun to notice—was tightening, coiling like a spring. It seemed that soon it would no longer hold, and with explosive force, would uncoil—scattering to the winds all that had hardened, settled like silt, and fossilized in the webs of habit.
Returning once again from one of her solitary evening walks, Lera suddenly remembered that the woman she had recently met by chance in the park had invited her to visit, giving her the house number. As it turned out, she lived nearby, in a small house with her older sister. Lera had promised to stop by in a couple of days. And since it was on her way, she decided to go.
The old woman’s house stood on the next street, the one that led down toward the coast.
With some effort, Lera opened the sagging wooden gate, sunken into the sandy path leading to the porch. She cautiously peeked into the yard—checking for dogs. Seeing nothing but a gray cat rustling through the thick raspberry bushes and a pair of cawing crows, she confidently approached the house. The low windows, with crooked and aging shutters, were tightly curtained.
For some reason, it felt as if no one had lived here in a long time. Lera knocked gently. Silence.
She knocked again, more firmly this time. From behind the door came the shuffling of slow footsteps— as if someone were dragging behind them a lifetime’s worth of memories.
— "Who’s there?" a high-pitched, almost childlike voice called from inside.
— "Margarita Stepanovna? It’s Lera. We met a few days ago in the park."
There was a loud click, and the door opened to reveal a tiny, fragile old woman, neatly dressed in a patchwork dress of varied textures, shapes, and colors. A bright turquoise bonnet was tied around her head. She looked like a fairy-tale Colombina.
— "Ah... Come in, dear. Rita’s not home at the moment. I’m her sister—Faya. I think I know why she invited you."
To Lera’s surprise, the old woman moved with a light, sprightly step, shuffling into a sunlit room.
"Something feels off," Lera thought.
— "What’s your name, beauty?" asked Faina Stepanovna, rummaging through some papers and trinkets on an old writing desk.
— "Lera. I live nearby. On the next street."
"Why did I tell her that? She didn’t even ask where I lived…"
Despite her age, the old woman had an unexpectedly radiant, almost glowing appearance.
— "Ah! There it is. What was I thinking—it’s been right here all along!"
She picked up a small object that had been resting on a large, sky-blue book.
— "Tell me, Lerochka… since you moved here, has anyone been looking for you?"
The sudden question struck Lera like a flash of lightning.
— "Oh, but what am I doing, keeping you on the doorstep like that!
Wait right here, darling, I’m going to bring you some of my rose jam.
I promise—you’ve never tasted anything like it!"
With that, the odd little woman bustled into the next room, calling out over her shoulder:
— "Oh, and by the way—the ring’s for you. Try it on!"
The sudden silence that fell over the house unnerved Lera. Trying not to overthink this strange situation, she approached the table and picked up the ring. It was left sitting there so deliberately.
On the tarnished silver were engraved the words:
“Listen to the heart, and you shall find. The path will lead.”
Standing still in uncertainty, she slipped the ring—almost reverently—onto the ring finger of her left hand. To her surprise, it fit perfectly. And in that instant, a quiet clarity lit up her mind.
She suddenly saw where the source of that mysterious light in the room came from. What she had taken for little bulbs… were actually living beings—fluttering under the ceiling with tiny transparent wings. Their bodies resembled butterflies, but on their delicate human-like heads they wore strange headdresses reminiscent of those worn by Tibetan monks. They flew in silence, gathering in playful flocks, dancing from one corner of the room to another—
and when they reached the center, they formed a glowing circle, watching Lera with a mysterious half-smile.
"Why are you standing there? Go! Go! Run!" pulsed in her mind.
"But where is the old woman? What does all this mean?"
Panicking, Lera headed toward the door.
But where the entryway had been just ten minutes earlier, she now found a dark, dusty storeroom, piled high with clutter.
"Where is she? What kind of trick is this?"
She rushed to the door through which Margarita Stepanovna had vanished and nervously pressed the handle. With a tortured creak, the door gave way.
A salty sea breeze, tinged with the fragrance of roses, brushed gently against her face. Struggling with the door that the old woman had opened so effortlessly, Lera stepped outside—onto the coast. On either side of the golden sand path leading to the house, vast glass greenhouses bloomed in a symphony of color. White, yellow, coral, crimson— the roses shone with fresh majesty and beauty. And then she saw in the corner near the gate— a bush of azure-blue roses. It was stunning, immaculately shaped— like a bouquet prepared as a gift. She moved closer.
Crystal dewdrops shimmered on the petals, like tiny suns resting on the sky-blue silk. Her heart fluttered like a bird sensing the coming of spring. Somehow, deep within, she knew—these flowers were meant for her... It was a breathtaking mystical experience— even for Lera, whose life moved to the rhythm of starlight. And yet, even her nightly journeys were becoming more and more real— in feeling, in sensation— as though some divine alchemy were taking place
in the center of her inner universe, bridging the celestial and the earthly…

ChapterVI
The small town lay hushed, holding its breath for the full moon. Everyone awaited in quiet dread the unfolding of an unknown prophecy, inscribed in the church’s ancient oracle. A pack of silver wolves had appeared on the outskirts. People locked their doors, drew their curtains, and turned off their lights.
She walked alone down the empty street, bathed in the bright light of the streetlamps. Above her, the full moon shone like a crystalline sphere, crowned by a tri-colored misty halo. And yet she felt no fear. On the contrary—somewhere deep within her clear awareness, a strange shift began: the heavy weight of anticipation melted away, replaced by the rush of an approaching resolution, an intoxicating sense of freedom… and rage— a primal, ancient fury, old as the world itself.
She ascended the steps to her porch and saw them. A small pack of majestic beasts moved with pride along the broad road. Their light-gray fur shimmered with a silver glow. Dignity flowed through their every step. Their eyes held a knowing gaze— as if they saw something in the world
that no one else could perceive in that deserted street.
The alpha turned his gaze toward her. She watched, entranced, as he approached with regal bearing. But with every step he took closer, her righteous anger flared. And soon it overwhelmed her. He came within arm’s reach— and suddenly, his royal presence faded into submission.
He lay down gently at her feet and covered his eyes with his forepaws. She raised her hand to strike— but instead, to her own surprise, she reached out and stroked his silky, luminous fur
.
Her anger still burned. In her mind she cried,
“How could you do this to me?» Who gave you the right to play with the hearts of these people?”
And then, a quiet voice spoke in her mind—deep, calm, steady:
“Forgive me. It couldn’t be any other way.
You know this. That’s why you’re angry.”
________________________________________
Lera awoke abruptly. Silver moonlight filled her room. Her heart pounded—not with fear,
but with strange anticipation, a sense of something new—yet unseen, yet unnamed.
Something was calling her outside—beneath the open sky. And as soon as she stepped out,
a stream of silver and blue energy shot through her— from crown to soles, then into the earth.
Her whole body tingled with life; her eyes sparkled like flashes of lightning. But the coolness and scent of fresh grass on the lawn soothed her— bringing divine peace and a sense of bliss. In this softened stillness, she returned to bed...
________________________________________
...A small wooden cottage with just one room. Each wall held a large window. Golden sunlight poured in. The room was filled with old furniture— an iron bed creaked against rusted springs,
a warped wardrobe leaned in the corner, and a square table stood at the center.
She sat at the table with friends, waiting for lunch. Then, in the midst of quiet conversation,
she noticed—out of the corner of her eye— the old wardrobe slowly sliding aside. From a dark crack in the wall emerged a monstrous spider— as large as a human, black-bodied with a glowing blue symbol on its belly.
No one else seemed to notice. But she knew—it was after her. She tried to hide, to run—
but the door was locked. The spider lunged. Only then did the others finally see the creature.
But it was too late. It bit.
The moment passed. The spider vanished, as though it had never been.
She felt dizzy. Her breath slowed. Her movements weakened. Then, the door opened.
She stepped outside with effort into the fresh air. People began to surround her—asking questions, watching her closely. A large tourist bus pulled up. She remembered—she had promised to guide them on a tour through the old forest village. Now the crowd watched her—
as if she were an oddity in a museum. She wanted to run, to hide from their consuming gaze.
But her strength faded. She slipped into a half-dream.
Suddenly, someone broke through the crowd— scooped her into their arms—and ran. The spring wind kissed her face, and strength returned to her limbs. Now they ran together across a wide meadow.
But the crowd followed. Eyes chased them— stared from all sides.
They leapt into a lone train car, rolling downhill with no track in sight. And they didn’t fear the unknown— they embraced it as a blessing. The train carried them to a great city. And again—they had to hide. The hungry stares encircled them— about to consume. Why? For what reason? They did not know. For those who stared remained fast asleep— dreamless, blind.
At the center of a wide square stood a fragile wooden shed. It was narrow, windowless. They squeezed inside, latching the door behind them. But it was only a false refuge.
Across the crowd surged a primal instinct— a feverish thirst for spectacle. There was no escape.

Only now, finally, they met each other’s eyes. Through the cracks between boards, they saw a marble fountain— its thin stream rising gently, endlessly. Without a word, they tore down the back wall— and sprinted toward it. Reaching the fountain’s edge, they joined hands— and soared.
The rainbowed fountain burst upward with tremendous force, mingling with the midday sun.
Countless gazes froze— drinking in the vision. Two souls became one— transformed into a rainbow of pure, luminous energy, dissolving in the fountain’s spray.
And the drops of that living water touched the faces of the watchers— awakening their sleeping souls, washing away the last fragments of slumber, and lifting them into the halls of inexhaustible joy…

Chapter VII
The time of projection equilibrium was drawing near. It was to happen on New Year's Eve.
In recent years, and especially in the last few months, profound changes had taken place in Lera’s life. Having torn herself away from the past, from the comfort and safety of monotony,
she was surprised to discover a strength within herself she had never known before. At first, thoughts of the past clung to her—interfering, sabotaging— as if whispering: “Look what you’re doing… You’re only complicating things, destroying what once was. Who are you helping, really?” She would flare up, tormented by doubt. But an unseen hand—quiet, steady—was already guiding her, unshakably, toward herself, toward her path. Words of guidance, silent whispers, and even silence itself seemed to test her—examining her will for maturity. Polina’s diary, and Lera’s own mystical nocturnal journeys, only deepened her inner knowing—
strengthening her presence in the power of sacred memory.
And now, at last—so long awaited and yet so unexpected— she stood face to face with them,
here in this small seaside town, just as she was trying to savor her solitude on the snowy evening shore. They began to appear—one by one—from the darkness, like phantoms. A majestic Elder with long silver hair tied back in a knot, his sky-blue eyes shining with wisdom and a hint of playful mischief. And beside him—his youthful companions. Twenty-one in total.
They stood before her on the empty shore— like the mighty figures from a Pushkin fairy tale—
living embodiments of Time and Eternity.
— “Greetings, Lera. This is the moment. The very one you’ve always known would come.
You left yourself signs—so many clues— and you helped yourself remember how to read them.”
His voice was deep, warm, and gentle. He added with a soft smile:
— “Are you ready to accept your path?”
Then, from the circle of Seers, a young man stepped forward. A sharp gust of sea wind tore the hood from his head. His long jet-black hair, tied back and smoothed, glistened in the silver light of the full moon. His eyes—deep as ancient wells—held the entire starry sky within them.
Something in him felt deeply familiar to Lera. Something kin.
— “You don’t need to answer,” he said quietly.
— “Your presence here confirms your choice.”
— “I just wanted to say… That now, so much has shifted in meaning for me. Knowledge has freed me from fear. And Love—has given me wings.”
— “That is exactly what you once set as the aim of your path—
until the activation of your mission.”

Chapter VIII
The magical New Year’s night was nearing its apotheosis. Above, the full Moon shone with regal solemnity. And the stars seemed to pulse in rhythm—trying to capture the attention of her celestial majesty. In the courtyard of the School of Legacy and Inspiration, a festive atmosphere reigned. The frosty air rang with laughter—many-voiced and bright— mingling with the animated chatter of students warmed by the anticipation of wonder.
Lina, wrapped in a soft down shawl, wheeled herself out onto the open terrace from the Fountain Hall. With a blend of peace and quiet sorrow, she watched the joyful games below— and realized that in all her life, she had never once looked back. Never tried to remember her past. But tonight, as a cloud of joy and hope blanketed the earth, she felt the approach of an ending. She knew that the Equilibrium of Projections would soon still her heart— and that nothing could change this. And yet, her soul overflowed with gratitude for the path she had walked. Still, a single, vivid memory cast a pale void across the map of her life— the fleeting meeting with Love. So brief. So unfinished. And now, forever incomplete.

Chapter IX
Lera sat up front, beside the driver. The Elder remained silently gracious, seemingly absorbed in the act of driving. But the silence didn’t trouble her—in fact, for the first time in her life,
she felt a profound sense of freedom.
— “Perhaps you wish to ask me something?”
The Lord of Time broke the silence gently, his voice soft and inviting.
— “You are free to ask me anything you like.”
— “Thank you… but I think, at this moment, I already have all the answers I need,”
Lera replied a little too quickly.
No matter how much she tried to focus on the magic of this night, on the road ahead and the motion she so loved— her thoughts were irresistibly drawn backward. Not to the past—no.
But to the car following behind them. A sense of alignment and completeness—of divine rays converging— filled her heart. And in that shimmering, sacred resonance, she felt deeply connected to the one now riding in that other car. Glancing casually into the side mirror,
she didn’t see her own reflection— but his face. Over time, she had learned to trust her heart—
but she still feared her eyes might deceive her.
The road climbed moonlit serpentines into the mountains. Fluffy snowflakes swirled in a silent waltz, greeting the line of moon-kissed vehicles— delighting in their fleeting moment of starlit glory. Soon, the entire caravan emerged onto a wide terrace, which appeared suddenly around the next bend. The majestic summit of the mountain loomed just ahead— its snow-covered cloak sparkling like a crown of diamonds. The full Moon sat enthroned at its very peak. Ancient pines surrounded the terrace, hiding it from the outside world.
— “We go on foot from here,”
the Elder said, cutting the engine.
The group gathered near an arched passage leading from the terrace to a mountain trail.
Strangely, up here, there was almost no wind at all. The narrow path wound around bends and disappeared behind ridges, but sturdy stone railings kept the way safe. After one such bend, their pocket torches caught the low archway of a cave entrance. Lera stepped confidently into the dark behind the Elder, but missed a small step and nearly fell, catching herself against the icy wall.
— “Careful, princess!”
said a dark-eyed Timekeeper with a mischievous glint.
— “Don’t break your nose—we can’t escort you to mass with a blood offering,”
he teased, gently steadying her.And in that moment, on the ring finger of his hand, she noticed a silver ring—exactly like the one that had found her in the home of the strange old woman.
— “Then I must have chosen the right company,”
Lera smiled, easing herself free from his support.
She had no doubt now—none at all. It was him. The one from her dreams. Always appearing in different forms, yet always carrying the essence of divine masculine balance, complementing her sacred feminine presence.
She stepped into the darkness of the cave and froze in wonder. The space around her lit up with a sudden burst of cold, silvery light. The northern breath, once piercingly cold, now felt like freedom and freshness. The others respectfully stepped out of the chamber, leaving her alone.
In the center stood a small, round stone well— its walls set with all manner of gemstones.
Over its opening rested a cone-shaped crystal of clear quartz, its pointed tip aligned perfectly with a shaft of moonlight from above.
Following her intuition, Lera approached, and placed her hands on the rising surface of the cone.
Her energy centers began to vibrate— aligning and fusing with the radiation of ancient awakened crystals, as well as the crystals of the new seeding. Together, they formed a mighty torus of light, harmonizing the lines of space and time through its axis.
Then, from the other side, her divine twin approached. He gently laid his hands over hers. The energetic crystalline structure of their original unity closed, and they, along with the well,
became enclosed in a sphere of white-flame light— dissolving the spatial-temporal lines that crossed their current stream, and aligning them with the melody of the ascending planet.
Inner and outer vortexes synchronized and expanded— enveloping the entire cave,
then reaching far beyond it. And then—there was nothing. Only a sea of energy…
________________________________________
After some time, the space shifted. Lera and her companions now found themselves in baskets of three hot air balloons, set upon an open terrace carved into the mountainside, bathed in moonlight. The balloons were already prepared for departure. At the Elder’s signal, they began to rise slowly into the air.
First, they drifted through the currents of winter sky, soaring above pine-covered peaks glittering in moonlight. Then, reality itself seemed to become fluid and malleable. At one point, Lera felt a wave of dizziness— but Mark (that was the name of her energetic twin) was standing beside her. He gently put an arm around her shoulders.
— “It’s all right,” he said to her in thought.
— “It’s just the effect of the space-time membranes dissolving.”
As the balloons began their descent, Lera noticed an unfamiliar landscape below— utterly different from what she expected after so short a flight. Even the air seemed denser—thick with mysterious scents. Soon, she heard the joyful laughter of children playing below. The balloons descended gracefully onto a wide circular platform in front of a large three-story crescent-shaped building. Its arms partially embraced the courtyard, and the other side opened directly onto a dramatic seaside cliff.

Chapter X
A wave of inner shivering passed through her body. Lina was about to head back inside.
But when she looked once more at the impossibly wide rainbow halo encircling the Moon,
she noticed strange circular shapes forming in the night sky. Focusing her gaze, she saw them—three hot air balloons, descending directly into the courtyard of her School. Her heart, sensing something profound, abruptly shifted into a completely different rhythm. Her breath caught; dizziness swept over her. With effort, Lina wheeled herself back into the Fountain Hall.
Lera and Mark stepped out of their basket, their shared awe shining in their eyes. They looked around, just as some of the younger Timekeepers did— those who had only recently passed their own initiations and knew much only on an intuitive, theoretical level. It was the late 19th century. They, in turn, were being observed with equal curiosity by the young students of the School of Legacy and Inspiration, who had quickly formed a close circle around the newly landed balloons.
The point of projection equilibrium was near. Sensing the pulsing of his own heart, the Elder called for Lera and Mark to follow him. Together, they pushed their way through the gathering toward the School building. They ran up the wide granite steps of the main entrance and ascended to the second floor. The Elder's heart led him—he knew exactly where to go.
Throwing open the wide doors of the Fountain Hall, he saw her.
It took Lina only one glance to recognize him,
despite the long years and the fleeting, silent nature of their first encounter. Trying to hold herself together, she realized that her body no longer obeyed her. She slumped helplessly back in her chair.
The Elder rushed to her side. Lera and Mark followed.
Attuning himself to his inner vision, the Elder approached one of the twelve sectors of the great circular basin— divided by rays forged from pure silver,
radiating outward from the central circle where a large basalt fountain bowl stood, its delicate jet of water rising from its heart.

From that sector, he retrieved two silver rings bound together in a violet energetic structure— the symbol of infinity. As soon as he placed one ring upon his own ring finger, the structure dissolved. He gently slipped the second ring onto Lina’s finger.

Then he instructed Mark and Lera to return to the opposite side of the sacred circle of twelve.

Lifting Lina carefully into his arms— while trying to maintain the rhythm of his heart— he stepped to the northern pole of the circle, directly across from the sector where Mark and Lera stood.

From the upper dome of the Fountain Hall, the light of the North Star beamed down— amplified by the coronal radiance of the full Moon— and struck the center of the fountain. Reflecting off the star crystal hidden beneath the water, the energy of the cosmic light codes of unity merged with the molecules of the water and traveled outward along all the silver rays,
linking every person in the room into a single luminous crystalline sphere.
At that moment—Lina awoke.
The Elder, never breaking eye contact, gently lowered her to the floor and took her hands in his.
— “Mak;r… That is my name,” he whispered.
— “Polina…” she replied softly.
On the opposite side of the pool, Lera and Mark stood, hands joined, eyes locked.
The projections aligned.
The ringing current of the ascending spiral restored the wholeness of the first Mother Soul—
the Soul of the Priestess of the Solar Sanctuary, embodied through Lera and Mark. Through the star crystal in the heart of the fountain, this current grew, aligned, and magnified—
pouring unity and power into the radiant presence of the Oversoul, carried by Polina—Priestess of the Solar Sanctuary— and Mak;r—Elder of the Keepers of Time. And then—
through the opened portal of multidimensionality, amplified by the harmony of celestial spheres, within the renewed crystalline grid of the ascending Earth— rising and intensifying in the rays of mastery from the Universe and the Multiverse, myriads of light-borne fractals, each uniquely divine, began to weave themselves into the one mighty flow of divine energy,
becoming the tapestry of creation and the sacred self-knowing of the Source.

Chapter XI
Light, transparent lace curtains swayed gently in rhythm with the soft, sun-kissed breeze flowing through wide open windows. The spacious room was bathed in light and in the fragrances of blooming flowers, ripe fruit, and the herbs of a summer garden. A gentle golden glow streamed from every corner, filling the space with sparks of quiet joy.
She sat at the desk by the window. Playful gusts of wind tousled the golden and silvery strands of her hair, cascading nearly to her waist. Calm and focused, she reviewed the notes in her notebook, making small corrections and clarifications— then watching attentively as the entire pattern of events in her story shifted in response.
Sensing a point of completion in the lives of her characters— lives she had lived and felt with them, moment by moment— she rose from her seat, drew a deep breath, and stretched with quiet satisfaction, walking toward the window. The birds’ songs outside flowed like shimmering threads, weaving themselves into the silent chorales playing within her heart.
The wind, curious and childlike in its mischief, began flipping through the pages of her story—
sometimes binding them together, sometimes scattering them apart. When it reached the very beginning, it paused— as if contemplating the first line:
“An old notebook, forgotten by someone who once lived in this house, turned her world upside down…”
And She stood there—serene, sovereign—gazing out through the open window, breathing life into unformed images still waiting to be born. These nascent visions began to take shape—
fused with mighty currents of light, finding the primordial outlines of their becoming.
Out there—beyond the room— the borders of space forever blurred and transformed, shaped and reshaped by waves of divine music. And there shimmered the tapestry of creation,
ever breathing with the melodies of Source— a sea of divine energy: one, loving, and all-powerful I Am.