As this young version of Ezrae beamed at Moses, going over this realization in his head, the image of Moses froze. Time seemed to stand still as Moses' figure became a frozen sculpture, devoid of movement, breath, speech, or any sign of life.
Ezrae's heart skipped a beat, his initial excitement nown replaced by a creeping sense of fear. A strange sensation tingled through his body as Moses began to emit a radiant, blinding white light; first from his eyes and mouth, then from all over. The intensity of the light grew, engulfing Moses until his features contorted, transforming into the awe-inspiring presence of Metatron.
The surroundings underwent a remarkable shift. The scene of the tent surrounding Ezrae melted away like melting wax, revealing a singular room constructed entirely of ancient, weathered bricks akin to those used in the majestic Pyramids, but significantly more fragile. The room appeared worn and cracked, its structural integrity teetering on the precipice of collapse.
Metatron's ethereal countenance softened into a warm smile as he greeted Ezrae, his voice resonating with ancient wisdom and profound knowledge. "Hello, Story-teller. It's good to see you so young again."
Ezrae's confusion deepened, yet a faint itch at the back of his mind hinted at a forgotten truth. His brows furrowed as he expressed his bewilderment, "I just saw you a couple of hours ago...
What do you mean by 'so young again?' And where are we? It looks like this place is on the brink of crumbling."
Metatron's smile held an enigmatic wisdom as he extended a hand towards Ezrae, their fingertips brushing lightly. In that instant, a surge of sensations coursed through Ezrae's being.
He tasted something peculiar—sweet, yet tangy with a subtle bitterness—like a concoction of citrus fruits blended with exotic herbs. The foreign flavor danced upon his tongue, provoking a cocktail of emotions and memories.
Confusion mingled with a surge of adrenaline, propelling Ezrae to seek answers. Metatron, ever perceptive, began to unravel the mysteries that had haunted Ezrae's consciousness.
"Ezrae... you're not 13 anymore. It's time to wake up. You're 50 years old, in the midst of the arid desert with the Israelites. This room we stand in is your mind, your very psyche.
Over the course of these years, as you embraced your gift, absorbing stories, learning, and enduring the weight of countless experiences and traumas, your psyche has grown fragile, teetering on the edge of collapse."
Ezrae's eyes dropped to his hands, once youthful and smooth, now marked by the passage of time—wrinkled, veiny, tanned, and rough. Memories surged back with renewed vigor, flooding his consciousness, each recollection accompanied by a surge of emotions. The taste he had experienced intensified, intertwining with the memories, solidifying the reality of his existence.
As he surveyed the room, a glimmer of hope stirred within him. The cracks that marred the walls began to mend themselves, as if time were reversing its relentless assault on the structure. The room grew stronger, fortified against the impending collapse.
Metatron's chuckle resonated, his amusement encompassing Ezrae's unspoken queries. "That taste you are experiencing is a blend of Valerian Root, Aloe Bulb, and Moon-Chime Nectar.
It's a pagan recipe, but its effectiveness in healing the damage to your fragile psyche is undeniable. Moses, Aaron, Miriam, and Caleb have sacrificed and labored tirelessly for the past 24 hours to save your mind from the precipice of oblivion."
Ezrae's eyes widened in astonishment, his mind grappling to comprehend the significance of the name that had slipped through his thoughts. "Caleb...?"
Metatron nodded, acknowledging Ezrae's revelation. "Yes, Caleb, your childhood best friend. Listen closely, Ezrae…
You have been granted another chance, a new lease on life. I, along with the Divine, recognize the struggles that have plagued your existence—a life filled with loneliness, a perpetual sense of being an outcast.
But fear not, my child, for you are blessed beyond measure. In the second half of your life, seek true happiness. Embrace the freedom alongside the Israelites, find love, grow stronger, and weave together the tapestry of countless stories."
Tears streamed down Ezrae's face, mingling with a myriad of emotions that cascaded within him. As his mind healed, his memories surged forth, vivid and poignant.
Assisted by Metatron, Ezrae rose to his feet, witnessing the final cracks in the room sealing shut, as if the very fabric of his psyche were being made whole once more. A sense of anticipation stirred within him as he realized the profound impact this experience would have on his return to the tangible world.
"One can only imagine the intriguing events awaiting you upon your reentry into the real world," Metatron remarked, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.
In a wondrous spectacle, the empty stone room began to transform. One by one, the chamber filled with manifestations of Ezrae's favorite things—his most cherished experiences, the memories that shaped his identity, and all that defined him as a unique individual.
Metatron's smile radiated withreassurance and divine purpose as he extended his magnificent wings, adorned with iridescent feathers. In his right hand, he held the Book of Life, a testament to possibility and renewal, while the Book of Death rested gently in his left, a reminder of the fragility and impermanence of mortal existence. Metatron fixed his gaze upon Ezrae, prepared to impart one final statement.
"Ezrae, you are far stronger than you realize, stronger than you could ever fathom. You, alongside Caleb and Joshua, shall lead the next generation of Israelites. Nurture your people, guide them through the trials of life, and ensure their survival. And tell Miriam... she must seek repentance."
With Metatron's parting words, Ezrae's vision was enveloped in blinding white light, and he was abruptly thrust back into his physical body, his mind, psyche, and state of being restored. Slowly, he opened his eyes, his head throbbing with a lingering resonance of the otherworldly encounter.
The first sight that greeted him was Miriam's radiant smile as she uttered, "Welcome back, nephew." Weakly, Ezrae returned the smile, nodding in acknowledgment. But his gaze swiftly shifted to the figure sleeping on the bed next to his.