The whispers had always been there, lurking in the corners of my mind like unwelcome guests at a party. But now they were louder—insistent, almost desperate. They no longer hissed cryptic warnings or fragmented sentences; instead, they spoke with clarity that chilled me to the bone.
*"You cannot run from this."*
I sat on the edge of my bed, staring blankly at the wall as if it might offer some kind of solace. It didn't. My hands trembled slightly, and I clenched them into fists to steady myself. Sleep was out of the question. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw those threads—the shimmering, writhing filaments of Aether that connected everything around me. They pulsed with colors so vivid they burned into my retinas even when I opened my eyes again.
This wasn't denial anymore. Denial had failed me. Reality had shattered, and all that remained was acceptance—or madness.
The man in the park. He knew something. That much was certain. And if he could provide answers, then I would find him.
It took me most of the morning to locate him again. He hadn't moved far from the park. When I approached, he looked up from his book, unsurprised by my presence.
I wanted to ask questions related to him; who was he? why is he willing to answer me? Is he helping me? But why?
But firstly , I needed to gather information about myself.
"You've come," he said simply, closing the book with a soft thud. His voice carried an odd weight, as though each word were carefully chosen for maximum impact.
"I need answers," I said, my tone sharper than I intended. "What's happening to me? Why can't I control this… thing in my head? Why am i chosen? How and why am i capable?"
He studied me for a moment, his piercing blue eyes boring into mine. Then he gestured for me to sit beside him. Reluctantly, I did.
"The Third Eye is not a gift given lightly," he began. "It is a burden—one you must bear willingly. Your awakening was chaotic because you resisted. You fought against what you are, and for the answer of why are you chosen, that is none of your concern right now."
"And what exactly am I? "Some freak who sees things no one else does? Who hears voices telling me I'm 'chosen'? Is that supposed to make me feel better?"
The man sighed, leaning back against the bench. "You are a Seer, Akihen. One of the few capable of perceiving the Unveiled World. But your mind is not yet calm enough to handle the influx of information. That is why the voices persist. That is why the threads unravel before you."
"Great," I muttered under my breath. "So I'm just supposed to live with this until I go completely insane?"
"No," he replied firmly. "There is a way to silence the voices, to bring order to the chaos within you. But it requires patience—and meditation."
"Meditation?" I repeated incredulously. "That's your solution? Sit quietly and hope the voices go away?"
"It is more than sitting quietly," he corrected. "Meditation will allow you to center yourself, to align your thoughts with the flow of Aether. Only then can you begin to master the Third Eye."
I wanted to argue further, to demand something more concrete, but the look in his eyes stopped me. There was wisdom there, ancient and unyielding. If anyone knew how to navigate this insanity, it was him.
"What about the threads?" I asked finally. "Why do I see them everywhere? What do they mean?"
"They are the fabric of reality," he explained. "Every living being, every object, every thought—they are all connected by these threads. As a Seer, you have the ability to perceive them, to manipulate them. But such power comes at a cost. Without focus, without discipline, the threads will overwhelm you. They will tear apart the Veil itself."
His words sent a shiver down my spine. The image of the threads unraveling flashed in my mind, and I remembered the surge of electricity that coursed through me when I touched one. The flashes of unfamiliar places, people, events—it had felt like glimpses into another world entirely.
"I'll try," I said reluctantly. "But if this doesn't work…"
"It will," he interrupted. "Trust the process, Akihen. Trust yourself."
When I returned home, I cleared a space in the center of my apartment, dimming the lights and lighting a single candle. The flame flickered weakly, casting long shadows across the walls. I sat cross-legged on the floor, closed my eyes, and focused on my breathing.
Inhale. Exhale.
At first, nothing happened. The whispers remained, buzzing faintly in the background like static on a radio. But slowly, ever so slowly, they began to fade. My heartbeat steadied, and a sense of calm washed over me.
Then the hands appeared.
They came from nowhere, materializing out of the darkness like ghosts. Dozens of them, pale and translucent, reaching for me with claw-like fingers. They wrapped around my throat, squeezing tightly, cutting off my air. Others pressed against my chest, pinning me to the ground. I tried to scream, but no sound came out.
Panic surged through me, and I thrashed wildly, trying to break free. But the hands held firm, their grip unrelenting. My vision blurred, and spots danced before my eyes. Just as I thought I couldn't take it anymore, a voice echoed in my mind.
*"Let go."*
It wasn't one of the usual whispers—it was different. Softer, gentler. Almost familiar.
*"Let go of your fear. Let go of your anger. Embrace the stillness."*
I wanted to resist, to fight back, but exhaustion overtook me. Slowly, painfully, I forced myself to relax. To breathe. To trust.
And then, just as suddenly as they had appeared, the hands vanished. The pressure lifted, and I gasped for air, my lungs burning. Tears streamed down my face as I collapsed onto the floor, trembling uncontrollably.
But amidst the chaos, I felt it—a glimmer of peace. Faint, fragile, but real.
For the first time since the scar appeared on my forehead, the voices were silent.
Hours later, I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The encounter with the hands haunted me, replaying in my mind like a broken record. Were they manifestations of my own fears? Or something else entirely?
One thing was clear: mastering the Third Eye wouldn't be easy. It would require more than meditation—it would demand sacrifice. Pain. Perhaps even pieces of my sanity.
But as I drifted off to sleep, a strange thought occurred to me. Maybe the voices weren't wrong. Maybe I *was* chosen.
And maybe, just maybe, I could use this power to change the world.
Or destroy it.