CHAPTER  1

                                                    BUMPS IN THE NIGHT

Nine o’clock had come and gone, but the lights inside the corner market were still on. From my bedroom window, I watched their fluorescent glow spill onto the sidewalk, waiting for Echo to lock up and cross the street. She was five minutes late—nothing unusual—but tonight the urgency felt heavier. 

 

Each creak outside my door felt like something shifting its weight. The closet door thudded once, then settled. I told myself it was old hinges and gravity, it didn’t mean anything. It was nothing, just like the faint trace of my mother’s perfume drifting through the air didn’t mean she was home. Smells lingered. Sounds echoed. They weren’t proof of anything. 

 

But still, the air felt wrong. Not cold, not warm, just eerie, like a pressure change before a storm, or the moment before an elevator drops. I held my breath without meaning to, listening. For a second, I thought I heard my name—not spoken aloud, not even whispered. The sound had no direction or source and was already gone by the time I tried to focus on it. My pulse kicked up. I told myself it was nerves. 

 

Waiting for Echo made me restless. I shifted on the bed, forcing my shoulders to relax, hoping the feeling would pass. Before my mother began staying out several nights a week, her presence anchored me. The same was true of Echo. When she was around, the edges of things stayed where they belonged. But now she worked late, and I was left on my own to keep the other realms at bay.

 

I glanced down at the time on my Langdon AI wristband. It was synced with Echo’s. If I texted her, her hologram would appear. The temptation to reach out to her was as difficult as finishing dinner. 

 

When the streetlights flickered on and washed the pavement in silver, my chest tightened with relief. The neighborhood cat, Tiger, padded to the curb and arched her willowy body as a sleek vintage sports car purred past, its polished frame gleaming like something from a sci-fi novel. For a moment, the image tangled with the movie Echo and I were creating on my Langdon Silver Screen, and excitement sparked despite my nerves.

 

I glanced over at the plate of food on my desk—half-eaten spaghetti gone stiff in its own sauce—and felt a pang of guilt. Tiger would take care of the rest if I slipped it out later. She always did. Hopefully, she’d keep it off my mother’s radar too.

 

Echo and I were seniors, friends since kindergarten. While our schoolmates lost themselves in digital realities and glowing screens, we stayed rooted in books, stories, and worlds we could build with words. We wrote because it was what humans had done since they started to evolve. It kept us from losing ourselves.  

 

The lights in the market finally snapped off and I bolted down the stairs and flung open the front door just as Echo crossed the street. For a split second, I caught the exhaustion in her eyes before she masked it with a grin. Then we collided in a hug so tight it knocked the air from my lungs. I breathed in deep, and her familiar perfume softened something knotted deep inside me.

 

We took the steps two at a time, talking over each other, laughing as we crammed a week’s worth of thoughts into a few stolen minutes. Before she started working nights, we’d talk for hours—about books, about the future. Now there was no time for that. We had a movie to finish.

 

I powered up the Silver Screen—my Nana’s Christmas gift—and the air above my bed shimmered as a translucent screen blinked into existence. Echo dragged it closer, already focused in that way she got when we were creating something together.

 

Last week we outlined the screenplay. Tonight was about building—faces, settings, the meat and bones of a story that might be our ticket to freedom.

 

She pulled up the Odyssey moon resort in real-time. It bloomed above the bed in high definition: glass towers beneath a massive dome, artificial waves breaking against a synthetic shore. Neon signs pulsed invitingly. We both wanted to get jobs there, but now, it was probably only me that would. 

 

A taxi’s horn blared as a luxury car, its headlights slicing through the silver glow of the street-lamps, swerved and sped down the inky, winding road. I leaned in, my pulse quickening as I expected to see a handsome face behind the steering wheel. I didn’t, but the image still tugged at me. The white glow of the moon beyond the dome and how the light spilled onto the car—I could picture myself waiting tables at one of the hotels. 

 

“I was thinking,” I said slowly, “what if the screenplay centered on Langdon Technologies? We could put our own spin on the story about them building shuttles to the Odyssey Resort on the moon.”

 

Echo nodded. “It’s current. People would click.”

 

Echo and I planned to publish a production on social media that got enough views to gain name recognition. It happened all the time; unknown kids no older than we were writing screenplays and using the Animate Program that satisfied the insatiable hunger and curiosity about the human-extraterrestrial half-breeds. They were recluses, and their beauty was like beacons until they learned how to mask the effects. The famous content producers focused on them, producing themes that shocked and thrilled audiences all over the world. 

 

“Let’s spice up the story… Langdon’s grandson, Aramis, secretly modifies one of the shuttles so it can travel to the Andromeda Galaxy. He’d fallen in love with a brilliant, sexy, scientist who was furloughed there.” 

 

As she spoke, my attention drifted. The air inside the room thinned. The Silver Screen hummed, and beneath it, another sensation stirred—like the moment just before falling asleep and the dreamworld pulled at you.  

 

“Clever girl…” Echo murmured, her voice distant, stretched.

 

The image flickered.

 

I blinked hard, grounding myself in the present. The room snapped back into place—the bed, the screen, Echo’s knee pressed against mine. I exhaled, forcing a laugh.

 

“You okay?” she asked.

 

“Yeah,” I said, “Just thinking about the plot.”

 

We leaned back into the project, shaping a world from our imagination. But even as we worked, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was watching us just beyond reach. 
 

 

                                                       CHAPTER 2

                                                A GODDESS’ IMAGE 

The plot continued to unfold effortlessly, which was another reason why Echo and I got along so well. But my imagination had been stirred and keeping the doors to other worlds separated was no longer effortless. 

 

The Odyssey resort faded away, pixel by pixel, until two templates replaced it, one for each of us. Before we began, I set my AI alarm to go off in an hour. The pressure was on; three hours was all the time we had before Echo had to leave. 

 

The sharp staccato of our fingers flying over the keyboards filled the room along with occasional giggles or gasps, as our brains produced thrilling scenes. Dreams spilled into my head, faces and places I’d seen all my life were like colors on a palette making their way into the scenes. 

 

The room crackled with unbridled joy, and being with Echo made the world feel whole.
“Shall I count down by minutes, seconds or--” My AI alarm went off. The voice was human, a female with a British accent. 

 

“No,” Echo snapped, interrupting her. “Just tell us when we have two minutes left.”

 

“Do you concur?” My A.I alarm asked, not acknowledging Echo’s voice as its programmer. 

 

“Yes, I concur.” I answered, distracted as I typed the last few sentences.

 

“Very well then,” AI answered, her formality oddly soothing. 

 

Once the two minutes were up, we proceeded to the next step: Character Design. Echo would create the image of Aramis Langdon and another character. She had photos of them to choose from. My task was to create two characters as well, one of which would be Aramis’s love interest. 

 

The air began to grow thin again. A world behind where Echo and I were choosing the features, softly vibrated inside my bones and teeth. It was moving closer, soon I could reach out, and my hand would probably disappear inside it. 

 

I swallowed. This hadn’t happened before. Ever. My fingers stilled above the keys. I forced myself to blink. When my vision cleared, I was no longer looking at my bedroom.

 

A stone wall replaced the black sky behind the window. It was cool and worn smooth by centuries of passage. I was standing, though I didn’t remember rising, and pressed against the wall looking toward a long courtyard. 

 

The sunlight that fell between the vines wrapped around a pergola made the white of the promenade and tall-leafed columns almost too bright. I was at the Palace of Divinity, and my breath became shallow.

 

This wasn’t a dream. Dreams blurred at the edges. This was sharp. I could smell morning-blooming flowers and hear distant water moving somewhere beyond the walls. Stay hidden, I told myself, instinct overriding panic.

 

I tiptoed toward a narrow path veiled by trees, keeping to the shadows. If the gods were present—if she was…

 

“Julion!”

 

Echo’s voice cut through the courtyard and the world lurched. I was pulled backward, astonished as stone dissolved and light fractured. My stomach dropped as my awareness slammed back into my body. 

 

The room reeled. Walls and ceilings bulged and warped for a dizzying moment. 

 

“Who… who is that?” Echo breathed. “Is that Aramis’s love interest?”

 

I followed her gaze to the image on my template. It was complete, and way too alive. The woman on the screen pulsed with life I could feel tingling on my fingertips. Raven hair spilled down her back in heavy waves, catching light that hadn’t existed a second before. Her white gown blew in a wind that wasn’t programed into the scene. 

 

Her eyes opened. They were big, dark and endless and power flooded the room.

 

The screen suspended in the air flickered, its edges distorting under the strain. The air crackled, sharp and electric, raising the fine hairs along my arms. My pulse roared in my ears.
I knew her. I’d seen her in dreams. She’d warned me more than once about visiting the Palace of Divinity. It was the goddess, Asgaya.

 

“Oh my God,” Echo laughed nervously. “I love the ears. They’re kind of elfin.” She leaned closer.

 

“No—” I whispered, too late.

 

Echo jerked back with a yelp, clutching her nose. A thin line of blood streaked across her fingers.

 

“I—Julion, did you see that?” she said, her eyes wide and unfocused. “Something flashed. Like light, but—.”

 

Yes, I’d seen it, and anticipated it before it happened. 
The goddesses’ eyes landed on mine.  She tilted her head, but not with curiosity, in recognition.

 

The room shuddered, her gaze piercing mine through the screen, through the layers of realities that had always stayed in their place when others were around. Pressure built behind my eyes, in my chest, like realms were stirring inside me. This wasn’t a computer image; this was another world showing up on it.  

 

I did my best imitation of nonchalance. “Echo,” I sighed. “Let’s move on.” 

 

The goddess's power was on the brink of making herself undeniably known. I swiped her image away. The screen resisted for a heartbeat. It felt like a lifetime. 

 

Later, when Echo finally left and the house settled into silence, the noises returned.
A soft thud. A whisper of movement. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, telling myself the same things I’d said earlier. Shadows were just shadows, it was normal, I could control my imagination. I didn’t believe it this time. 

 

 

 

                                                       CHAPTER 3
                                            THE WRATH OF ASGAYA

An angry voice startled me awake. 

 

My eyes parted, not to witness a dream still in progress, but life unfolding inside another realm, like a projector pinned on my bedroom ceiling. 

 

This can’t be happening, I whispered, my voice quivering as I pulled the edges of the sheets just below my eyes. 

 

Something else was wrong--something other than another world unfolding where it diddn’t belong. This problem even eclipsed what had happened the night before. 

 

In the courtyard I saw another version of myself, one I sensed was shaped by a history and a life I’d never lived. The other me hid behind a tall-leafed column, watching gods and goddesses recline along the promenade, their beauty too perfect to feel human.

 

Light and shadow took turns claiming Asgaya as she moved under the beams of the pergola, raging and shaking her fist in a tirade of disbelief.

 

The goddesses lounging watched, their interest vague and mocking. Someone laughed. Someone else shattered a branch with a lightning rod. Only one of them was amused.
The god of war stood apart, bronze skin catching the sun, arrows slung across his back. 

 

“How dare she use my likeness!” Asgaya roared. Her eyes narrowed, dark lashes crushing into a line of black silk. “I am a goddess, the overseer of knowledge and prophecy, not some silly mortal to distract humans’ puny intellects!” 

 

She stopped pacing and glared at my favorite god, the one with the golden arrows—Anyehi. He was munching on dark heart-shaped berries, his amusement betrayed by the subtle curve of his full lips.

 

“It’s all your fault!” She said, chastising him through gritted teeth. “You spoiling her will do nothing but cause trouble!” She barked before stomping away. “Mark my words. This will end with her darling sister’s head served on a platter to Lord Noric.”

 

The air changed when the lord’s name surfaced, as if something had twisted into a tight knot. 
Both gods looked to each other and whatever passed between them didn’t need words. 

 

The self hiding behind the pillar giggled nervously and all the gods and goddesses turned. 
I wasn’t supposed to be there. It only angered Asgaya more.
 
A shriek ripped from my throat when a loud crash rang outside my bedroom. The noise disrupted the dream, shattering it like the pieces of a kaleidoscope. With a mix of horror and amazement, I watched a portal materialize on the ceiling, and with a distinct popping sound, it devoured the dream. 

 

My mother was back, and the thought sent sunlight surging through my veins. I flew from the bed and into the hall. “Mother!” I grinned, feeling unsteady as blood dropped from my head to my toes.

 

“Julion…” My mother said, spinning around wide-eyed. 

 

I looked a mess, my hair a disheveled halo around my face, and her silky pajamas pooled around my feet and hanging beyond the tips of my fingers. My eyes fell to the chaotic jumble of old shoeboxes. My wrinkled third-grade uniform was on the floor among other scattered objects I hadn’t seen in years. “What are you doing?” I asked, as a voice inside me answered with one word- Rob.

 

 

                                                               CHAPTER 4
                                                          EARTH’S ENEMIES

 

The Planet Coriston: Part of the Orion Empire territory

 

Coriston had once been a beautiful world, home to peaceful artisans and farmers, until the Orion Empire turned it into a prison planet. The Supreme High Lord installed lesser Lords and Lordesses of magic to govern it.

 

The appointment of magicians was meant to be an improvement. It wasn’t.
The Orion Empire thrived on domination and deceit, and every planet it conquered followed in its footsteps. Romnia was days away from discovering what it was to live with a knife poised at the back. Earth was soon to follow.

 

Within a year of conquering Coriston, the Lords had unleashed so much dark magic in their civil war that they strangled the oxygen from the air and left only poison. No one could survive it—not even the magical rulers who had caused it.

 

Gifted magicians and warlock-engineers built five domed cities. Each dome’s opulence reflected the wealth of its inhabitants, but none rivaled the fifth.

 

Perched like a diamond on Vicord Mountain in Chaltora’s capital, the Fifth Dome became home to newly elected Lords. Bound by a fragile peace treaty, the city was divided into four provinces, each ruled by a lord of magical aptitude.

 

                          THE QUARTERLY VIRTUAL MEETING OF THE LORDS

 

The three Lords and the Lordess met monthly, ostensibly to report progress, but in truth to assess one another for weakness.

 

Report: Romnia was about to fall. Endless internal wars had left it ripe for domination, and Coriston generals ordered mercenaries to strike hard until the enemy begged for mercy.
Earth was different. Its warriors were allied with the Confederation of Planets, and whispers of a powerful star seed turned what should have been a swift conquest into a resistance the Orion Empire hadn’t anticipated.

 

Noric was the warlord in charge, and every meeting with the other Lords felt like walking a tightrope with their daggers waiting beneath him.

 

The Southern Lord finished boasting about the abundance of his harvest. The Lordess didn’t need to boast; her magic, though profitable, lay in the arts—untempting to Lords quietly vying to rule all of Coriston.

 

The Eastern Lord was Noric’s greatest threat. His narrow province of indulgence and spectacle drew the masses, and undermining the others was his favorite sport. His Death Stadium generated vast profits, crowds lining the streets to witness gladiatorial combat, unaware the spectacle was a lie. The staged matches hid the truth: only the fighters’ brutal strength and animal ferocity were real.

 

The lords appeared on screens, each framed by the opulence of their palaces, all scheming quietly about how to take one another out.

 

The air shifted when the Eastern Lord turned his attention to Noric. As the council’s most formidable presence, Noric typically watched in silence, a staged cough masking his amusement as the Eastern Lord berated the Southern Lord drew attention.

 

“The Earth campaign,” the Eastern Lord pressed. He shook his head, blue skin thick and weathered. “Why hasn’t your telepathy taken hold? Why haven’t we conquered a civilization limited to three dimensions?”

 

Noric’s jaw tightened. Words tasted bitter.

 

“Our mercenaries aren’t fighting earthlings,” he finally said, his knuckles cracking as his fingers curled. “They’re at war with Cheveyan warriors—allies of the Confederation of Planets.”

 

He’d reported that earlier in the meeting, but now it was spoken as a prelude.

 

Noric adjusted his lens. His image vanished and was replaced by nine live battle feeds. 
Silence became indistinguishable from stillness. The Lords had never seen the astral plane—battles fought in the space between realities, with weapons shaped from thought itself. Fighters molded their astral bodies into living weapons; skill determined lethality.
Imperial mercenaries wielded dark magic. Their enemies—the Cheveyan Sentinels—fed on gamma radiation, the universe’s deadliest light.

 

Noric’s pulse quickened as a massive figure filled one screen. Poman—his best fighter.

 

“They’re overrunning our forces,” a Lord muttered.

 

Noric didn’t respond. Poman, the fighter who had risen from the lowest dome, from dirt to glory, hadn’t transformed yet—but he was about to.

 

Gasps rippled as Poman’s body collapsed into spinning atoms, forming a vortex that devoured flame, steel, and sound. The council froze.

 

“Manipulating the body like that,” the Eastern Lord said, his face looming large on-screen. “It’s dangerous.”

 

“Risk,” Noric replied, lips pressed into a thin line that curved slightly, “is the cost of progress.”

 

 

 

                                                              CHAPTER 5
                                                  THE SENTINELS OF THE VEIL

 

The Sentinels surveyed the field, its surface gleaming like white diamonds, marred only by the monstrosities charging toward them.

 

Coriston mercenaries were grotesque—blue skin knotted with scars, flesh poorly stitched from Death Stadium careers. Their screams rose into lion-like roars.

 

The Sentinels remained unfazed. One rested her hands on her hips and grinned. Another squinted at the hazy sun. The third spat the bit from his mouth. They unsheathed their weapons, readying themselves as the mercenaries closed in. The only expression on their faces—a readiness to start the fight, finish it quickly, and move on to the next skirmish.

 

A flush rose on the Lordess’s cheeks. She loathed her enemies yet couldn’t deny the precision of their forms—muscles and strength honed by relentless discipline. Noric felt the same unwelcome envy as the Sentinels’ weapons flashed like fire.

 

A mercenary charged the female Sentinel from behind. A tentacle lashed for her throat and skidded uselessly across her armor-it was made of from light. She turned and drove her sword into his chest. The light flowing into her sword flooding his veins. He fell, black blood staining white snow.

 

The Southern Lord recoiled as if the blood might seep through the screen.

 

Cold air burst from the Sentinels’ mouths as Poman’s vortex closed in, tearing away snow to expose the black soil beneath.

 

All the council members leaned forward.

 

The Sentinels turned—too late. The storm swallowed weapons, light armor, and sound in a single violent sweep.

 

Triumph flared across the grid. It wouldn’t last. These Sentinels were elite, their light armor was impenetrable making them practically unkillable. In moments, their blades would begin shredding the vortex apart.

 

Noric’s fingers tapped a frantic rhythm against the desk before changing the screen to another battle. 

 

“You’ve upgraded the mercenaries,” the Southern Lord said, confidence blooming inside his voice. 

 

“Gradually,” Noric replied. “Their bodies must adapt. Push too hard, and they tear themselves apart.”

 

“And the prophecy?” the Eastern Lord pressed. “If the Master Star Seed exists—”

 

“The Confederation shields that knowledge,” Noric cut in smoothly. “Even from me.”

 

“How many are deployable?” the Lordess asked.

 

“Two hundred in stasis. More soon.”

 

Approval flickered across the grid.

 

“My resources are strained,” The Eastern Lord couldn’t let the accolades stand without a dig.

 

Noric’s mercenaries were recruited from his Death Stadium. Noric needed him, but losing assets didn’t benefit the Lord—it cost him. 

 

Noric met the camera at last, his gaze precise and chilling. “Then strain them further.”
The Eastern Lord’s image dimmed.

 

“I want the strongest,” Noric continued. “Train them, fight them and deliver what survives.”
He didn’t wait for agreement. “I motion to adjourn.”  He said, his screens going dark. 

 

 

 

                                                             CHAPTER 6 
                           THE LAND THAT BORDERS THE SENTINELS OF THE VEIL

 

 

“I was thinking we’d catch the tube into town.” Mother said, avoiding the question about the items on the floor. The thoughts of why she was clearing out the closet hung in the background of my mind. I pushed them away.   It was easy after the goddess ordeal. My mother slipped her hands behind her back with an awkward smile. “We could go to Holloway’s and have a royal breakfast.” Her charm had returned, and her beautiful ebony eyes shone like they were casting spells.

 

Charm and the promise of spending time with my mother aside, the tangled mess on the floor was proving difficult to ignore. My eyes kept being drawn toward the cardboard box where long forgotten items from my past peeked above the edges. My favorite doll was inside, her dislocated leg sticking up at an awkward angle, and her dress crumpled and faded. Spilling over the top was my favorite costume jewelry–a delicate faux pearl necklace, and a jumble of brightly colored, chunky bracelets I wore every day even when they didn’t match. 

 

I wondered why she would’ve kept those things, but the doll in particular. It had been a gift from my father before his cruelty grew into something that would make an even hardened criminal recoil. I stared back at Molly Perkins, her eyes looking into mine and that smile, wide and welcoming. It didn’t matter that she was a cheap replica of Holly Piper, the doll that every girl dreamed about. She’d meant the world to me back then. But seeing her now, one leg missing, and the plastic skin scuffed and dirty, brought no warmth, no sentiment—only cold indifference. 

 

“Why are you going through the closet?” I hadn’t meant to ask but was pleased to hear the words come out anyway. 

 

My mother didn’t respond, she only leaned against the closet until it clicked shut
 
A vibrant energy swept through the cobblestone roads of Olde City, a historic part of Philadelphia where centuries ago, horse-driven carriages were the only mode of transportation. Now, shoppers and pedestrians strolled along the brick promenade while youths on automated skateboards and gliders whisked toward the waterfront’s fresh air and blue skies, a few blocks away. Holloway's design was suited to attract the summer tourists, its long patio and black scalloped awning provided shade from the sun, while its location was perfectly situated across from the historic William Penn’s Annex Office. 

 

Everything felt just right, from the weather to how effortless our conversations were. I hadn’t seen Mother much in the last few months, not since she began spending the night at Rob’s house. But right now, it didn’t feel like that. Instead, it felt like old times, when it was just the two of us. 

 

As we approached the outdoor hostess podium, three elegantly dressed women were leaving and we had the added good fortune of getting a seat that overlooked the Annex Office with its two large granite reliefs of Law and Justice etched into the marble. Between my time with Echo last night and being with my mother today, I was utterly and candescently happy.

 

While waiting for the table to be cleared, my mother began telling me a story about Lorna, who worked as the office manager at the law firm where my mother and Rob had met. 

 

“Well, she stopped by my cubical wearing this straight-lined skirt that must’ve taken those huge hips of hers an hour to squeeze into. She just wanted to gloat about being elected to organize the Thanksgiving party this year.” My mother rolled her eyes and spoke in a hushed voice, “You should’ve seen her face, so smug and full of herself. But I remembered what you said, and I ignored it and just smiled.” 

 

Good, I thought, proud of her. 

 

“Well, after she was done bragging, she walked away, and all of a sudden the entire office heard this loud ripping noise. Everybody popped out of their seats to see what it was… Oh my God, Julion!” My mother’s shoulders jiggled up and down, and a hand covered her mouth when she snorted too loudly. “Her skirt ripped—” A fit of giggles seized her, and she paused, breathless and slightly flushed, to regain her composure. “It ripped right up to her panties, and there was—there was a hole right in the center, so you could see her butt cheeks…” My mother’s voice, a high, whispered shriek at this point, was contagious, and soon we were both chuckling with tears in our eyes. “And then she tried to run out of the room—” 

 

“But her skirt was too tight?” I finished, my hands flying to my mouth as my stomach cramped from the laughter. “Babylon!” I cried, referring to Lorna’s bad luck.  

 

“By the heavens of Babylon!” my mother added, wiping tears away. 

 

The hostess returned, a curious smile softening her lips as she took in our expressions. She then escorted us to a corner table bathed in an ideal mix of sun and shadow. She wasted no time bringing over glasses of cold water and two menus for us. After she left, my mother suggested we visit the Besty Ross home when we finished here.

 

Memories of us visiting Olde City when I was younger flittered by, and the magical moments that I experienced returned. My mother said that Philadelphia was a city of enchantment and had witnessed the magic too, which made our relationship even more special.

 

The waitress returned and took our order. Amusement bloomed across her heart-shaped face as she took in our selection of waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, an omelet, thick-cut bacon, and two lemonades. 

 

Once we were alone again, my mother leaned in conspiratorially and slyly glancing at the table to our left, suggested we play the ‘guessing game’. It was tradition whenever we were out in public. We weren’t psychic, but that didn’t stop us from taking turns making up stories about strangers’ lives. Normally, we’d never find out if we were right, but every now and then we overheard comments that confirmed my guesses were often spot on. My mother coined me her magical fairy as a term of endearment and used it in lieu of saying she loved me. I didn’t mind.

I knew what she meant and adored the nickname more than she knew.

 

Following our forecasts, we settled into an uncomfortable silence where the only sounds were silverware clinking against the plates. The day had been perfect, and I was with the person I loved most of all in the world. But the magic in the air had transformed into an ominous feeling that made my heart heavy. 

 

“What is it?” I asked, my brow warm and sweaty as I reached for the lemonade. After several gulps, I wiped a wet mustache from my upper lip. 

 

“Nothing.” She mumbled, gazing away with flushed cheeks.

 

“Mother, please. I can tell something is wrong. Hiding it is ruining our time together.” My voice cracked as a splinter cleaved a painful opening in my heart. The nights that she’d spent with Rob now felt like abandonment, and each breath ached with wounds I hadn’t realized were so deep. We’d always been close, but she’d changed since they started going out. 

 

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine and then dropped to the bright colors of the breakfast food, now getting cold. “Well, you know that Rob and I have been dating for nearly a year now, and he’s been asking that we move in with him.”

 

My breath became ragged as my world instantly flicked to a gloomy gray. Mother's poor choice in a husband was bad, but she'd spent the next four years making even worse choices in dating. When my emotions were bruised, words were difficult, but this time they were stolen by her emotional insolvency. 

 

“I’ve said no to him each time he’s asked, because I realize you don’t trust me.” The pleading tone in her voice made me believe I still had sway. “And if I’d said ‘yes’ right away, you’d tell me I didn’t know him well enough. And you would’ve been right.”

 

I turned my head, hoping to think of a clever argument while hiding the tears in my eyes. 
“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” she said. “And I’m beginning to see his point.”

 

“By the heavens, Babylon... What point?” 

 

“That I’ve been neglecting you, and if we all lived under the same roof, that wouldn’t be the case.”

 

“Why can’t he move in with us?” I asked. It was a ridiculous question. Our tiny home was in a working-class neighborhood, and Rob came from a long line of attorneys that worked exclusively for the Silver Rain tribe. Crickey, he didn’t just drive a Langdon Bullet, he drove the luxury edition and lived inside the tribe’s private territory—a world unto itself.

 

“Well, that wouldn’t work… I’ve made the decision that we’re going to move in with him.” Her voice was more confident than it had been in my entire life. I didn’t like her words or her decision, but I was impressed by her fortitude. Yet this was no time to succumb to respect, I had my life to fight for. There was only one problem—I had no words to use.

 

I drifted away from the here and now, something I learned to do as easily as breathing. I tried to think of the project Echo and I were working on, then the book I was reading. I couldn’t concentrate. My emotions felt like a bunch of screaming kids at a birthday party. And then I heard a sound. It wasn’t loud or distant. But the café noises dulled, as if someone had turned the volume down.

 

She hears us.

 

The voice didn’t belong inside my head. It had weight and sentience.

 

Of course she does, another replied. She always has.

 

My fingers tightened around the napkin in my lap, but I kept my eyes down and I didn’t react.
Well, she finally did it. She told her they were moving.

 

The voice was familiar, I’d known it my whole life.

 

My mother kept talking—something about Rob, about her Native American roots and the Valley—but her words thinned, sounding tinny and far away.

 

The location works, another voice said, older and measured. Proximity to the portal will accelerate her development. The kids there don’t use much technology.

 

Good, the familiar one murmured. Less interference.

 

“The tube doesn’t even run through the Valley,” I added automatically, my mouth moving before I decided to speak.

 

Her magic will strengthen near the High Priestess, the older voice said, and the warriors.
Agreed.

 

I rested my chin in my hand and stared at my mother’s face as her lips kept moving, forming words I no longer heard. Listening felt effortless. 

 

You’ll guide her dreams, the older voice said. Seed coincidences. Small awakenings.

 

Already done.

 

And when she meets the warriors?

 

She’ll know.

 

Books will do the rest. Destiny has its advantages.

 

My spine went rigid.

 

When Julion can’t figure something out, she always finds a way. 

 

My mother sniffed and reached into her purse.

 

The voices fell silent and the world rushed back in. My mother was trying to hand me something. It looked like an official document. She was shaking it, forcing me to take it. 
The statement was folded neatly. Her name, Monica Acevedo-Brathwaite, was boldly printed at the top, while my father's surname was absent. Just like he was. The words "Norton Checking Account" appeared below in a different typeface. The name of the bank appeared in the paragraph with the number three and a host of zeros behind it. Though the account had been opened a month ago, the deposit had already accrued a hefty amount of interest.

 

“How many years of salary is that?” I asked, part of me wondering what had just happened regarding the voices. 

 

Rob had given her money to move in. He’d bribed her, in other words. The look on her face told me she hadn’t thought about the total and how it related to her life beyond the temporary wealth it provided—for now. With pursed lips, and my head shaking pitifully, I did the math.

 

“What’s his reason for buying you?” 

 

Embarrassment washed over her radiant brown skin and her eyes watered up. “He understands how hesitant you are about all of this.” Her answer was guileless, a childlike response born of unburdened honesty. It was like my Barbados-born grandfather said, mother was delicate, not made for this world. And this time, he wasn’t around to save her from Rob’s savviness. Rob was a powerful attorney and her boss, heavens to Babylon. “He admires you, Julion. And he tells everyone how smart you are.” 

 

She lifted the bank statement from the table, folding it like it was a parchment about the Holy Grail. The sound of her purse zipping grated the air. “He signed an agreement that said if he ever asked us to leave his home, we could stay at one of the properties he owns, rent-free for three years. I have that too…”

 

“And what about Echo, and school?” My eyes stared, unfocused. I was still trying to hear the disembodied conversations. I heard the end tail about some kind of mission. “We love the city.” I said, repeating a memory from when I was 10 years old. Me and mother were having the time of our lives exploring Olde City. “We’re city dwellers.”

 

“Finish your breakfast—all of it before it gets cold.” She fussed, as though I hadn’t gained five of the ten pounds the doctor recommended. 

 

“And what about Philadelphia? You said it was enchanted.” My stomach fluttered, not from hunger but from the memories pouring into my mind. Philadelphia was the city that made me magical, that made life magical. Who would I be once we left? “Edgar Allen Poe.” I mentioned his name, hoping to jar her recollection of the day magic was etched inside my heart. “Do you remember when we snuck in to tour his colonial house?” I saw the events in my mind’s eye just as a ray of sunlight penetrated the umbrella and struck the edge of the fork with a flash.

 

“Remember the dust motes?” I asked, thinking what had just occurred was strange. Maybe too strange in light of the voices and one of them using my name. 

 

The day that we saw Edgar Allen Poe’s home, my mother purposely lingered at the back of the crowd. We stood at the foot of his steps watching the guide and the group walking down the alley of small 18th-century brick homes. 

 

When the crowd turned the corner, my mother stooped. I followed, looking in the direction of her finger pointing toward the corner of the steps.

 

She’d left the best part for last. Nana had shown her the hidden keystone when she was a child, and following tradition, she was now showing it to me, too. The stone was easy to miss, its surface was discolored with grime, but there, etched into the marble were mystical symbols and forgotten lore.

 

“You ran your fingers over the symbols.” My mother said, her eyes cloudy with memories. “Dust motes floated into the air, and then they turned into tiny stars…and then—"

 

“The image of Edgar Allen Poe appeared.” I said, my voice hushed and still full of awe. “He was rushing down the street and wearing a top hat and a long black coat. He kept looking at his pocket watch.” I remembered his dark hair curling over the edge of his high collar and wondering if he was a vampire.

 

“And then he looked up and saw you--stared you right in the face and smiled before he phased through the door.” Her eyes, just like that day, were wide with wonder. “But that, that was just our imagination.” She added briskly. “Child’s play.”

 

“What?” I gasped, the air rushing out of my inflated lungs. How could it be our imagination when we both saw the same thing? 

 

“Julion, magic isn’t real!” Her gaze mocked me, and her words cut like knives. 

 

The memories of every moment of magic collapsed into shards that impaled my soul. In one instant, I went from a world of endless possibilities to one obscured in darkness. 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 7-13 Julion enters a world of magic where she finally meets the goddess of magic.  It is now that her lessons begin and Juilion discovers she is much more than just a youth who came from turbulent past.  Her arrival to the Valley was prophesized and she will be the one to ensure that this time, the Harvest, the event that transforms mankind into powerful,  multidimensional beings is successful. But first she'll have to stop the Warriors from dying out. Chapters 7-13

 

CHAPTER 14-20 Julion befriends Max and Vixbi and becomes certain that they are "wind chasers".  She's also certain that the tribe is fighting some kind of enemy that from the wounds she's seen, is not from this world.  She's tempted to journey into the woods to find where the battles take place.  Chapters 14-19

 

CHAPTER 20-26 Juion admits the truth to Max, and tells him she knows he's a wind chaser.  And then both she and Max are shocked to discover that she has healing powers.  Max admits he has an affliction that could end his life as it has so many other warriors before him.  Shortly after his confession, Julion's healing abilities are put to the test as Max lay dying from the very affliction he's just revealed.  Unfortunately, Julion's not allowed to interfer with tribal matters and Vixbi must defy tradition by bringing her into the 'fold'. But someone betrays them, and the council discovers the trespass.  Julion and her mother are banished from the Valley, but Julion won't allow her mother to suffer the end of a life that she's waited for, for as long as she can remember.  And Julion leaves the Valley, facing the bitter outlands and the arctic winter all by herself. 'Chapter 20-26

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