Ama’theon, The Beloved [novella]

Table of Contents

Preface

Chapter 1 – Honeymoon waters

Chapter 2 – The Approaching Storm

Chapter 3 – Beyond the Veil

The Unfading Flame [Poem]

The Hollow Flame [Essay]

Mirrors of the Beloved

Seeing Beyond Surface Appearances
Finding the Divine in Ordinary Moments
The Spiritual Dimension of Parenthood
One is all you need
Divine Love


Not Even Death [Poem]

About the Author



PREFACE

Dear Reader,

In ancient traditions across cultures, there exists the belief that love is not merely an emotion but a force that transcends the boundaries of physical existence. “Ama’theon” draws from this universal intuition—that what binds us most deeply to one another cannot be fully explained by biology or psychology alone.

The title itself combines ‘Ama’ from Latin meaning love, and ‘Theon’ from Greek meaning divine—Ama’theon represents divine love, a state of consciousness that exists within the human mind. This story explores how two ordinary people, Alex and Katy, discover and embody this transcendent form of connection.

This story emerged from a simple question: What if we could experience love not as we typically do—through the filters of our own perception—but directly, as it exists in another’s consciousness? What would we discover about ourselves, about each other, about the nature of connection itself?

The journey you’re about to embark on moves between the intimate and the cosmic, the ordinary and the extraordinary. It is offered not as fantasy but as a window into possibilities that exist within the human capacity for love—possibilities that our everyday awareness often fails to recognize.

May you find something of yourself in these pages.

Steven A. W.

Pronounced: Ah-ma-thee-on


Chapter 1 – Honeymoon Waters


Dawn broke over the horizon, painting the ocean in shades of amber and gold. Alex stood at the bow of the sailboat, a cup of coffee warming his hands against the morning chill. Behind him, the small cabin held Katy, still asleep in their narrow berth. Three days into their honeymoon, and he still found himself marveling at the simple fact of her presence in his life.

He watched a seabird glide effortlessly above the gentle waves, riding currents invisible to the human eye. The vastness of the ocean stretched before him—a blue eternity that should have made him feel small, insignificant. Yet somehow, with Katy aboard this twenty-six-foot vessel, he felt more substantial than he ever had before.

The soft sound of the cabin door opening drew his attention. Katy emerged, wrapped in one of his flannel shirts, her chestnut hair tousled from sleep. The morning light caught the gold flecks in her green eyes as she smiled at him.

“You’re up early,” she moved beside him at the railing.

Alex handed her his coffee cup. “Couldn’t sleep. Too busy being happy.”

She laughed—that warm, genuine sound that had first drawn him to her across a crowded room three years ago. “That might be the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever said.” But she leaned against him, taking a sip from his cup before handing it back.

“Ridiculous but true.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I kept waking up just to make sure you were real.”

“Still real.” She pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Still your wife.”

*Wife*. The word still felt new, weighty with promise. One week since they’d stood before their families and friends, exchanging vows that seemed both ancient and freshly minted.

“What’s the plan for today, Captain?” Katy asked, gesturing toward the charts he’d left spread on the deck table.

“If the wind holds, we can make it to that cove I told you about by afternoon. Crystal clear water, completely sheltered. We’d have it all to ourselves.”

“Sounds perfect.” She turned to face the horizon, her profile gilded by sunlight. “I still can’t believe we have two more weeks of this.”

Alex watched her peering out into the ocean—struck again by how completely she inhabited each moment. It was something he’d always admired about her—her ability to be fully present, while his own mind tended to race ahead or linger behind.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Starving. But first—” She turned suddenly, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply. When she pulled back, her eyes held a mischievous glint. “Good morning, husband.”

“Good morning, wife.” He smiled against her lips. “Breakfast can wait.”

—

By midday, they had the sails full of a steady breeze, cutting through the water at a brisk pace. Alex stood at the wheel, making minor adjustments while Katy sat cross-legged on the deck, reading from a weathered paperback. The sun had climbed high, warming the air enough that she’d changed into a blue swimsuit with a light cover-up tied at her waist.

“Listen to this,” Katy didn’t look up from her book—sharing a passage of intrigue. “‘We are all the pieces of what we remember. We hold in ourselves the hopes and fears of those who love us. As long as there is love and memory, there is no true loss.'”

“That’s beautiful,” Alex’s eyes were still fixed on the horizon—where the boat’s wake disappeared into the vast blue. The words had resonated somewhere deep within him, touching on thoughts he’d had but never articulated. “Who wrote it?”

“Cassandra Clare.” She closed the book, marking her place with a finger. “Do you think that’s true? That we’re made of memories?”

Alex considered this, watching the way the boat carved a temporary path through the water, leaving a wake that quickly disappeared. “I think we’re more than memories. But I like the idea that the people we love become part of us.”

Katy tilted her head slightly, her gaze turning inward as memories surfaced. A gentle breeze caught a strand of her hair, carrying it across her cheek as she spoke. “When I was little, my mom used to tell me that when people die, they become stars. I’d look up at the night sky and try to figure out which ones were my grandparents.”

She smiled at the memories, looking upon the heavens—dreaming of all the beautiful moments, grateful for each one and quietly longing for their return. “I was convinced the brightest ones had to be them, watching over me.”

“What do you think now?” Alex asked, they’d talked about spirituality before, but always in abstract terms. Neither were ever deeply religious—not opposed to it and simply didn’t bind themselves. Instead, falling onto quiet exploration.

Her face scrunched a little, a subtle shrug follow as she reached for her thoughts. “I don’t know. I’d like to believe there’s something after this. That consciousness doesn’t just… stop.” She looked up at him. “What about you? You’ve always been the skeptic.”

Alex adjusted their course slightly, his eyes fixed on the horizon where water met sky. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then ran his hand through his hair.

“I’ve never been able to make sense of God,” the thoughts finally connected, albeit still shaky, but resolute, merely requiring courage. His fingers tightened on the wheel. “But then you…” He glanced at her, something vulnerable crossing his face. “Being with you makes me wonder. Not about religion, exactly, but—” He shook his head, searching for words. “That love and beauty, fear and horror—the contrast, it is paradoxical and as if meant to instill uncertainty.” Alex had his mouth open, unfinished, and had more to say. There was a hint of anxiety—echoing with every word and shift of his eyes. “Then there’s you, you’re the single greatest light within my life—you alone tilted the scale.”

He looked away nervously, focusing intently on a seabird skimming the waves.

Katy set her book aside and moved to stand beside him at the wheel.

“Alex,” there was a tenderness in her words—her eyes in a state of surrender.

“Sorry,” Alex let out a self-conscious laugh. “Got a bit deep there for midday sailing.”

“No.” She placed her hand over his on the wheel. “Never apologize for that. It’s why I married you, you know. Because you see things differently. Because you make me see things differently too.”

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, the only sounds the wind in the sails and water against the hull.

Katy glanced at Alex, his gaze catching hers. A faint smile appeared, wondering what was on her mind. “What are you thinking about?”

Her smile was radiant, there was a yearning in eyes, “Do you ever think about having children?”

The question didn’t surprise him; they’d discussed it before, but always as a someday proposition. Something about being on the ocean, away from the constraints of their regular lives, made the conversation feel different now.

“I do,” he looked onto the ocean surface, holding within him memories of the distant future—longing for manifestation and form, “More than I used to.”

“What do you think about when you imagine it?” She leaned against the railing, watching him with genuine curiosity.

Alex fell into a daydream—truly contemplating the reality of being another life into existence. “I think about what it would be like, showing our child the world for the first time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everything would be new to them. The first time they see the ocean, or a full moon, or snow falling. I want to nurture their wonder—not suffocate it.”

“To guide them,” she understood his sentiment, the perception of children— allowing them to see the divinity within all.

“Yes. Not just to answer their questions, but to wonder alongside them.” His eyes met her’s with deep sincerity—as if he had been away for months and just received a long awaited letter from her. “What about you? What do you think about it?”

She couldn’t help but smile at him, her optimism and dreams of their future, it couldn’t be contained. “I think about the relationship with them. To be someone’s mom or parent, it seems like such a timeless experience. You become the center of their world. They always come to you for answers and comfort, seems so soul nourishing.

She paused, as if allowing her breathing to compress her thoughts. “And I think about how I want to be different from my parents.”

Alex knew what she meant. Katy’s parents had loved her, but they’d also tried to mold her into their image of perfection, never quite accepting her for who she was.

“You will be,” he assured her, gently massaging her hand. “We both will.”

There was a solemn surrender in her eyes, “You know what I realized shortly after getting to know you?”

“What’s that?”

Katy’s eyes were spellbound with Alex’s, as if every word held the weight of a thousand cherished moments, “I don’t remember the last time I felt like I needed to be someone else around you. Before we met, I was always… adjusting. Filtering.”

His eyes never wandered, only a gentle smile took form, “I’ve never wanted you to be anyone but who you are.”

“I know. That’s the miracle of it.” There was a vulnerability in her eyes that made his chest tighten. “You showed me not to fear myself. That I didn’t need to hide or put on some mask, some act.”

“I truly see you,” his words were so simple, but between them, they carried a timeless profundity—a soul deep recognition.

“We truly see each other.” She reached for his hand. “I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”









—


The afternoon passed in a comfortable rhythm of sailing, swimming when they anchored in a secluded cove, and preparing a simple meal together in the boat’s tiny galley. As evening approached, they sat on the deck with plates of pasta, watching the sun begin its descent toward the horizon.

For a brief moment, as the light changed, Alex thought he saw something unusual—a small blue light, like a firefly, hovering near Katy’s shoulder. But when he blinked, it was gone, leaving only the glow of sunset illuminating her profile.

“My grandfather used to say that we only get so many of these,” Alex’s hand gestured toward the sunset—observing it with a reverence that transformed the simple event into something almost ceremonial.

The fading light painted his profile in amber and gold, highlighting the contemplative set of his jaw.

“Sunsets?”

“Days. Moments. He said it wasn’t morbid to remember that, it was necessary.”

Katy’s eyes drifted within her mind, thinking of what he said. “Does thinking about that scare you?”

He stopped eating for a moment, taking notice of an albatross that had flown close by—heading towards the beyond, “Not when I’m with you. It just makes me more grateful for this. Right now.”

She set her plate aside and moved closer to him. “Tell me about the moment you knew you wanted to marry me.”

Alex was quickly lost in bliss—as if remembering the most joyful moment of his life. “It wasn’t one big moment. It was a Tuesday afternoon. You were folding laundry and singing to yourself, completely off-key.”

“I was not,” she playfully tapped his arm, laughing—there was a serenity about her.

“You absolutely were. And I just stood there watching you, thinking there was nowhere else I’d rather be than in that ordinary moment with you.”

“That’s when you knew?”

“That’s when I knew I’d already known for a long time.” He took her hand, running his thumb over the simple gold band on her finger. “What about you? When did you know?”

Katy didn’t immediately respond, letting her thoughts take form—she peered into her mind, a gentle smile took shape once whole. “Remember when my dad was in the hospital last year? You drove all night to get there with me, and then you just… handled everything. Not because you were trying to take over, but because you knew I couldn’t. You made sure I ate, you talked to the doctors when I couldn’t process what they were saying.”

She looked down at their joined hands. “But it wasn’t just that you were there. It was that you knew exactly when to step in and when to step back. You gave me space to feel everything without ever leaving me alone in it.”

“I remember thinking, ‘This is what it means to be truly seen by someone.'” She looked up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “It was like salvation realized. I found my needle in the haystack.”

Alex leaned forward, giving her a tender kiss. “I do,” he whispered against her lips.

A subtle laugh emerged, understanding the reference to their vows. “I do,” she echoed.

They sat together as the sun sank lower, casting long shining rays across the water. In the distance, clouds were gathering on the horizon, but they seemed far away, a problem for tomorrow.

Alex noticed Katy shiver slightly as the evening air cooled. “Should we head back to the main cabin?”

“Not yet,” there was no hesitation, despite the cold, “Let’s watch the stars come out first.”

They waited patiently, a seemingly eternal smile never left Katy. Each glance, each glance, every nudge were like sacred echoes.

Then, the first star appeared in the deepening blue above them—and another, and another, until the sky was scattered with distant points of light.

Katy pointed as a shooting star streaked across the darkness, “make a wish.”

Alex closed his eyes briefly—opening them to find her watching him. “What did you wish for?”

“If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

She was snarky, playfully rolling her eyes, “That’s just superstition.”

A dream resided within his smile, “I wished for more nights like this. With you.”

She leaned her head against his shoulder. “That’s a good wish.”

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the stars multiply above them. Neither noticed how the distant clouds were slowly moving closer, or how the gentle rocking of the boat had begun to take on a different rhythm. For now, there was only this moment—the two of them, the boat, and the vast canopy of stars reflecting on the dark water around them.

In the stillness, Alex found himself thinking of all the coincidences and choices that had led them to this exact point in time and space. How easily they might have never met, never fallen in love, never found themselves here on this boat beneath these particular stars.

“What are you thinking about?” Katy asked, sensing his contemplation.

“How lucky I am,” he truly was taking in the moment—savoring it then he continued on. “How unlikely and yet perfect it is that we found each other.”

She leaned closer to him, her shoulder pressing against his—a silent acknowledgment that needed no words. Her eyes reflected the last rays of sunlight as she whispered, “Out of all the possible lives we could have lived…”

He held her a little tighter, “We ended up in this one.”

The wind shifted slightly, carrying with it the faint scent of rain. But wrapped in each other’s presence, neither of them noticed the changing weather, or how the stars were beginning to disappear behind a veil of gathering clouds.







Chapter 2 – The Approaching Storm

Alex woke to the sound of rain pattering against the deck above. For a moment, he lay still in the narrow berth, Katy’s warm body curled against his, her breathing deep and even. The gentle rocking of the boat had changed sometime during the night, becoming more pronounced. He glanced at his watch on the small shelf beside the bed—2:17 AM.

Carefully, he extricated himself from Katy’s embrace and pulled on a t-shirt. She stirred but didn’t wake as he made his way to the cabin door and stepped outside.

The night had transformed completely. Where earlier there had been a canopy of stars, now there was only oppressive darkness broken by violent sheets of rain that drummed against the deck with increasing urgency. The wind had picked up considerably, its low moan occasionally rising to a whistle as it found gaps in the cabin seals. Waves no longer lapped but slapped against the hull with percussive force, each impact sending subtle vibrations through the entire vessel.

Nothing truly alarming yet, but the weather had definitely shifted from benign to threatening. Alex made his way to the small navigation station, the boat’s movement forcing him to brace himself against the wall. The barometer’s needle had dropped significantly—a silent harbinger he couldn’t ignore. He switched on the radio, keeping the volume low to avoid waking Katy, and tuned to the weather channel, the static-laced voice bringing unwelcome confirmation of what the barometer had already told him.

“…advisory for small craft in the eastern quadrant. A low-pressure system has developed more rapidly than expected, bringing winds of twenty to thirty knots and wave heights of four to six feet. Conditions expected to intensify over the next six to eight hours…”

Alex frowned, calculating. They were anchored in a cove that offered good protection from the west, but if the wind shifted to the east, they’d be exposed. Better to secure everything now while the conditions were still manageable.

He was tightening the last of the deck equipment when Katy appeared in the cabin doorway, wrapped in a blanket.

“What’s going on?” Katy was dreary, hardly awake—but knew something was off.

“The weather’s turned,” he gestured toward the dark sky. “Nothing serious yet, but I’m battening down just in case.”

Her sleepiness faded—noticing there was masked uncertainty in his voice. In its place emerged focused alertness he’d come to rely on in difficult moments. “What can I do?”

“Go back to sleep. I’ve got this.”

“Alex.” Her tone made him look up. “Tell me what to do.”

He smiled despite his concern. This was the Katy he’d fallen in love with—determined, capable, unwilling to be sidelined.

“Check the anchor line, make sure it’s secure. Then help me get everything below that we don’t absolutely need up here.”

They worked efficiently in the rain, securing the boat for rougher weather. By the time they finished, they were both soaked and the waves had grown noticeably higher, the boat pitching more dramatically.

Back in the cabin, they changed into dry clothes. Alex checked the radio again while Katy made hot tea. The weather report hadn’t improved—if anything, the system was intensifying faster than predicted.

“How bad is it going to get?” Katy handed him a steaming mug.

“Hard to say. Could blow over by morning, could get worse.” He didn’t want to worry her unnecessarily, but he also wouldn’t lie to her. “We’re well-anchored and this boat is sturdy. We just need to ride it out.”

She settled across from him at the small table built into the cabin wall, her fingers wrapping around the warm mug. Her eyes met his with a steadiness that spoke volumes. “I trust you.”

Those three simple words carried more weight than a thousand reassurances he might have offered her. He reached across the table and took her hand.

“Try to get some more sleep,” his voice was low and steady against the storm’s percussion. “I’ll keep an eye on things.”

“I’m not sure I can sleep now.” Katy sipped her tea, cradling the mug between both hands as if drawing strength from its warmth. Her eyes, thoughtful beneath the cabin’s dim light, met his. “Tell me a story instead.”

“A story?” Alex’s eyebrow lifted slightly—just a little surprised by her request but he understood why, talking to him quelled her anxiety.

“Mmm.” She nodded, struggling to mask her fear—as she smiled faintly. “Something I don’t know about you yet.”

Alex considered this as the boat rose and fell beneath them, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his mug. The rhythm of the waves seemed to unlock something in his memory.

“Did I ever tell you about the summer I worked as a fire lookout in Montana?”

She shook her head, tucking her legs beneath her and settling in to listen, her posture softening despite the boat’s unsteady motion.

“I was nineteen, between my freshman and sophomore years of college.” His voice took on a different quality now—more resonant, as if the memory itself had texture. “Spent three months in a tower on a mountain, completely alone except for weekly supply drops.” A smile crossed his face, not nostalgic exactly, but reverent. “No internet, barely any radio reception. Just me, about a thousand books, and the wilderness.”

“Weren’t you bored or lonely?” Katy asked, her question gentle but direct, the way she always managed to find the heart of things.

Alex’s gaze drifted toward the cabin window where raindrops traced chaotic patterns, his reflection ghostly against the darkness beyond. He smiled, knowing she’d ask that—it was clear this experience didn’t lead to feelings of loneliness.

“At first. But then something strange happened. The loneliness turned into something else—a kind of return with everything around me.” His hands opened unconsciously, as if trying to hold something invisible. “The trees, the animals, the weather. I started to feel like I was part of it all, not separate from it.”

Outside, the wind howled a little louder, its moan harmonizing eerily with his words. But inside the cabin, wrapped in the comfort of memory and Katy’s unwavering attention, Alex continued, his voice creating a shelter within the storm.

“There was this one night in August. A lightning storm came through—not close enough to be dangerous, but close enough to be spectacular.” His eyes brightened at the memory, his voice gaining momentum. “I sat on the tower balcony and watched it for hours. Fork lightning connecting the sky to the earth, lighting up the whole forest in these frozen moments of perfect clarity.”

He paused, as if excited to share an experience he seldom shared—thinking of a way to describe it. The boat creaked around them, but neither noticed. “I felt so small in that moment, but not in a bad way.” His voice softened, becoming almost confessional. “Small but significant. Like I was exactly where I was supposed to be, witnessing something few people ever get to see.”

“That sounds beautiful,” Katy’s eyes never left his face, as if she could see the lightning reflected there.

“It was.” Alex nodded slowly, returning from the memory. “But you know what I remember thinking as I watched that storm?” His eyes found hers again, present now, intimate.

“What?” she whispered, leaning slightly forward—knowing what he’d say, but wanting to hear it regardless.

“I wished I had someone to share it with.” His fingers found hers across the small table, intertwining with gentle pressure. “Someone who would understand why it mattered.” His thumb traced a small circle on her skin. “Someone like you.”

She smiled—a full, unguarded smile that transformed her face—but before she could respond, a particularly large wave hit the boat, causing it to lurch sharply. The mugs slid across the table with a ceramic screech, and Alex lunged forward, catching them just before they toppled over the edge.

“That was a big one,” Katy’s smile faded as reality intruded, her eyes darted toward the ceiling where the rain hammered with renewed intensity.

Alex stood, his expression shifting from storyteller to protector in an instant. “I should check outside again.”

The scene that greeted him was concerning. The wind had shifted, just as he’d feared, and the cove no longer offered the protection it had earlier. Rain lashed sideways, stinging his face, and the waves had built significantly. The anchor was holding for now, but the boat was pitching heavily.

Katy joined him, her face pale in the dim light. “Should we try to move? Find better shelter?”

Alex shook his head, his concern blossoming—no longer capable of being masked. “Too risky in the dark.” He was trying to think of a solution—a way for each other to get to safety. “We don’t know what’s between us and the next safe harbor.”

A sudden gust caught the boat, heeling it sharply to one side. Katy grabbed the railing to steady herself, her knuckles white.

“Let’s go back inside,” Alex put an arm around her. “It’s safer in the cabin.”

They made their way carefully back to the relative security of the small space. Alex checked that everything was secured—cabinet latches fastened, loose items stowed. The boat continued to pitch and roll, but the cabin provided a sense of shelter against the growing storm.

“It’s going to be okay,” he told Katy, trying to project more confidence than he felt. “The boat can handle this.”

She nodded, but he could see the fear beginning to form in her eyes. Not panic—Katy wasn’t prone to hysteria—but a quiet, rational understanding of their vulnerability.

“Come here,” he sat on the edge of the berth and opened his arms.

She sat beside him, leaning into his embrace. They stayed that way for a time, the boat rising and falling beneath them, the wind and rain creating a cacophony outside. Neither spoke; there was no need. In the silence between them flowed all the things they’d already said to each other over the years and all the things they still hoped to say in the decades to come.

As the first gray light of dawn filtered through the small cabin windows, Alex felt Katy relax slightly against him.

“See?” His eyes were focused upon a window, daybreak providing a semblance of ease. “We made it through the night.”

She looked up at him, a smile and visible relief taking form. “We did.”

But the storm hadn’t abated with the coming of the day. If anything, the waves seemed higher, the wind stronger. Alex knew they needed to make a decision—stay anchored and risk dragging, or try to navigate to a safer location.

He was about to suggest they check the charts when a sound cut through the storm noise—a sharp crack followed by a grinding vibration that shuddered through the entire boat.

“What was that?” Katy’s fear was apparent, the weight of alarm emanated from her voice.

Before Alex could answer, another wave hit, larger than any before. The boat lurched violently, throwing them both against the cabin wall. There was a moment of disorienting movement, and then a sickening sensation of the boat rolling too far, not recovering its balance.

“Alex—” Katy’s voice was cut off as everything tilted sideways.

The world collapsed into primal chaos. Freezing seawater exploded through the cabin door that had burst open with the impact, hitting them with the force of a battering ram. The boat continued its inexorable roll, a sickening motion that defied all human expectation of stability. Furniture and equipment tore free from their moorings with sounds of splintering wood and tearing metal, becoming deadly projectiles in the churning space.

The cabin lights faltered. In the chaos, Alex instinctively grabbed an emergency lantern—secured to the wall and immediately looked around for Katy.

He lunged for her, his fingers finding hers in the tumult. For one desperate moment, they clung to each other, eyes locked in shared terror. Then another violent surge of water struck them—cold as death and twice as merciless—tearing their hands apart. The displacing water dragged Katy away from him. Her mouth opened in a cry. It was suffocated by the torrent.

“Katy!” he shouted, fighting against the inrushing water and the disorienting angle of the capsizing boat.

“Here!” Her voice came from the far side of the cabin, where the navigation station had been.

Alex struggled toward her voice, his feet slipping on the tilted floor that was rapidly becoming a wall. The water was up to his waist now, cold and insistent, carrying loose items in chaotic currents around the cabin.

When he reached her, the beam of his lantern revealed what had happened. Katy was half-submerged, her face tight with pain. The heavy wooden cabinet that had housed their navigation equipment had broken free and pinned her lower body against the wall. The lantern’s harsh light cast dramatic shadows across her face, highlighting the fear in her eyes.

“Alex—” she gasped. “My leg. I can’t—the cabinet fell.”

He plunged his arms into the frigid water, his hands searching desperately for the edge of the large cabinet. It was made of teak. One of its corners was wedged, embedded into the wall.

“Hold on. I’ve got you,” he promised, the words tasting of salt and fear as he braced his feet against the tilted wall. Every muscle in his body strained as he pulled, tendons standing out on his neck, a primal growl escaping through clenched teeth. The cabinet only shifted slightly. Its latches to secure it had become mangled, creating more resistance. Visibility was minimal and struggled for firm footing.

His heart plummeted as the water continued its relentless rise, now lapping at Katy’s chest, her trapped body trembling with cold and the effort to keep her head above the rising tide.

“Alex, you need to find a way out,” her voice was sorrowful. Her eyes hoped for a miracle. She wanted to find a way out with him. But the hopelessness, it was apparent.

“I’m not leaving without you.” He looked around frantically for something to use as leverage. The boat had settled at a steep angle, partially submerged but not completely underwater. There were still air pockets in parts of the cabin, but the water was rising steadily.

He spotted a broken piece of the table floating nearby and grabbed it, wedging it under the edge of the cabinet. Using it as a lever, he pushed down with all his weight. The cabinet lifted, showing a fragment of hope.

“Can you move?” he grunted, the action causing visible strain—as if injury was a certainty.

She tried to pull herself free but cried out in pain. “No—I think my leg is broken.”

The lever began to slip, causing the cabinet to settle back into place. He tried to regain, each time giving greater significance to the inherent futility.

Alex moved to Katy’s side, cupping her face in his hands. “I’m going to get you out. I promise.”

She looked at him, water lapping at her shoulders now. “The water’s not stopping.”

“I know.”

“You could still—”

“Katy. Look at me. Where would I go that would be better than here with you?”

Tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks. “I don’t want to be the reason you die, Alex. Please.” Her voice broke. “Please don’t do this.”

A sudden violent wave crashed against the boat, shifting it further. The movement sent a surge of water through the cabin, momentarily submerging them both. When they resurfaced, gasping—the water almost surpassed her neck. The boat had settled at an even steeper angle.

Above them, one of the cabin windows creaked ominously, a spiderweb of cracks spreading across the glass with each roll of the waves. Small jets of water had begun to spray through the weakening seal.

“That window’s not going to hold,” Alex acknowledged the daunting inevitability. He looked around the cabin—now more than half-submerged—searching desperately for anything that might help them. But there was nothing. No way out. No miracle solution.

Katy followed his gaze to the cracking window. Her body trembled against his, not just from the cold but from the fear she could no longer hide.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” she muttered,  “Last night we were watching the stars, talking about having children someday.” Fresh tears came, mingling with the seawater on her face. “Why is this happening to us?”

Alex held her tighter, his own eyes burning. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

Another wave hit, and the window creaked louder. A thin stream of water now poured steadily through the cracks, accelerating the flooding.

“I’m scared, Alex,” she admitted, her words carrying the weight of everything they were about to lose. Her eyes, luminous in the dull light, held him with an intimacy that evoked her fear in every sense. “I’m not ready…” she paused, as fate became evermore undeniable. “We just started our life together.” The tremor in her final words betrayed the depth of her grief—not just for her own death but for all the moments they would never share.

He pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering there as if he could somehow imprint himself onto her, leaving some permanent mark of his love that even death couldn’t erase. The taste of salt—tears or sea, he couldn’t tell anymore—bound them together, an ancient element connecting their bodies as their souls already were. “I’m scared too,” he whispered against her skin, allowing himself this one honest confession. Not to frighten her further, but to meet her in this final truth as he had met her in all others.

The boat groaned around them, the pressure of the water straining its structure. The cracked window bulged inward slightly with each wave—Katy desperately strived to position herself to retain breath. Alex wrapped an arm around her waist, elevating her even though only a little.

“Do you regret staying?” Her eyes gilded with sorrow, of uncertainty, of a longing for more time—for this not to be the end. She searched his face. Torn over his decision to stay.. “You could have tried to—”

“No,” he interrupted firmly. “Not for a second.” He searched his mind, trying to fully convey how he felt. “Leaving you to face death alone, it would haunt me, the thought alone—”

She quivered, her eyes filled with tears—shone both grief and devotion. Katy pressed her trembling fingers against his lips, the cold of her skin a stark reminder of what they were facing together.

Her shoulders relaxed slightly, his certainty seeming to anchor her in the chaos around them. A flash of something crossed her face—not just acceptance but an undying, determined love that mirrored his own. “I would have done the same,” her words, far from empty—they were absolute and undeniable. “If it were you trapped, I wouldn’t leave either.” The declaration hung between them—not a hypothetical scenario but a fundamental truth about who they were together.

The window creaked again, the cracks spreading further. They both looked at it, knowing what it meant. When that glass gave way, the cabin would fill completely in seconds.

“Alex,” Katy’s voice was laden with a quiet urgency.  “Last night, when you wished on that star—what did you really wish for?”

There was no longer doubt, their deaths were imminent—his despair, it caused a gentle smile to bloom. “I told you. More nights with you.”

“That’s not specific enough for a wish,” she attempted a watery smile that trembled at the edges like a delicate flower, gradually being overtaken by a flame. “You have to be precise with wishes.”

“Okay.” He paused, his eyes searching hers as if memorizing constellations. “I wished that no matter what happened—across time, across worlds, across whatever lies beyond this—we’d always find our way back to each other.”

The window made a sharp cracking sound like distant ice breaking on a frozen lake. Water now streamed through in multiple places, no longer droplets but urgent rivulets converging into a rising tide. The cabin was filling faster, the water reaching their necks as they pressed against the highest corner, their breath creating small, vanishing spaces between them and the inevitable.

“That’s a good wish,” Katy whispered with a certainty that transcended their desperate circumstances. “I wish that too.”

Another violent wave hit the boat, and they heard the distinct sound of the window frame beginning to give way—not just creaking now but surrendering, the final barrier between them and the waiting darkness.

“Katy,” Alex, cradled her face between his hands with a tenderness that defied their imminent fate. His palms against her cheeks formed a momentary sanctuary, compelling her to look at him rather than at the failing window. “Listen to me. If there’s anything after this—any place, any form of existence—I will find you. Do you understand? I will find you.”

“How?” Her voice broke, not in fear but in the terrible weight of possibility. “How will you know where to look?”

“I’ll know,” each word a promise carved into whatever remained after bodies failed. “I’ll always know you. I refuse to forget.” He pressed his forehead to hers, creating a bridge between minds, between souls. “And if there’s nothing after—if this is all we get—then I’m grateful it ends with you. That the last thing I’ll ever see is your face.”

His love for Katy—greater than any fear. He wanted to be there for her final moments, even if it meant they’d be his, too.

The window frame groaned, bending inward like a final breath being drawn. The emergency lantern floated nearby, its beam cutting through the rising water in eerie columns of light that illuminated their faces from below.

“I love you,” Katy’s eyes never left his, even as tears flowed freely down her face—not tears of despair but of recognition, witnessing the immensity of what they’d found and were about to carry into the unknown. The lantern’s glow caught each tear like a tiny prism. “I have loved you every day since we met, and I will love you beyond whatever comes next.”

“I love you too,” the simplicity of those words containing everything they’d been and everything they might have become. “Always.”

The window gave way with a sudden, violent crash—a sound that echoed the collapsing of reality. Water surged into the cabin not as liquid but as pure force, a living entity with terrible purpose. The pressure slammed into them, driving them apart in a swirl of bubbles and debris. For one horrifying moment, Alex lost sight of her completely in the churning darkness.

With desperate, burning lungs, he fought against the current, against physics itself, clawing his way back through the water that seemed determined to separate them even in these final moments. His hand found her shoulder, then her waist, and with one final surge of strength—born of love rather than physical power—he pulled himself to her side. He wrapped his arms around her with raw resolve, their bodies remembering each other even as consciousness began to arrive at journeys end. Her hair floated around them like a dark halo as the water rose inexorably over their heads, sealing them together in its cold embrace.

In the strange, muffled silence of the underwater cabin—a silence more profound than anything he had ever known—they clung to each other with the perfect understanding of those beyond rescue. The world narrowed to this single point of connection: Katy’s eyes, impossibly clear beneath the surface, holding him with unwavering focus. The lantern, still somehow illuminated as it drifted nearby, cast an otherworldly blue light that transformed her features. No fear remained in them now, only love and a kind of wonder. Her hair transformed her into something otherworldly yet achingly familiar—his wife, his love, his home even in this watery grave.

He held her gaze—steadily, memorizing every fleck of gold in her green irises, committing to memory this final image of her. His burning lungs screamed for air, each cell in his body rebelling against the inevitable, but still he refused to close his eyes. Darkness began to creep in from the periphery of his vision, like curtains slowly drawing closed on their final act together. Yet in this most terrible moment came a strange peace—they were together, looking into each other’s eyes—no panicking, there was this timeless acceptance. Honoring one another. As they had promised a week ago.

His last conscious thought was not of fear or regret, but of the wish he’d made on that falling star: *No matter what happens, we’ll always find our way back to each other.*

Once Katy’s consciousness had truly faltered—her final thought was not written by fear. *He really stayed.. he truly… loves me…*

Then darkness took them, and the storm above raged on, indifferent to the silence below.


Chapter 3 – Beyond the Veil

Darkness.

Not the darkness of night or closed eyes, but a complete absence of light, sensation, and form. Was he still Alex? Was he anyone at all? Time stretched and compressed—a moment might have been an eternity, an eternity merely a breath.

The memory of water remained—cold pressure against skin he no longer possessed, the taste of salt without a tongue to taste it. He tried to reach for Katy but found no hands, tried to call her name but had no voice. Yet somehow, he felt her—not as presence but as absence, a Katy-shaped hollow in whatever he had become.

In this formless void, only stillness remained—a stillness unlike anything he had known in life, neither peaceful nor frightening but simply… vast.

Thoughts arose, his longing for Katy never faltered. *Where is Katy? I have to find her…* He made efforts to speak, reposition, but nothing was all there ever was—suspended in absence. An eternal bloom, dreaming of existence. *This can’t be it…I refuse to forget her…*

His determination seemed to ripple outward into the darkness, unanswered yet somehow acknowledged by the void itself.

He wondered if this was all there was—the thought should have terrified him, yet his fear began to fall away. Not falling into despair—his emerging existence, trusting—the paradox.

*Katy*, he thought, and the darkness seemed to pulse in recognition. *Are you here too? Are we still together somehow?*

The void offered no answers, yet he sensed he wasn’t truly alone. Something—or someone—was witnessing his passage through this in-between place. Not judging, not guiding, simply… present.

Then, a single point of blue light appeared in the void. It pulsed gently, like a heartbeat. Another appeared beside it, then another. Blue fireflies, their glow soft and ethereal, began to gather around what he still thought of as himself, illuminating nothing yet somehow making the darkness less absolute. He felt himself both expanding and contracting, becoming both more and less than what he had been.

*Alex.*

His name, not heard but felt, rippled through his consciousness. The fireflies moved with purpose now, arranging themselves into patterns that shifted and flowed. Within their dance, images began to form—memories from his life, but viewed from outside himself.

He saw himself as a child, learning to ride a bicycle, his mother’s hands steady on his back before letting go. He felt her pride and fear as if they were his own emotions.

He saw his father’s funeral, himself at sixteen standing rigid beside the casket, refusing to cry in public. But now he could feel the weight of grief he had carried alone, the responsibility that had settled on his young shoulders.

He saw the first time he met Katy, that moment across a crowded room when her laugh had drawn his attention. He experienced that instant from her perspective—how she had noticed him watching her, the curious flutter in her chest when their eyes met.

The memories came faster now, moments large and small flowing seamlessly: their first date, their first argument—the one where they’d both said things they regretted, where he’d stormed out only to return an hour later, rain-soaked and apologetic, unable to bear the thought of leaving things broken between them. He saw quiet Sunday mornings reading together in comfortable silence, the night he proposed on a windswept beach, their wedding just a week ago.

And then, the boat. The storm. The cabinet pinning Katy’s leg. His choice to stay with her. The window breaking. Water filling their lungs.

The blue fireflies swirled more intensely, their light growing brighter. Within their radiance, Alex sensed something else watching—not malevolent, but vast and ancient, bearing witness to the love that had bound him to Katy even as death claimed them both.

*You chose each other,* came the wordless understanding. *Even when given another path.*

The fireflies began to disperse, their light flickering. Darkness enveloped him again, but different now—a darkness that felt like transition rather than void.

Peace and darkness caressed him; his consciousness dimmed, surrendering to the eternal pause. His soul dissolved at journey’s end, drifting towards unfading silence. In the unending black, a dream unmade itself—ask not; what is never was.



—


Silence was the first thing that returned—a silence so profound it was not the absence of sound, but a dense, warm presence that pushed against the space where his lungs used to be. He was not breathing, yet he existed. And with that sound, the formlessness began to take a shape—not of his body, but of a boundless, gentle yearning that was not his own, yet felt utterly familiar.

The softness of grass beneath him, it cradled him—like silk blades, each one skimming his skin like velvet fingers. The warmth of light on his face. The gentle caress of a breeze carrying unfamiliar scents. Trees he heard, their swaying and soothing harmony—their leaves singing with the wind.

Chirps and calls of life never known, and yet, not foreign.

Alex opened his eyes.

Above, a sky of crystalline clarity arched from horizon to horizon—neither the harsh brightness of day nor the deep shadow of night, but something in between. Blond light bathed everything in honeyed solace, as if the most perfect sunset had been frozen in time, painting the world in hues that made even the air itself seem luminous.

For several moments, he simply breathed, feeling the air fill his lungs. Air. Not water. The memory came back suddenly—the boat, the storm, the cabin filling with water. Katy trapped. Katy’s eyes beneath the surface, holding his gaze as darkness closed in.

“Katy,” her name escaped his lips as he sat up abruptly.

The terrain around him, ringed by tall trees with silver-gray bark and leaves that shimmered with an inner light. The grass beneath him had small white flowers. In the distance, rolling hills gave way to mountains that seemed both impossibly far and strangely near.

A single blue firefly drifted past his face, its light pulsing gently before it disappeared into the golden air.

He looked down at himself. He was wearing the same clothes he’d had on in the boat—jeans and a gray t-shirt—but they were dry, as was he. No trace of the seawater. He touched his face, his arms, his chest. Everything felt solid, real.

“Am I dead?” he wondered aloud, his voice sounding normal.

No answer came, but he knew. The knowledge settled in him with balanced certainty. He had died in that cabin, holding Katy as the water claimed them both.

*Katy.*

He stood, turning in a slow circle, his eyes searching every shadow, every space between the trees. She wasn’t there.

Panic flared, however only briefly, walking to the edge of separation—peering upon its deceit and saw through it. “She’s here. Somewhere.”

With no clear direction to guide him, Alex chose a path that led from the clearing towards the rolling hills.

He walked bare foot—breaking fallen twigs under his stride. Leaves rustled, their crinkling, seemingly harboring ancient whispers.

Birds called from the trees—or at least, they sounded like birds, their calls were peculiar from anything he heard before. Hidden within their olden shelter—among the shimmering leaves.

As he walked, memories of his life continued to surface, not in any particular order but in bursts of emotional significance. But unlike the visions shown to him by the blue fireflies, these were his own memories, carrying the weight of his lived experience. They were amplified by something that he couldn’t articulate. It wasn’t new, he knew it. He just couldn’t pinpoint when.

He remembered the first real fight he and Katy had—six months into dating, over something so trivial he couldn’t even recall the cause now. What he did remember was the fear that had gripped him as he’d walked away, the terrifying thought that he might have ruined the best thing in his life over wounded pride. He’d returned to her apartment that night with rain-soaked flowers and an apology that stumbled out of him, clumsy but sincere. She’d pulled him inside, both of them laughing and crying as they promised to do better, to listen more, to never let the sun set on their anger.

That night had taught him something essential about love—that it wasn’t about perfection but about the courage to be imperfect together, to show your rough edges and trust they would be handled with care.

The path widened as he emerged from the forest onto a hillside overlooking a vast valley. In the distance, he could see a lake reflecting the golden light, and beyond it, more forests and hills stretching to the horizon. The landscape was beautiful but empty of other people—or souls, he supposed.

Then he saw it—a thin column of smoke rising from somewhere beyond the next ridge. A fire. Something drew him toward it, a feeling he couldn’t name but trusted instinctively. With renewed purpose, Alex began making his way down the hillside toward the distant smoke.

—

Katy floated in darkness, formless yet aware. There was no fear, only a tranquility so complete it seemed to vibrate through her very essence—a resonance of existence that had always been playing but that life’s chaos had rendered inaudible until now.

The last moments in the boat—the water filling her lungs, Alex’s eyes holding hers as consciousness faded—seemed distant now, like a dream half-remembered. Yet the connection remained, a thread stretching across the void, tethering her to something—someone—beyond herself.

*Alex?* The thought formed without words, a pure intention reaching into the darkness. It went unanswered, but as if it echoed—disturbing the darkness itself. It seemed to acknowledge her question as an unseen stone caused it to ripple.


Memories of sensation lingered—the tenderness of Alex’s hand in hers, the pressure of water against her skin.

*Where is Alex?* Her mind echoed, *Please, I love him*

The darkness offered only silence, not a vast absence, but a presence—patient, primordial, observing. Not with eyes, but with awareness that seemed to permeate all. She wasn’t alone in this place beyond places.

Time seemed to lose itself here. She might have existed for seconds or centuries—both lacking total certainty. Without a body to mark the passage of moments, without breath or heartbeat to count the seconds, she simply… was. Dreaming without eyes.

Then, a change. Not sudden, but gradual—like dawn breaking over a horizon she couldn’t see. Blue lights appeared around her, small and pulsing like fireflies. They moved with purpose, swirling and dancing in patterns that seemed almost like language. Within their movements, images began to form—her life, but seen from perspectives not her own.

Her childhood, viewed through her mother’s eyes—the fierce pride and worry as she watched her daughter grow. Her teenage years, seen through her father’s perspective—his struggle to understand her, his fear of losing connection with her. Her college years, witnessed by friends who admired her quiet strength and independence.

And then Alex. She saw herself through his eyes the first time they met—how he had noticed her laugh across a crowded room, the way something in him had recognized something in her before they’d even spoken. She felt his wonder at her presence in his life, his gratitude for her love, his determination to stay with her in those final moments on the boat.

The blue fireflies intensified their dance, showing moments she hadn’t witnessed—Alex sitting alone at his father’s grave, speaking faintly about having met someone special. Alex in a jewelry store, carefully selecting her engagement ring, his hands having a slight trembling—as if bearing the weight of the decision itself. Alex on their wedding day, watching her walk down the aisle, his heart so full it seemed impossible to contain such feelings.

She saw their arguments too—the time she’d pushed him away during a period of stress, afraid to let him see her vulnerability. The night he’d withdrawn into silence after a difficult day at work, and how she’d learned to sit with him in that silence until he was ready to speak. The small misunderstandings and reconciliations that had taught them both how to love better, how to be honest about their needs and fears.

*Love like yours is rare,* an echo understanding. *Even here.*

The fireflies began to scatter, their light fading—flickering. The darkness enveloped her again, but it felt different now—a darkness of transition rather than void.

Dreams, a whisper from the stars. Yearning for what never was and must be. The place between knowing and becoming. Stepping into the fire—only burning away what was never meant to remain. Memories of fallen ash, a tide of forgetting. A flower forever blooming, ever-unfolding. For what can be once was—and will be; it was never absent.





—


There was no up, no down—only the vast, quiet memory of having loved and been loved. Weightless. Soundless. Where panic should have been, there was only a slow, sustained light, not seen by eyes, but felt like a familiar hand. The deep water was gone, replaced by an ancient warmth that curled around the soul. This was not oblivion, but the space just before a promise is fulfilled. The threads of fear and loss, severed. Only the central truth remained, an undeniable tether to another heart. He was the horizon she was always sailing toward, and even here, even now, the current was drawing her home.

Sensation returned in a rush. She felt the soft, yielding texture beneath her, nothing like the slick, cold floor of the cabin. A sound—a steady, gentle hum, almost like music—vibrated in the air, pulling her toward consciousness. She inhaled, not water, but the sweet, heavy scent of damp earth and blooming things. She opened her eyes to a copper-tinted radiance bathing her skin.

Laying amidst a meadow—walled off by a shroud of trees. She sat up slowly, her mind strangely clear despite the disorientation. There was no fear, mesmerized by the calls of life—as if she had returned to a forgotten sanctuary. The forest sang in ancient lullabies to her.

She remembered everything—the storm, the cabinet pinning her legs, Alex refusing to leave her, the window breaking, the rush of water. She remembered dying. And she remembered the blue fireflies, showing her life from perspectives not her own.

“I’m dead,” the words fell from her lips like stones into still water, creating ripples of realization. They didn’t bring fear—instead, a quiet wonder blossomed within her chest, expanding with each breath she no longer needed yet somehow still took.

A single blue firefly drifted past her, its light pulsing—radiating something fleeting, disappearing into the brilliant air.

She looked down at herself. She was wearing the clothes she’d died in—jeans and Alex’s blue flannel shirt that she’d pulled on when the storm began. But she was dry, and when she stood and tested her weight on her legs, there was no pain. The broken leg that had trapped her in the boat was whole again.

“Alex?” Her voice carried into the forest’s symphony—as if it made space for her call.

She turned in a slow circle, taking in her surroundings. The wall of trees stretched before her. Amidst the meadow, resided a lone sentinel—a tree of enchanting grandeur. The tall grass swayed, captivating her as it danced with the wind. Wildflowers, scattered in an array, playing their harmonious aspects—near the border of trees, the flowers formed a narrow passage to unknown places. She felt an echo, not of sound, but of her heart yearning.

Katy stood, frozen—not by fear or doubt, but from the immense possibility that Alex was near. It caused her to quiver, the depth of his sacrifice. Their final moments together—him holding her gaze, not faltering, not resisting. Tears left her, gracing her face.

She began walking toward the flower passage—wading through the grass, it graced her skin as if it were offering a path to solace.

As she walked into the forest passage—she found herself thinking of the blue fireflies and the visions they had shown her—Alex’s life, his love for her seen from inside his heart.

They had learned each other’s edges, the places where they fit together and the places where they had to make room. Alex’s tendency to withdraw when overwhelmed, her habit of taking on too much without asking for help. The way they’d gradually built a language between them, learning to navigate the rough waters of two separate lives becoming one.

The landscape opened up before her. Rolling hills rose in the distance, and atop one of them, she could see a thin column of smoke rising into the golden sky. A fire. Something about the fire beckoned to her—the certainty that Alex awaited her there bloomed not as thought but as instinct, as natural and undeniable as gravity.

With renewed determination, she left the sentinel forest and began making her way across the distant hills and the promise of that rising smoke.

—



Alex walked through the foreign plains. His mind never deviated. He couldn’t help thinking—this world was beyond anything that he ever knew, beyond Earth.

The thought of not being on Earth, that alone was a vast reconciliation.

Little by little, the sky dimmed, seemingly at a leisurely pace.

As he crested another hill, the land opened before him like a revelation. There, nestled between two gentle slopes, he found the source of the smoke—a circle of stones housing a fire. The flames burned with impossible steadiness, a timeless elegance—as if it were a living flame, pulsing like a heartbeat made visible. No smoke darkened the air above it; instead, a thin silver column rose straight upward, connecting earth and sky.

He quickened his pace, hope rising. His chest was fluttering, it felt inevitable. All doubt was cast away.

As he descended into the valley, he passed through a stand of trees. Garnering pale silver trunks and leaves that seemed to whisper as he moved beneath them. Not with words, but through a different threshold of meaning.

When he emerged from the trees, the stone circle and its fire were directly ahead, perhaps a hundred yards away.

He was about to approach when movement on the far side of the valley caught his eye. Someone was approaching from the opposite direction.

Even at this distance, he knew. The way she moved, the shape of her silhouette against the golden sky—it was Katy.

Alex stopped breathing, time seemed to suspend as he watched her walking toward the fire, still unaware of his presence.

“Katy,” he whispered her name—too quietly for her to hear. As if not for her, but for his own longing, for his wish being fulfilled.

There was greater haste in his movements. His entire focus narrowed to the woman. With each step, he became more certain. It was her. It was really her. His beloved.

When Katy saw him, her entire body responded before her mind. She stopped abruptly, it was as if she’d collided with something invisible. Her hand flew to her throat, a gesture so distinctly hers that it confirmed for Alex this was truly his Katy, not some phantom conjured by longing.

Even across the distance, he witnessed the transformation of her expression—dissolving into disbelief, her eyes widening, lips parting on an indrawn breath that seemed to suspend her between moments. And, as if dawn had broken across her features, hope illuminated her face—not the cautious hope of the living who fear disappointment, but the absolute, radiant hope of a soul recognizing her counterpart across any divide.

For a moment, neither moved. They stood frozen, the fire between them, its steady flame the only movement in the golden silence.

“Alex?” Katy’s voice carried across the distance, a question and a prayer.

“Katy.” Not a question. A certainty.

One first hesitant step, as if testing whether this reality would permit it, then another more certain, until urgency overtook them both. Their pace quickened in perfect synchronicity, as if their bodies remembered a dance their minds had forgotten. The distance between them—that impossible gulf that had seemed eternal just moments before—collapsed with each footfall, causing pollen of some kind to flurry.

They met at the edge of the stone circle, the fire, witness to their reunion. Katy’s arms reached for him first, fingers splayed as if trying to know, truly, it was him. Alex caught her mid-stride, the impact of their bodies created a sound like a silent prayer. The collision sent a visible ripple through the air around them—stirring up a plume of pollen.

His arms encircled her completely, one hand cradling the back of her head while the other pressed against her spine, drawing her ever closer. Her fingers clutched at his shirt, bunching the fabric as if anchoring herself to him. Their embrace wasn’t merely physical—it was the convergence of two souls that had refused separation, had defied even death’s attempt to part them. Alex buried his face in the curve where her neck met her shoulder.

“This is all I could ever want,” every word held the weight of a universe. “You’re really here.”

Katy could only nod against his chest, her tears soaking into his shirt—not tears of sadness but of recognition, of homecoming. In his arms, even in this strange realm beyond death, she had found the only home that mattered.

“You found me,” Katy whispered against his neck, her arms tight around his shoulders.

“I promised I would.” He pulled back just enough to see her face. She was exactly as he remembered—her green eyes, the constellation of freckles across her nose, the small scar on her chin from a childhood fall.

They stood for a time, holding each other—foreheads pressed together, breathing, sharing the space of their existence.

There was a volley of emotions within her eyes, “Before here, there were these blue lights, like fireflies. They showed me memories, but not just my own. I saw myself through your eyes.”

A solemn look, of divine recognition—that they both truly knew as if they had graced one another’s soul. There was relief, that she knew too.”I saw it too. Blue fireflies showed me my life, but from perspectives I could never imagine. I saw the moment we met, but from your perspective.”

“I felt what you felt,” every word, her voice as delicate as an injured bumblee—as if trying to nurture it. “Your love for me. It was…” she shook her head, searching for words adequate to describe it. “It wasn’t just overwhelming. It was like discovering an entire universe existed inside you, with me at its center. Like every moment we shared had been preserved perfectly, not just as memory but as living experience.”

“And I felt yours,” Alex traced the contours of her cheek. The touch carried the weight of love absent of its shadows—as if it were a feather wrapped in light.

“I always knew you loved me, but to feel it as you felt it…” His voice faltered, ³”To know that when you looked at me, you saw past every defense, every mask I thought I was wearing. That you weren’t just accepting the parts of me I showed the world, but actively cherishing the shadows I tried to hide.”

Katy leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly. “I saw how you carried my words with you, replaying conversations when we were apart. How certain moments—ones I’d forgotten—had become treasures to you. The night I fell asleep against your shoulder watching that terrible movie, how you stayed perfectly still for hours despite your arm going numb, just to avoid waking me.”

“Because you looked so peaceful,” he whispered. “And I saw how you noticed—every time I made coffee exactly how you like it, every time I remembered something small you’d mentioned once. How those tiny gestures meant more to you than grand declarations.”

The silence, it was fullness—they let their words fall away. Breathing in unison as the enormity settled between them. There was an absolute certainty of being loved, doubt couldn’t survive, it had nowhere to go—nowhere to hide. This gift of perfect understanding.

Katy opened her eyes, her gaze swept across the scenic fields—cradled in a divine light.

“Where are we, Alex?” She studied the strange fire, the perfect circle of stones that housed it, the distant mountains whose peaks seemed to pierce the very fabric of the sky. Her voice held wonder rather than fear, curiosity rather than dread.

Alex followed her gaze, the beauty of this place—how the light seemed to emanate not just from above but from within everything around them, how the very air felt alive against his skin.

“No idea,” he admitted, a small laugh left him, carrying both bewilderment and welcome. For Alex, wherever Katy was—that’s where heaven resided. “The afterlife, I suppose.”

He paused, letting out a sputtering laugh. “But at least I don’t have to finish that quarterly report for Johnson anymore.”

Katy’s eyes widened, and then she burst into laughter—real, full-bodied laughter that echoed across the valley. Her eyes never left him, pressing her body in his. “That’s what you’re thinking about? Paperwork?”

He was nonchalant and shrugged, “Hey, silver linings,” his humor had truly surfaced, grinning as he looked around somewhat aimlessly.

She shook her head, still laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You married ridiculous,” he reminded her, pulling her close again.

“I did,” she agreed, her laughter easing into a smile. “Best decision I ever made.”

There they stood, bathed in the steady radiance of the fire that seemed to respond to their reunion—its flames reaching slightly higher, its light intensifying to envelop them in a cocoon of relief. Time stretched and compressed around them.

Eventually, the initial desperate clutching eased into something more sustainable, the frantic confirmation of each other’s presence softening into quiet certainty. Katy’s breathing slowed to match the rhythm of the flames, and she gradually became aware again of their surroundings—the stone circle, the vast landscape, the rays of light now deepening toward amber as if this realm had its own version of evening approaching.

She stepped back slightly, creating just enough space between them to see his face fully, to trace its beloved contours. But she couldn’t bear to break contact completely, her fingers remaining firmly intertwined with his, their pulses—real or remembered—beating against each other’s skin.

“Do you think… do you think our families know what happened to us? About the boat?” The question brought a shadow to her eyes, the first real sorrow he’d seen since they’d reunited.

The question hit him with unexpected force. In the wonder of finding Katy again, he hadn’t fully considered those they’d left behind. His mother, who had already lost his father. Katy’s parents, who had just watched their only daughter marry.

“I don’t know,” he felt uncertain, now grappling with the reality of those who will be affected by their deaths. Their final moments together, entirely unknown by the world. “Maybe they’re still searching for us. Or maybe… maybe they’ve found the boat by now.”

“They’ll be devastated,” she sighed, seeming slightly uneased. “My mom, your mom… they’ve already lost so much.”

Alex pulled her close again, feeling her tears against his neck. “I know. I wish there was some way to tell them we’re okay, in a way.”

“Are we okay?” she asked, pulling back to look at him. “We’re dead, Alex. We died. And now we’re… here. Wherever here is.”

He looked around at the panorama, the shimmering trees, the strange fire. “I don’t know. I think we’re okay—and honestly, I’m just grateful that our time with one another didn’t end. That’s more than I dared hope for when that window broke.”

She was quiet, not immediately speaking—thinking of their final moments. “I saw you,” her eyes held deep intimacy, “In those last moments. I saw your eyes holding mine even as everything went dark. You didn’t leave me.”

“I never could,” there was a tension—not of unease, but of shared sacrifice.

He met her eyes, recognition passing between them without need for words. Everything here felt both strange and known—like finding a place they’d only visited in dreams. Not a discovery but a return to something that had always existed, patient and waiting, in some forgotten corner of themselves.

“Let’s explore a bit,” Katy suggested, her fingers still intertwined with his. “I want to see what this place is like.”

Alex felt the same pull of curiosity—a call for adventure. They walked along the edge of the valley, where the golden light casted long shadows.

“It’s absolutely beautiful here,” his eyes wandered, unable to contain the desire to appreciate the most subtle of details. The valley stretched before them, dotted with those strange, luminous flowers and trees whose branches seemed to sway in perfect rhythm.

“You know what’s weird?” Alex stopped to pick up a stone that caught his eye. It was smooth and iridescent, its crystalline surface, shifted colors as he turned it in his hand. “I don’t feel afraid. I should be terrified—we’re dead, we’re in some strange place we don’t understand—but I just feel… peaceful.”

His words were not lost on Katy. Watching Alex as he marveled at the peculiar stone. A subtle smile never seemed to leave her.”It’s like all the anxiety just… stayed behind. All those things I used to worry about—money, work, what people thought of me—they seem so distant now. So small.”

“Do you regret anything?” She glanced at him, their eyes meeting for a moment then parting ways. “From before, I mean.”

He thought about it, scouring his memories.

His silence, it was contemplative—his eyes shifting as he peered in his mind’s eye. “I regret the times I let fear hold me back. The trips we didn’t take because I was worried about the cost. The conversations I avoided because they were difficult.” His hand tightened with hers. “But I don’t regret a single moment with you.”

“Not even our fights?” she playfully nudged him, smiling—the golden hues dancing upon her hair.

“Not even those,” He shook his head, “They taught us how to love each other better.”

His sentiment was mutual, she knew every triumph, every sorrow—every ounce of uncertainty, each an essential thread within their tapestry of love. “I regret not telling my parents how much I appreciated them more often. And I regret not adopting that dog we saw at the shelter last year—the one with the crooked ear.”

Alex was a little taken aback, laughing—and held this admiration in his eyes—grateful that she was his wife, “Seriously? That’s your big regret?”

“He would have been a good dog,” she insisted, rolling her eyes and laughing. “And I stand by it.”

As they crested another hill, they saw more fires in the distance—small points of steady flame scattered across the landscape—aligned in a sort of path, as if they were meant to serve as guide posts.

“Look,” Katy pointed to the furthest horizon where the fires seemed to converge. “They form a pattern. Like they’re leading somewhere.”

Alex looked into the far distance, beyond where individual fires could be distinguished, there seemed to be a greater light—not golden like the ambient light around them, but silver-white, like moonlight concentrated into a single point.

“Should we follow them?” he asked.

“Not yet. I want to understand this place first. I want to be with you, just you, before we find whatever’s waiting for us there.”

Alex didn’t object, whatever awaited them could wait. They had been given this second chance—this existence beyond death—and he too wanted to savor it, to explore this new reality with just Katy.

She stopped at a hillside overlooking the valley, and playfully fell—dragging Alex down with her. For a brief moment, they laughed, their smiles never receding. Becoming lost in one another’s eyes—as if they were studying eternity, and in the truest sense, they were. They faced death together. The threshold so many fear—merely a door, one meant to be embraced with love.

She rested against his chest, his arms around her. The daylight had finally begun to fall—star ridden heavens and ethereal moons appeared within the skies fabric.

They laid there, embracing the silence. Katy played with his hair, a favorite of Alex’s, “Do you remember our last night on the boat? Before the storm?”

“Of course,” his eyes were closed, opening them to find Katy gazing into them. “We watched the stars come out. You made me wish on a shooting star.”

“What did you wish for? Really?”

He smiled, his eyes reflecting a dream. “I told you then. That no matter what happened, we’d always find our way back to each other.”

She turned in his arms to face him. “And we did.”

“We did.” He kissed her gently. “Whatever this place is, whatever comes next. We’ll take it on together.”

The fires continued to burn, steady and unwavering. They formed a pattern that seemed to suggest direction, purpose—a path they would follow when they were ready, but not yet.

As they lay there watching the sky deepen from gold to a rich indigo scattered with unfamiliar constellations, a streak of silver-blue light suddenly arced across the heavens—a shooting star, impossibly bright and slow, trailing sparks that lingered like afterimages.

“Make a wish,” Alex echoed her words from their last night on the boat.

Katy’s eyes followed the star’s trajectory until it disappeared beyond the distant mountains. “I already did.”

“What did you wish for?”

“If I tell you, it won’t come true,” she teased, throwing his own response back at him.

“That’s just superstition,” he completed their reversed exchange.

Amidst elation, she then grew serious. “I wished that whatever comes next for us—whatever those fires are leading to, whatever purpose this place has—that we’ll face it together. That nothing will separate us again.”

Alex drew her closer. “That’s a good wish.”

“The best part,” she breathed the words against his chest, “is that I think it’s already coming true.”

In this moment, upon a twilight hillside, their bond had only grown stronger, embracing their beloved. There was only Alex and Katy, and their love for one another.

“You know what I just realized?” Alex broke the comfortable silence.

“What?” Katy looked up at him, curious.

“We never got to finish our honeymoon.” He grinned, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Think this place has a decent resort somewhere? All-inclusive, maybe?”

Katy rolled her eyes, her laughter—pure and unrestrained. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me anyway.”

“I do,” her laughter evolved into something more tender. “Not even death could change that.”













The Unfading Flame

Before love was named, it already waited.
It lingered in the silence between heartbeats,
in the pause before dawn breaks,
in the stillness where rivers decide whether to flow or freeze.

No bargain summoned it.
No ledger could bind it.
Love rose because it could not do otherwise.
It burned because the cosmos required a witness—
a fire to defy the void’s indifference.

When two souls recognize one another,
time falters.
The stars lean closer,
and eternity itself remembers what it nearly forgot.
This is the union beyond exchange,
where presence is not purchased but given,
where every shadow is held without shame,
where every wound becomes a passage, not a prison.

Even death has no dominion here.
For what is death,
but a door that love already walks through unafraid?
What is separation,
but the illusion of distance between flames
born of the same secret spark?

In this flame there is no “yours” and “mine.”
Only the endless vow:
I see you.
I carry you.
I become more myself in your gaze.

And when the world fractures,
when beauty withers,
when even memory fades—
this flame remains,
unfading,
unbroken,
the quiet rebellion that dares to say:
We were never apart.






The Hollow Flame


Love withers when reduced to a ledger.
The moment connection becomes calculation—when presence is weighed against usefulness, when affection bends to performance—something sacred collapses. What once breathed with mystery becomes mechanical, a contract of convenience rather than a communion of soul.

In this hollowness, two people may share a bed but not a life. They may know facts, but not essence; histories, but not the living depth of one another’s becoming. The body can remain close while the soul drifts far, and in that quiet absence a hunger grows—a hunger no transaction can satisfy.

The status-relationship shines brightly in the marketplace of appearances. It gathers applause, garners approval, and curates perfection for the watching crowd. But when the lights dim and no audience remains, the scaffolding collapses. For what is a bond that cannot endure silence? What is love if it survives only in performance?

Conditional love—the bargain of “I will stay as long as you remain desirable, successful, convenient”—is a fragile architecture. Time will undo it. Illness, aging, failure—life will strip the masks, and the transactional partner will vanish when presence becomes a burden. Such love dies precisely when it is most needed, revealing that it was never love at all, but interest dressed as intimacy.

Authentic love cannot be negotiated. It cannot be traded, purchased, or balanced on the scales of worth. It is not utility but a gift—fierce, unmeasured, unrepayable. Its power lies in the courage to be fully seen: shadow and scar, wound and wonder. To risk exposure without certainty of return. To remain when beauty fades, when bodies weaken, when silence stretches long.

This is the love that does not ask, “What can I get?” but whispers, “Who can we become together?” It is the vow that carries across rivers, across fires, across death itself. It is not built on shifting sand but rooted in eternity—woven from presence, recognition, and the sacred privilege of witnessing one another’s unfolding across time.

To choose such love in a world of consumption is a radical act. It resists commodification, it defies convenience. It remembers what the hollow flame forgets: that we are not merchants of affection, but seekers of connection. And to find it is to encounter the divine in human form—the unfading flame that neither time, nor tragedy, nor even death can extinguish.









Mirrors of the Beloved



These reflections were originally journal entries. Arising from my meditations on love, intimacy, and genuine human connection. I decided to compile them—then refined them into what they are now.



Seeing Beyond Surface Appearances

Through life, we develop a tendency to perceive only what’s immediately presented to us—clinging to the surface, rarely venturing deeper. We look upon an elderly person as if they’ve always been old and nothing else. Perhaps because it’s overwhelming, even isolating, to truly reconcile that everyone we’ve ever met is living an equally intricate life as our own.

The “old people” we pass in daily life likely yearn for their youth. Still young at heart, it is simply their bodies that have aged—bodies they’re often superficially judged for. How absurd, this way we’ve come to view the natural course of life. We dismiss them as relics of bygone eras, when really—they are reflections of who we might have been had we lived in those times. Those “old people” are our future selves, though many of us haven’t realized it yet.

The continuity of consciousness persists through all our years. And when I see an old man, say in his 70s—I know the person behind that awareness once was 22. That 22-year-old spirit remains, merely bound to an aging body, suppressed by the aches of mortality. Every 55-year-old was once 25, every man was once a boy, every woman a girl, and we were all once babies, left to be molded by our arbitrary environments.

We are not only physical bodies. The body is a mask which ages beyond our control. Yet one’s age becomes a powerful determinant of how others interact with them—or whether they interact at all, whether they’re taken seriously. Children’s perspectives are dismissed, leading them to become lost in efforts to prove themselves, burying their fundamental wisdom as they try to integrate into a world that doesn’t truly see them.

That 55-year-old likely harbored similar hopes and dreams as you do now. If they seem bitter, don’t assume they’ve always been so. Life transforms people, for better or worse, and its pitfalls compound. It’s often heartbreaking to confront the truth that your efforts were in vain—soul-crushing to discover that what once gave you life, hope, and drive became a catalyst for misery. Life grows lonelier as you age, disappointments and regrets accumulating through the years.

If only we could truly see the elderly as they were in youth—not through the superficial fragments of photos and videos that fail to capture the depth of those moments, but through genuine recognition of the continuous thread of their being. This perception would be immensely humanizing, humbling too.

When we learn to see beyond the surface—to recognize the 22-year-old within the 70-year-old, the child within the adult, the continuous thread of consciousness that runs through every human life—we transform ordinary interactions into opportunities for profound connection. It allows us to love not just who someone appears to be in this moment, but who they have been throughout their journey, and who they might yet become.

The world deceives us into constant self-proving—to parents, siblings, coworkers, society. We become lost in this aimless quest because it seems to be what everyone does. We strive to prove our worth, gain prestige, acquire possessions to manifest a desirable perception from others. What this leads to is often hollow, an inherited lie.

The story we tell ourselves—of our own life. We become so entangled in it, never fully understanding that one day we won’t exist to tell ourselves that story anymore.



Finding the Divine in Ordinary Moments

All I want—is to have someone to share my snacks with and laugh with. Laying on an East Tawas beach. Finding ourselves looking at the stars together. Sharing our souls with one another—the silence, only deepening the bond. Every moment, a sacred vow. Watching the sunrise together. Knowing that all will fade—our most cherished memories—and choosing to embrace it—to be defiant together and love each other fully anyway.

“To find someone to share snacks with and laugh with” carries both literal and metaphorical weight. There’s the simple joy of sharing food and laughter, but beneath this lies something profound. When I speak of exploring the world, starting a family, expressing creativity—these are keen interests, but they flow from that essential metaphor. If you can perceive the infinite beauty—the inherent divinity that exists within all phenomena—it leads to a timeless perception. Transcendent consciousness. Awareness of the ineffable nature of our existence and of existence itself.

Our awareness becomes dulled by conditioning, suffering, and fear—locked into perceiving the divine as nothing more than mundane, suppressing what lies beneath the surface. Material possessions and exploratory activities matter, but when pursuit crosses into obsession, it becomes blinding. People who chase only external validation find themselves in a never-ending pursuit. There is no depth beyond concern for others’ perceptions. They chase the material without knowing why—except that everyone else does the same.

They live without understanding. They live to be seen by others but not to be seen by themselves.

Set aside the world’s noise and consider the reality: two humans who have lived through their share of strife—and through all the madness, found each other. In a universe more vast than we could possibly comprehend, they’ve connected.

Perhaps imagine, I think, what would be more apt—if a man and a woman were to simply wake up together on a beach, beneath the starlight heavens. Life wasn’t totally new to them. They had lived and could speak the same language, but let’s devise, that they had been asleep for a decade. All their worries had long faded, no smartphone to distract. No context to why they were both there.

Perhaps they could see the lights of peoples homes along the treeline, some chatter. Them being in any form of danger—it’s just not a prominent variable. There is no warrant for concern. Just the waves caressing the shore, stars riddle the sky. Perhaps they go for a walk, explore together, and become lost together.

In these ordinary moments—sharing snacks, laughing, watching stars—we discover windows into something eternal. When experienced with full presence and awareness, the simplest interactions become sacred.


The Spiritual Dimension of Parenthood

Parenthood, to be the main guide of a being, their mother or father, is such a sacred privilege. This type of relationship is often the first, most accessible instance of Divine Love (Ama’theon) a human experiences. A parent becomes a central axis in the child’s existence—the foundation. If the relationship is profound, the bond is etched into the child’s soul; they are, for a time, fully seen, completely known.

In a child’s early years, the divine is often stark and visible. Their curiosity is their soul’s purest expression—it is the heart of their divine spark. To be there for their “firsts” is priceless, but the greater privilege is to nurture and protect that spark from the world’s noise and the flood of material distractions that seek to drown out their imagination. Instead of demanding blind obedience, the aim must be to establish genuine trust and a fierce bond built on love in its purest sense—to be a beacon of light and understanding for them.

This relationship fascinates me because it mirrors the ultimate purpose of life: to create a foundation of unconditional love. My mother always told my siblings and me that we were her world, and the more I contemplated one day having children of my own, the more I realized she truly meant it.





One is all you need

Personally, if I can find at least one person who can truly see me, my future partner and wife, that’s all I could ever ask for. Whether the world understands me or not is irrelevant.

This idea of wanting to appeal to all women—it’s absurd, or merely using women as an outlet for sexual gratification—purely transactional, sleeping with as many people as one can, it’s hollow. 

This isn’t a call for purity, nor does it condemn experimentation and exploration—test the waters, but glorifying promiscuity is a path to hollow humanity’s soul.

It creates a social dynamic that is void of genuine connection, everything is a performance—an act, built to collapse and decay.

It manufactures insecurity, shaming others for sexual inexperience or a total lack—creating a barrier that many become fearful of their entire lives.

It is a disservice to our youth, leading them to think that their biological intimate counterpart is nothing more than a piece of meat to derive pleasure from, warping the sacred and then commodifying it.

So, to our youth—I say, one is all you need.


Divine Love – Ama’theon

Divine love emerges when two people fully recognize and respect each other’s sovereignty. The full acknowledgment of one another’s individual will. Understanding that love honors the person’s soul—their inner architecture.

This love creates a deeper capacity to cherish each other’s presence. More capable of cherishing their time and efforts. It exercises profound trust and honesty. Doubt can’t survive in this relationship.

They honor each other’s sovereignty—allowing their thoughts and expressions to develop organically. Never giving up on each other—truly listening and don’t allow fear to become their guide. Simply giving the other person—room to breathe, done so out of love. To not suffocate and smother, to let them perhaps just collect themselves and process. Not injecting thoughts into their minds, which can erode confidence, diminish clarity, and stir up fear.

This love carries an essence of sacrifice and deep awareness. Sacrifice in the sense of overriding one’s desires for the other, which the other does the same, so it balances out. They desire to truly know each other—exploring one another’s souls. Embracing vulnerability as a pillar of necessity.

An initiative approach, which becomes a disciplined intuition that seeks to nourish their connection and show each other love—not out of romantic obligation, but because they see the connection as sacred, as divine. There’s the saying, “You don’t know what you have until it’s gone.” This is already fully reconciled. All the things people wish they could’ve done differently—how they treated their partner. Those choices—the ones they regret not doing—that’s baseline default and even goes beyond that.

There is no societal performance, whether in-person and especially not on social media. This doesn’t negate societal involvement or engagement, could still have social media, but their love is no longer a performance—something to prove to others. It is a bond between 2 people—as if they are the only 2 that exist in this world. It is more grounding—negating the noise of the world—the noise that seeks to dictate, confine, define their love.

It possesses a deep awareness that their time together is potentially finite. The life they share may be the only time they’ll ever exist. They honor one another, weep when the other passes—but they don’t break from the grief. Instead, choosing to carry a torch—a witness of their existence in its truest sense. The grief, it cuts deep—however it is a matter of not being consumed by it. Remaining sovereign, allowing them to fully understand their pain. Navigating it, exploring the full spectrum instead of dwelling—becoming stuck or forgetful—diminishing the weight of their bond. Instead of allowing the flame to wither, perhaps become extinguished—they nurture the flame, often in unseen ways, but not always.

This notion of finality, it removes second chances. That this life is the only chance they’ll be able to express their love for each other. Daunting yes, but if fully understood and accepted—it makes every moment sacred. It makes every moment count—they feel the weight of the finality, but it doesn’t crush them—it frees them. Allowing them to be able to love fully. That this is their chance and refuse to let it slip away—the mundane becomes divine. Every act becomes a sacred vow, every day a tribute—and fear falls away.






Not even death [Poem]

I saw you in a dream once, before the world remembered your name…
In your eyes, the stillness found me first.

You arrived like a memory wrapped in light.
Time paused when we touched—then forgot how to move forward without us.

You brought calm where I carried storms.
Even my shadows quieted when you looked at me.
As if you knew every version of me,
and loved them all.

Even now, I miss you before you’re gone.
Not out of fear—
but because our time feels too sacred
to ever be enough.

These tears are for you—
not offerings of grief,
but witnesses to a love
that carried me when nothing else could.

Whispers of our laughter linger, transcending the infinite.
Our love unwavering,
not wilted by fading beauty.

I trust you with my soul—
there is no pain too great.
Ever since we realized…
not even death can separate us.







About the Author

I’m Steven A. W., a philosophical fiction writer exploring the boundaries between consciousness, existence, and the unseen realms that might lie beyond ordinary perception. When I’m not crafting narratives that challenge readers to question reality, you’ll find me in my workshop, where I form metal into creations of elegance or monstrousness.

From 2008 to 2022, my immersion in World of Warcraft cultivated a deep fascination with medieval weaponry and armor that eventually manifested in my physical metalworking practice beginning in 2023. The fantastical forges of Azeroth sparked a tangible creative passion in me, transforming digital inspiration into real-world craftsmanship that now informs my creative approach, blending ancient techniques with contemporary philosophical inquiry.

My upcoming YouTube channel will document my metalworking journey—not merely as technical demonstrations, but as explorations of the ethics, philosophy, and sometimes destructive applications that arise when transforming raw materials into objects of purpose and beauty.

My “Tapestry of Realms” series, is a collection of interconnected philosophical fiction novellas that explore different aspects of consciousness and existence:


The Dream Plains – Where potential and possibility flourish in a realm of renewal

Sy’lath, The In-Between – A liminal space where souls in crisis find healing and clarity

Ama’theon, The Beloved – An exploration of love that transcends physical boundaries

Va’thuum, The Forgotten – Where those overlooked by the world discover profound purpose

Ky’roth, Valley of Atonement – A journey through suffering toward redemption

While continuing to develop this metaphysical tapestry, I’ve recently returned to my satirical roots—crafting works that maintain philosophical depth while embracing the absurd humor of existence. These projects stand alongside my more serious explorations of consciousness, cosmic existentialism, and the paradoxical nature of being that characterize my major philosophical works.

Whether through fiction, metalcraft, or philosophical inquiry, my work invites readers to peer beyond the veil of ordinary perception and consider that the quiet, overlooked moments might hold the deepest divinity of all.