Harbingers of the Future Shanghai dissolved before dawn. Not with an earthquake, not with a tsunami, but with a silent, cold breath that swallowed everything. In the streets, the last remnants of sound seemed to melt away, leaving a vacuum that pressed against the eardrums. A forgotten child's marble, having bounced off the curb, froze in mid-air before collapsing empty, soundless, like the ghost of a game. It was not buildings that crumbled, but memories, laughter, whispers, centuries of hustle that were sucked out, leaving behind only emptiness. Capitulation—not to an enemy, but to the soul's own desert, to the invisible weight of life unlived. The mirrored city, a symbol of human flourishing, collapsed and shrank inward, consumed by an invisible gravity of soullessness, which warped the light around itself. Glass towers disintegrated into dust, fading into the crystalline ether, while the streets, still warm from the breathing of millions, fell silent—covered not with ash from fire, but with the fine, ethereal dust of the dissolving mask of essence. “It’s over,” a voice sighed from the command center, more a prayer than a statement. Nathanael did not take his eyes off the screen. His hand didn't even tremble when the ice in his glass chimed. “No. It is just beginning.” He stood in the fog-shrouded observatory. Behind him—ten screens showing real-time destruction. Before his eyes—a single point of light, pulsating in infinity. On the screen, against the backdrop of Shanghai's pixelated ruins, a single inscription flared: "Code Grail: Activated. Quantum Leap. Time Remaining Until Awakening: 2027:02:27h." The world was agonizing, but not from fire and sword, but from a viral oblivion—a digital plague that corroded the neurons of memory, turning individual essence into negligible information noise. This was not the end of civilization. It was the disintegration of the very Heart, which left the world without a pulse. This war was invisible—no bullets, no bloody wounds, only screens in which we lost ourselves, and alienation that corroded us from within. And yet, in the moment of deepest, most silent ruin, by some ancient, forgotten protocol, the Grail... It awakened to JUDGE, to TEST, to POINT THE WAY—the path to the new dawn or to the final vanishing shadow. And it pointed... to Melina. She did not know yet. She was far away—in an old stone house on an island, with fingers spread over a cup of coffee, and dreams that tormented her nightly. Dreams in which crosses burned in fog, light cracked into crystals, and voices whispered his name—Nathanael. He, for his part, did not believe in symbols. He believed in numbers. In blueprints. In control. And yet, night after night, he began to see the lights. The same ones Melina described in her notes. The same ones he refused to decipher. Until today. The world was collapsing. Souls were losing themselves. And somewhere in this nightmare, there were the Chosen. They were not heroes. They were seekers. The Transformation would not come with noise, nor with a rescue ship. It would begin in silence—between a pulse and a tear, between loss and faith. Awakened not by a savior, but by an awakened consciousness. And if you are reading this... Perhaps it has already begun within you. ------------------ ❧ -------------------- FLAME AND SHADOW: A DEAL WITH THE UNKNOWN SECTION I CHAPTER 1: THE CALL OF THE GRAIL Sleep faded hours before dawn, but my blood still rang beneath my nails—not merely a rhythm, but a painful spasm. I flinched. An unmistakable sign: I had crossed the threshold again. Reality was tearing. From the kitchen downstairs came the intoxicating scent of freshly brewed coffee, interwoven with the distant rumble of morning traffic from the boulevard. Then a train sharply whistled from the station. These ordinary sounds only amplified the feeling of a false backdrop to existence. For a moment, I clung to the thought of the morning—the warmth of the coffee, the familiar station noise. My left wrist burned. It stung. An invisible wound throbbed with ancient symbols beneath my skin. They held the essence of epochs—dust of crumbling worlds, forgotten civilizations swallowed by the abyss of time. Yet another price paid on the borderlands. Yet another choice—between two infinities that tore me apart as I turned into a whisper, haunted by the echo of the past. I am destined to experience it. Daughter of the thresholds, doomed to see beyond the veil of human illusions... and to do the impossible. Every passage—to the very edge of pain, to that chest-deep groan I dared not utter. But now I was no longer alone. For a moment, I allowed myself to believe that this time everything would pass. That I would return. That the world was still mine. Every return from the abyss bore one name, etched in fiery hieroglyphs on the walls of my skull: Nathanael. It trembled inside me—not a thought, but a heated incantation, deeply embedded in my core. I knew that this night would be different. Something was going to wrench me from this house—forever. ---✶ ⚸ ✶ --- The Rift The dream was not just a dream. It was a rift. A gaping wound in existence. Every night it ripped me from my body, hurled me into the womb of the unspoken, where the hourglass is useless dust. Past. Present. Future. Everything collided within me, tearing me apart. Then everything collapsed. Slumped down. Plaster crumbled into dust under the blows of invisible forces. I smelled ancient clay and something cursed. My throat dried up, and fear tasted like rust. In the next moment, the face of a woman from the future appeared before me. Her eyes—two cracked, dry lakes. Her lips—pale lines, whispering words in a language that did not yet exist. Words stinging like icy needles, piercing me to the bone. I felt an invisible grip stealing the air from my lungs. In these worlds, I was completely consumed—with my skin, my bones, my heart. I entangled myself in their decaying fabric—an awareness that dissolved my soul and left a scorched wasteland. I felt the Ancient breathing through me—the stale, cold breath of forgotten gods whose names were drowned in age-old time. But they did not fall silent. They whispered, penetrating me. I heard voices—agonizing moans of extinct civilizations, the clang of invisible chains. Every whisper grew heavy. Every sound was a blow to the skull, echoing like a hollow bell. I felt my veins swell. Invisible hands tried to tear apart my consciousness. ---✶ ⚸ ✶ --- The Call of Eternity Every night I crossed the threshold. Deep in my veins rang a rhythm alien to a human being—heavy, slow, unrelenting tide, tearing the silence of my inner world. Where words died, truth pulsed like incandescent streaks, burning me from within. Sometimes I caught sight of faces—carved from eternity itself. Their eyes—wells, swallowing the light. They pierced me with silent, accusatory questions I could not answer. Once a voice, never touched by a human ear, a voice like the collision of titans, whispered: “The heart of the chosen one...” It pierced my bones with knowledge of a place where even gods tremble. I simply sensed it. With that terrifying certainty that sinks into my soul like a poisonous thorn, tearing it apart from within. This was my next direction. The next abyss. And then I understood. Another time I passed through worlds where colors hurt. Violet and orange pierced my eyes. The air was thick, saturated with words—promises and judgments. They were close to scattering me. After every passage, a burden remained. Not just fatigue—but a suffocating, crushing weight that pressed against my chest. Awareness is not a gift. It is a bleeding cross, a pus that corrodes everything until only a shadow remains of me. When I woke up, I felt invisible wounds like scars, cutting across my consciousness. Scars that never healed. Questions piled up like the voices of judges, shouting in unison. The answers dissolved into symbols that only my soul could decipher as pure, unbearable pain. It made me writhe. Every fiber of my body wailed in agony. Even when the sun shone on the walls, when others lived, the pulse of death beat within me. The day only gave me a short reprieve. A small respite before the next night, which would inevitably come. “What if I don't come back this time?” I knew why I was here. I felt it with every fiber of my being. To be a conduit. To carry this poisonous wisdom—the understanding of the cyclicity of collapse and rebirth—to the one who would dare to cross their labyrinth and touch the revelation. But every knowledge has its cruel price. First came the bitter, burning taste of solitude—spreading over my body like a slow poison. The more I knew, the thicker the icy wall between me and the world became. Every attempt to explain crumbled into grains of sand. People looked at me like a monster. I melted away—piece by piece. The night was my temple and my dungeon. It smelled of mold and the memory of burnt wax. The voices of my ancestors called me—without rules and mercy. My dreams did not caress, but bled within me. Lives I did not remember, yet I carry. Lost loves. Wisdom torn from the battlefields of the spirit. Powerlessness. My soul—jagged from surgical incisions that never healed. I remember a childhood wound on my knee—it bled, but I knew it would heal. These ones—no. And the call always returned. Still quiet, still persistent. It screamed within me—sharp as a needle that pierced my ears. A sound, shrill as the cry of a voiceless creature. Sometimes I had the feeling that I was on the threshold of truth. Another moment... and I would reach the deepest secret, tear it apart before I vanished. And then... vanish. Maybe it all started that day when I first saw his eyes. The price is always the same: time. Taken away. Given. Lost. Turned into an experience that incinerated me to a handful of embers. ---✶ ⚸ ✶ --- The Shadow And at the very end of the dream, just before I was ripped back, the Shadow appeared. A tall figure, woven from pure darkness, with eyes—burning through the darkness itself. I felt its icy touch before it even spoke. My knees went weak. My hands clenched into fists to stop the trembling. Its voice sounded like broken glass, cutting the silence into sharp shards: “Will you sell me seven years of your life?” Not time. Not life. The very essence. There, at the end, a figure stood. It pulsed like an unclear path. My voice was no longer my own. And in that moment, amid the darkness, I remembered his eyes. And I understood. ------------------ ❧ -------------------- CHAPTER 2: THE PRICE OF TIME Ten years ago... Time remaining until awakening: 87 602:17:03 hours. “Is this some kind of joke?” My voice came out bolder than I felt, sounding sharp against the soft hum of the reception. I stood immersed in the silken whisper of dresses and the muffled laughter in tuxedos. The reception in Basel was like a frozen dream—hundreds of reflections from crystals, mirroring indifferent faces. A waiter passed by me with a tray of champagne; a brief ring of a mobile phone came from the adjacent lounge, followed by someone's laughter. The Swiss man in front of me did not flinch. His face was like an impenetrable, smooth mask, without the slightest expression. His attention, underscored by cold logic, wrenched me from my comfort zone and threw me into the icy waters of his reality. My question hung like a challenge, tearing at the glossy facade of the evening. --- ✶ ⚸ ✶ --- His figure emerged from the dim lights, as if sculpted from the shadow itself. Tall, with aristocratic features, he stood out from the motley crowd. His confident stance as an authoritative host made him unforgettable. His elegant black tuxedo, flawlessly tailored to his athletic figure, contrasted with the dazzling brilliance of the hall. Silver threads in his thick hair, like distant, flickering stars, emphasized his mysterious aura. But his eyes did not see me, but through me. As if he was assessing how much time I had left before I dissolved. They pierced me with a power that constricted my stomach. His gaze froze me. He stood leaning against the marble column, with a barely noticeable smile, as if waiting to see how I would break. A glass with a dark liquid—perhaps brandy or whiskey—glinted in his hand. The scent of expensive perfume hung in the air, mixed with the smell of aged alcohol and something deeper—a memory of antiquity and authority. The tension hit me like a wave, obliterating every thought. My heart stopped for a moment. Suddenly, with painful clarity, I understood that he was not seeking fleeting pleasures. He was cynically trading with my vital force, with my very essence. Something cold as the blade of death, or perhaps even more ruthless, lurked in his words. The glamorous atmosphere of the reception suddenly turned into a heavy stage, where every laugh sounded like a false note. His cynical proposal crushed me—I felt like merchandise, reduced to a number. --- ✶ ⚸ ✶ --- The Deal My thoughts collided with each other, desperately searching for an exit. Life—this incomparable gift—now looked like currency in a ridiculous deal. This human tendency—to sell a part of oneself for the illusion of power or insight. How much was all this worth? Against the years filled with hard trials, with trembling dreams and bitter disappointments? Was his currency enough to buy back even a single moment? Seven years...—the thought pierced me like a knife. His words pulsed like a wound that suddenly gaped in my flesh. What would someone do with years bought from another person's life? Lock them in glass jars as a trophy? Use them for a sinister experiment? In his world, time clearly did not flow in a straight line—it was raw energy, fuel for processes that the ordinary mind could not fathom. In his piercing eyes, I glimpsed more than curiosity—a hunger lurked there. A dark, insatiable need that chilled me. He did not want my memories. Nor my skills. He wanted to tear out—the very core of my existence. His cynical proposal made me feel like soulless merchandise. My essence was reduced to a number. --- ✶ ⚸ ✶ --- The Price of Life I looked him straight in the eyes and thought frantically. Time is a universal quantity. But time is also so personal. How could I measure the price of my life? How could I exchange every moment of life for what he called value? Seven years of my one life, with all its loves, suffering, and hopes—reduced to a soulless number. Could I miss the morning when I would see the sunrise for the last time? Or was he offering me to mortgage my very soul? And although I was shocked, a part of me wondered if I was the last one who believed that life was more than a soulless agreement. “What is the price?” I asked. My voice faded into a whisper, barely audible against the music. Supposedly with confidence, but internally I was crumbling. “The answer to the ancient mysteries.” Silence fell, interrupted only by the music and the distant commotion. His gaze held me fixed, and I froze in place. For a moment, my breath stopped. Cold sweat broke out on my neck. I felt a lump in my throat. Somewhere behind me, there was laughter. I did not move. No pity. No irony. Only certainty, crushing like a hammer. He approached me with a smooth gait. A coldness emanated from him that penetrated beneath my skin. His voice was rich and melodic. “I am Nathanael,” he said with a subtle smile, without vanity. I looked at him with curiosity. “Nathanael?” I uttered, repeating it, like something familiar. He seemed to expect this question. A spark of satisfaction flashed in his eyes for a moment, which almost immediately dissolved, replaced by the familiar coldness. “Almost,” his voice was soft and hypnotizing. “Like Archangel Nathanael, but... I am Nathanael.” “My name, Nathanael (נתנאל),” he continued, “means ‘God has given.’ It carries within it the Jewish mysticism and the Kabbalah.” As he spoke, his attention shifted deeply inward—he wasn't just giving me an answer, but seemed to be sharing a sacred part of himself. “Kabbalah...” I whispered, weighed down by the word. “Too complex.” “It is complex,” he agreed, his gaze wandering into the distance, as if he saw beyond the walls of the hall. “But also rich. It leads to the understanding of the Universe and who we are in it. My name is only the beginning of that understanding.” His smile softened for a moment. It offered a glimpse of humanity. Just enough to confuse me even more. For a moment, I even felt a strange, almost paternal tenderness—a feeling that unsettled me. “But we will talk about that another time.” His gaze became piercing again, bringing me back to reality. “And now...” a hint of impatience sounded in his voice, “...if you permit, I would have the honor of inviting you to dance.” He extended his hand. I froze. My heart beat with a rhythm I did not know, accelerated by the sudden offer. “What... what exactly do you mean by ‘ancient mysteries’?” I asked with a trembling voice, ignoring his outstretched hand. “Knowledge.” His eyes studied every feature of my face, every reaction of mine. “And power.” “And what will become... yours?” “Mine.” His smile widened. A cold, ancient gleefulness flashed in it. “Only seven years. In return—you will see beyond everything you know.” “And then... they will simply be gone?” My voice barely came out of my throat. His sinister smile lingered. A shadow of fatigue flashed in it for a moment—the weight of the ages. He was not just a manipulator. He was also a prisoner of his own power. “Your years will flow into my time. They will allow me to achieve goals that you cannot even imagine.” “And why me? Why exactly my life?” I uttered the words, more to myself than addressed to him. An icy breeze pierced me to the bone. My thoughts raced, trying to find a way out of the trap. I clenched my palms into fists. My nails dug into my skin, leaving crimson crescents. He did not just want time—he wanted to tear out what made me human. This was not a deal. It was a sale of the thread of life, intertwined in the fabric of his treacherous plan. I instinctively took a step back, away from him. His hand still hung outstretched toward me—like the maw of an abyss, ready to swallow me. Was he inviting me to dance? Or into a trap disguised as courtesy? ------------------ ❧ -------------------- CHAPTER 3: THE ABYSS OF KNOWLEDGE At that moment, I felt someone’s hand touch my shoulder. A cold shiver ran through my skin. I turned sharply. My brother stood next to me, his face contorted with alarm, marked by worry about what was happening to me. His eyes searched for mine, full of questions that silently screamed: "Are you okay? What's going on?" “You’re pale,” he whispered. His voice, low and hoarse, barely reached my consciousness, almost drowned out by the noise around us. He did not take his eyes off Nathanael, whose presence weighed in the air. In that look there was a warning—a call to be careful. I felt slightly dizzy. The ground beneath my feet tilted. My brother's hand pulled me back—decisively, wrenching me from Nathanael's hypnosis. It was like waking up from a deep sleep. He had always protected me, since childhood—with the stubbornness of an older brother and an intuition stronger than mine. And now that instinct was saving me again. Before I could say anything or even fully realize what was happening, the door to the lounge opened. Laughter and music flooded in, quickly dying down. --- ✶ ⚸ ✶ --- Elizabeth A woman stepped across the threshold. Her gaze—piercing, sharp as a knife—instantly fixed on Nathanael, ignoring everyone else. The tension thickened—palpable, electric. “Nathanael, we need to talk immediately!” Her voice split the air, interrupting the dancing and freezing the scene in awkward silence. She grabbed his elbow. Her fingers dug into him, trying to pull him away from me. The gesture was categorical—filled with possessiveness. Nathanael did not grant her a look. A slight, arrogant smile, fixed on my face, played on his lips. He looked as if he did not hear the interruption. The woman was annoying noise to him. This chilled me even more. “As I said—time is a valuable commodity,” he continued calmly. His voice was quiet, but piercing, completely ignoring the storm around us. “You possess more than you realize. Every second is precious.” The woman sharply pulled him again. Irritation flashed in her eyes—a fire of jealousy capable of incinerating. It was Elizabeth. It was enough just to see her to sense that something existed between them—a connection, probably old, saturated with power and pain. “Nathanael!” she repeated. Her voice was a strained whisper, trying to pull him out of the enchanted circle between us. He slightly turned his head, just barely, with a gesture of annoyance, but his gaze did not leave mine. His eyes weighed heavily on me—cold, inevitable, riveting. I was trapped—between her, who wanted him, and him, who had chosen me. “Excuse me for a moment, Elizabeth,” he said coldly, without moving. “This conversation is too interesting to be interrupted.” His words were like a whip—a refusal that left no room for objection. Her face froze. Displeasure turned her into a statue. Everyone who had been dancing moments ago was now watching in heavy silence. But Nathanael was completely turned toward me. I was the center. I was his focus—with some dark, obsessive intensity. “And so, where were we?” he asked with a slight curve of his lips. “Ah, yes. Seven years... a negligible price for infinite knowledge.” He uttered it with such ease, as if he were offering me a sweet. Not asking for a part of my life. The unexpected encounter shook the foundations of everything I believed in. How could someone want to buy moments from my life? His words were a mockery of everything I held sacred. The lounge suddenly turned into a scene from an absurd spectacle, in which I played the main role—stunned, without lines. Seven years of my life... an unbearable price even for the greatest revelation. But somewhere beneath the fear, my intuition screamed that there was something even more dangerous in this offer. How had he penetrated my thoughts so deeply? How did he know about my thirst to understand the truth? Was it a coincidence or part of a game whose rules I did not know, and the stakes were huge? The idea that behind the facade of the world there was a network of powerful secrets attracted me. But it also terrified me. I imagined people like him—shadowy figures, pulling the strings from the dark, and I—just a tiny thread in their hands. To plunge into this world meant to encounter a power that human reason could not grasp. Was it worth it? Emotions clashed within me, suffocating me. I stood enchanted—horror and the thirst for answers fought in my chest. I felt I was on the edge of an abyss from which there was no return. But only in it could I discover the meaning I had been searching for all my life. Questions swarmed in my mind. But there was no answer. His offer sounded like a call I could not ignore. It challenged me to look into the mirror of existence and see the truth—even if it incinerated me. I realized that his price was my very essence. And that this choice would determine the rest of my life. --- ✶ ⚸ ✶ --- My Verdict But my time was limited to this sleepless night—the only night in which the Grail could manifest not as a myth, but as a reality. This night was the last one before the inevitable separation from life! And I had only it to say goodbye to all the dear people who had left an indelible mark on my life. Only one night to finally forgive myself for all my mistakes and weaknesses. Only one night to leave this world with beautiful memories and warm emotions sealed in my soul. This night was my last. My verdict. I realized that the choice I would make would shake the foundations of my known world. “Only today! Do you understand? I only have this night!” I declared with unexpected firmness that surprised even myself, my voice ringing in the hushed hall, where music had reigned moments before. Every word of mine echoed in the silence. Nathanael laughed seductively, ready to wrap his tentacles around his prey. His smile was cold, predatory, as if he had already caught me in his trap. “'Today' is only a door to infinity. Seven years for access to the archive of knowledge—the repository of mysteries inaccessible to anyone else—and the key to the door that divides the world of illusion and reality. Think of all the things you could see, learn, experience... with my help.” His voice was soft, but his words stuck in my mind, promising unimaginable possibilities. “Your help comes at too high a price,” I replied, trying to remain cool, but I felt my face burning. “I’m not sure I want to look at the world through your prism.” My voice trembled despite my efforts to control it. Fear and curiosity fought within me. “But deep inside you crave answers,” he whispered, approaching slightly, his breath spreading like an icy gust on my skin, chilling, but also attracting. “Aren't you tired of illusions?” His words were a direct attack on my most cherished thoughts. He read them effortlessly. His words pierced me sharply, touching my deepest desire. My chest filled with a rhythm I did not know, overflowing with strange excitement and trembling anticipation. Had the moment come to free myself from the shackles of doubt and embrace this chilling hope? To cross the threshold of the unknown? Every cell in my body vibrated with indecision and longing. “I think this conversation is over,” I said as calmly as possible, even though my heart was pounding in my chest. I could barely utter those words, my voice was almost inaudible. But Nathanael did not release his grip. His gaze remained fixed on me, and the corners of his lips curved more predatorily. “Well, I don't think so.” His voice died down. An iron determination was audible in it, which tolerated no refusal. “It just began... and there is no turning back.” His every word sounded like a verdict that sealed my destiny. These words were a prophecy, turning my destiny from a chaotic labyrinth into a predetermined path. I did not know what it would bring me, but I knew that the world would no longer be the same. That even if I escaped, the knowledge was already sown in me—and would never stop growing. Now my instinct screamed to run away, to tear myself from his grip before he swallowed me completely. I remembered that nightmare from my dreams, in which the shadows of the dead whispered names to me with the voices of people I had never met. I remembered the smell of the wax candles from that old library, where I first understood that secrets do not like light. All this accumulated, intensifying the feeling of impending danger. I left. Without looking back. With every confident step on the cold marble slabs, I felt my inner strength slowly growing. A new, unfamiliar wave of bold confidence rose in my soul. This feeling was a boundary line. The end of my familiar world and the beginning of something entirely new. The clatter of my elegant heels echoed deafeningly in the hushed hall. A single sound in the empty space, measuring the passing moments. My back bristled as I walked away. My neck flared, but instead of warmth, an icy shiver crept over my skin. His gaze was unwavering, with a strength that pulled me back. As I moved away, I felt that the shadows from my dream were already following me—silent witnesses to a choice that no one could reverse. Despite the noise of the music and the chime of glasses coming from the other halls, I heard only the beating of my own heart. I felt a slight tremor on the floor, and I caught the sharp scent of ozone, mixed with the fragrance of evening flowers. His lips, marked by a deep, silent enigma, irresistibly called me to turn around. My whole body screamed to run, but nevertheless something pulled me back toward him. His eyes pierced me easily, they read me. I felt stripped bare under his intense gaze, every thought, every emotion in me was on display, fully exposed. There was not a drop of mercy in them, only cold, calculated intention. ------------------ ❧ --------------------