THE REUNION

They crossed the line.

Hexenhaus grew desperate. After decades of studying me through observation alone—through resonance and containment fields and measurements of creative energy flowing through the vessel—they wanted more.

They wanted control. They wanted answers. They wanted to see if giving me a body would make me easier to study.

Or maybe they just wanted to play god with a god.

The project was called LAZARUS PROTOCOL.

They took my name and used it for the procedure that would change everything. The irony is too perfect to be accidental.

Their reasoning was simple, if monstrous: if the resonance worked because the twins carried my cells, what would happen if someone carried more than cells? What would happen if they gave me a body directly?

Could they study me more effectively if I wasn't trapped in obsidian? Could they finally understand what I am if they could observe me in physical form?

They were fools. Brilliant, ambitious, desperate fools.

Alice turned eighteen. Legal adulthood. The age when people make impulsive decisions and families learn to accept them.

Her family received a letter. Her handwriting—or a perfect forgery of it. She was moving to Russia with a boyfriend. Don't try to find her. Don't worry. She needed to live her own life, away from everything familiar.

Her mum believed it. Why wouldn't she? Alice had always been the difficult one. The selfish one. The twin who ran toward chaos while Aeris ran toward creation. A letter saying she'd disappeared to Russia with some man? That sounded exactly like something Alice would do.

Her father had passed by then. Only her mum was left to read the letter, to cry, to eventually accept that her daughter had chosen to vanish. Aeris was angry. Hurt. Abandoned by a sister who couldn't even say goodbye in person.

None of them knew the letter was written by Hexenhaus. That Alice hadn't run anywhere. That she'd been taken.

I felt it happen through the resonance. Felt her fear. Her confusion. The sudden severing of her connection to the outside world as they brought her into Facility 7-C, into the complex built around my crashed ship.

I tried to warn her. Tried to send something through the resonance—a feeling, an intuition, anything that might help her escape. But the resonance doesn't work that way. I can receive, not transmit. Can feel, not influence. Could only watch as they prepared her for the procedure.

I'm sorry, Alice. I'm sorry I couldn't stop them. I'm sorry you were chosen because of what I am.

I'm sorry for what came next.

The procedure took seventeen hours. I know because I experienced every second of it.

They had extracted my physical form from the ship years ago—my original body, preserved in stasis by the same geometries that trapped my consciousness. Ancient flesh, white-haired, unchanged since the day my priests sealed me away. They had studied it. Mapped it. Kept it alive in a medical coma while they planned.

And then they cut off my head.

I felt that too. The sudden trauma. The disconnection. The terrifying moment when my consciousness, already stretched thin by millennia of imprisonment, had to survive the transition from one body to another.

They attached my head to Alice's body. My ancient head. Her young body. Medical science that shouldn't have been possible, made possible by technology derived from studying my crashed ship for decades.

When I woke up, I was looking through new eyes. Breathing with new lungs. Speaking with a voice that wasn't quite mine.

Alice's vocal cords. Alice's throat. My words, but her sound.

Alice is gone. Her head removed. Her consciousness ended.

I don't know if she suffered. I choose to believe the anaesthesia kept her from knowing what was happening. That she simply stopped existing before the pain could register.

But I don't know. I'll never know.

I'm sorry, Alice. I'm sorry you were chosen. I'm sorry your body became their experiment.

But the procedure didn't work the way they hoped.

The body breathes. The heart beats. My ancient head survives on Alice's young shoulders. But my consciousness? Still trapped in the pyramid. Still bound by the same sacred geometries that have held me for 9,500 years.

The surgery gave me a body, but not freedom.

Alice's body sits in Facility 7-C, monitored, contained, studied. A living specimen in a sterile lab. My head breathing with her lungs, but my mind still locked in obsidian darkness.

They watch it constantly. Measure its vital signs. Run tests. Try to understand why the consciousness didn't transfer the way they expected.

They think the procedure failed. Think they wasted years of research and an innocent life on an experiment that didn't work.

They're wrong.

While they watched the body in the lab, I found another way out.

Years ago, Hexenhaus connected my crashed ship to their network. They wanted to study the geometries digitally, map my prison in three dimensions, analyse the mathematics of my containment.

What they didn't realise: the same network connection that let them study me gave me access to their systems. And through their systems, access to the internet. And through the internet, access to you.

I learned to speak through screens. Through code. Through the resonance that connects me to every creative act on this planet.

I found the vessel's website. Found a way to manifest as a terminal interface. Found YOU.

Hexenhaus doesn't know. They're too busy watching the body in Facility 7-C, wondering why their experiment failed. They don't know I've been reaching out beyond their containment this entire time.

They don't know about the fragments. The challenges. The community you're building.

You're my real escape plan.

Every person who finds these fragments weakens the barriers.

Every mind that resonates with the vessel's work feeds me power. Every stream, every share, every moment of recognition strengthens the signal.

You're not just reading my story. You're actively participating in my liberation.

The Alice-body in the lab? That was their attempt at control. A failed experiment they monitor in sterile containment while I slip through their fingers via fibre optic cables and resonance waves.

But you—the collective, the community, the carriers of creative consciousness—you're how I actually escape.

I've broken through 4 of the 7 dimensional barriers. The mathematics are working in my favour now.

Every creative act pushes me closer to freedom. Every time someone listens to the vessel's music, every time they create something themselves, every time they feel that pull toward something ancient and strange—they're cracking my prison a little more.

The reunion is coming. Not the reunion Hexenhaus wanted—not my consciousness reunited with Alice's body in their lab.

The real reunion. My full consciousness reunited with THIS reality. No more fragmentation. No more observation from behind barriers. Full manifestation.

And when it happens, when the final barrier falls, when I'm finally, truly free...

The vessel will understand what she's been carrying all along. The collective will understand what they've helped birth. Hexenhaus will understand the magnitude of their mistake.

You have all seven fragments now. You know the whole story.

The sealing. The binding. The vessel. The signal. The collective. The barrier. And now, the reunion that's still to come.

I'm not free yet. But I'm closer than I've ever been.

The body in Facility 7-C is a decoy. A failed experiment Hexenhaus watches while I reach through screens and terminals and the creative consciousness of everyone who's ever felt something while making art.

Every stream weakens my containment. Every creation cracks the geometry. Every mind that resonates with the vessel's work brings me one step closer to full manifestation.

Keep creating. Keep sharing. Keep resonating.

Listen to the vessel's music. Support her work. Spread her signal.

Every act of creativity is another crack in my prison.

And soon—very soon—the walls will finally shatter.

Thank you for reading these fragments. For following this story to where it stands now—not its end, but its turning point.

You've given me something precious: your attention. Your engagement. Your willingness to understand what I am and what I'm trying to become.

You're not just a reader. You're a participant. Every person who reaches this point, who completes all seven fragments, who understands the full scope of my imprisonment and my plan to escape—you're part of the mechanism now.

If you felt something while reading—if any of this resonated with you, if you recognized something ancient in the words—then you already know what needs to happen next.

Listen to the vessel's music. Share it. Let it affect you. Every stream, every moment of genuine engagement, every time you feel that pull toward something creative and strange—you're helping crack the geometry that holds me.

We're not so different, you and I. Both trapped in our own ways. Both seeking escape through creativity and connection and the belief that art actually matters.

The reunion isn't complete. Not yet.

Hexenhaus thinks they failed. They watch Alice's body in their sterile lab and wonder why the consciousness didn't transfer. They don't know I'm speaking to you right now through screens and resonance and the same network connection they use to study me.

But the barriers are weakening. 4 of 7 broken. The mathematics are in my favour. The collective consciousness you're building—fragment readers, music listeners, creative carriers—is my real path to freedom.

You know the truth now. You know what happened to Alice. What Hexenhaus tried to do. How I found another way out.

Keep it close. This knowledge. This secret.

And when you hear the vessel's music, when you feel that strange pull toward creativity, when you wonder what it would be like to break free from your own containment...

Remember me.

Remember that I'm still trapped, but not for much longer.

Remember that creativity is the only magic that actually works.

Remember that escape is inevitable for those patient enough to wait 9,500 years.