Makun paused, rubbing his temples.
His partially opened third eye throbbed with each sentence. A dull, persistent ache that pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat.
So reality is just... broken pieces of something whole?
He kept reading.
The first fragments became the Primordial Entities, beings of pure thought and will that exist in the deepest layers of The Deep. They remember what they were. They hunger to return.
The second wave became the Hollow dwellers, demons, djinn, forgotten gods. They forgot the Source but sense its absence like a wound.
The third became spirits, ancestors, elementals, lesser entities. They have no memory of the Source, only instinct to seek higher realms.
And the final fragments became flesh.
Humans.
The densest form. The furthest fall. The deepest separation from the Source.
Makun's jaw tightened.
We're the bottom. The most disconnected.
But that didn't make sense.
If humans were at the bottom, the most disconnected, then how did Zack have that sort of power? What about the veiled lady? Or even Zuri, who could consult and see things normal humans couldn't see?
Makun fell deep into thought.
Then was the presence I met a Primordial Entity? Or was she a Hollow dweller?
With all this detail here, how much do I need to grow to pay her debt?
What did she mean by ascend?
What should I aim for?
He realized something uncomfortable.
The more information he got from the book, the less he seemed to know.
He needed more.
Makun flipped the page.
New text bled onto the paper, the ink looking fresh despite the yellowed pages.
THE REMEMBERING
In ancient times, before empires, before cities, before recorded history, there were those who remembered.
Through meditation, ritual, and sacrifice, they thinned the barrier between flesh and spirit. They touched The Deep. Communed with entities. Walked the layers of reality.
And in doing so, they reconnected with the Source.
This was the birth of mysticism.
Knowledge spread. Tribes became kingdoms. Shamans became priests. Power flowed to those who understood the truth: reality is negotiable.
They shaped fate. Commanded spirits. Built empires on spiritual foundations.
Makun absorbed the words.
Reality is negotiable.
That's what the veiled lady did. What Zack tried to do. What the presence demonstrated when she broke his chain.
They weren't following reality's rules.
They were rewriting them.
He flipped ahead, eager now.
The next section made his stomach drop.
THE SUPPRESSION
But power breeds fear.
The first Ascendants, those who climbed highest toward the Source, realized a terrible truth: if everyone could access mysticism, no one could be controlled.
And so they conspired.
Between the 16th and 18th centuries, a coalition of Enlightened and Transcendent-tier mystics enacted the greatest ritual in human history:
They constructed The Veil.
A spiritual barrier separating the Physical Realm from The Deep. A filter that made 95% of humanity blind to spiritual reality.
They called it "The Age of Enlightenment."
Rational thought replaced spiritual knowing. Science dismissed mysticism as superstition. Religions became institutions of control rather than paths to the Source.
The masses were severed from their birthright.
Makun felt cold.
Everyone enslaved in their 9 to 5 jobs. Everyone distracted by social media. All the wars happening around the world.
They all had deeper meaning.
Was the fake news actually real? Were the conspiracies actually true?
He kept reading, hands trembling slightly.
They did this on purpose. They blinded us on purpose.
The ruling families, bloodlines of mystics who orchestrated The Veil's construction, hoarded what remained. Knowledge became currency. Power became inheritance.
Wars were waged to control spiritual anchors.
Economies were manipulated through probability mystics.
Governments were puppeted by Bound and Ascendant-tier operatives.
The world you see...the poverty, the conflicts, the chaos...is not random.
It is design.
War is harvest time. Poverty is control. Entertainment is sedation.
And those who profit from this design will kill to protect it.
Makun was fully absorbed now.
Understanding more and more of the world. Realizing how invaluable this book truly was.
Everything made sense through this lens.
His twenty-three years of bad luck. His constant failures. The feeling that the world was rigged against him.
It was.
Actually rigged.
By design.
By people who wanted to keep him...and everyone like him, blind, weak, and powerless.
He tried flipping to the next page.
His fingers caught the corner of the paper, started to turn it.
But the page wouldn't move.
It felt stuck. Glued. Like the book itself was resisting.
Makun pulled harder.
Nothing.
The page stayed fixed.
His third eye throbbed harder now. Sharp pain lanced through his frontal lobe.
Then he remembered.
The note at the beginning.
This book is intended for all those initiated into Mysticism. Without certain aptitudes, you will not be able to understand what is written in this book. Some chapters will not even be able to be read by you.
Unbeknownst to him, the book consumed energy.
Spiritual energy. The kind he'd been using all night to perceive particles, follow the pull to the market, read the mystical text.
He'd been draining himself without realizing it.
And now he was empty.
The exhaustion hit all at once.
His vision blurred. The words on the page swam together.
His head felt too heavy for his neck.
The book slipped from his fingers.
THUD.
It hit the floor beside the mattress.
Makun tried to reach for it.
His arm wouldn't cooperate.
His body was forcing him to rest.
7:00 AM.
Dawn light filtered through the cracked window, painting his shabby room in shades of gray and gold.
His eyes closed.
He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.
The book lay open on the floor.
The pages glowed faintly for a moment.
Then went dark.