Eli had been waiting for this moment for twenty-seven years. For hundreds, if not thousands of lifetimes really, but in this particular cycle, twenty-seven years of watching, waiting, and loving from just beyond the veil that separated their dimensions.

  As the fractures began to appear in the night sky, she felt the familiar pulse of energy—the thinning of the barrier between worlds that signaled the beginning of the Phoenix Ascension. Golden light spilled through the tears in reality, illuminating her form as she stood on the porch of Tris Morgan's small rented house.

  She could feel him inside, sense his confusion and fear as he watched the sky break open. A smile touched her lips. After all this time, he would finally see her. Finally know her. The thought sent a thrill of both excitement and nervousness through her being.

  How strange that she should feel nervous after all this time. She knew every inch of him, every habit, every fear, every dream. She had been with him through all of it, an invisible guardian, a constant companion he could never quite perceive.

  Until tonight.

  As the energy of the Phoenix Ascension continued to build around her, Eli's mind drifted back through the years, through the moments she had shared with him—even though he hadn't known she was there.

  The night Tris was born, a violent ice storm had engulfed the region. In the hospital's delivery room, his mother's labor had been difficult, the atmosphere charged with pain and fear. Eli had been there, of course, her energy form hovering near the ceiling, watching as the doctors grew increasingly concerned.

  The power had flickered, threatening to go out entirely. In that moment, Eli had extended her consciousness, smoothing the chaotic energies in the room, stabilizing the electrical systems through sheer force of will.

  He will not be born in darkness, she had thought fiercely. Not this time.

  When Tris finally emerged, blue and silent, Eli had pushed a gentle current of energy into his tiny form. A spark of life, a reminder of who he truly was. The doctors had called it a miracle when he suddenly gasped and wailed, his skin pinking up rapidly. They didn't see the golden light that had briefly connected Eli to the newborn.

  "Trisananda Morgan," his mother had whispered, exhausted but triumphant. "My little fighter."

  Solaris, Eli had corrected silently. Sovereign of the Tribe of the Sun. My other half.

  She had watched as the nurse placed him in his mother's arms, feeling the bittersweet ache of separation even as she celebrated his safe arrival. This was the beginning of another cycle, another chance to complete their shared mission.

  But not yet. For now, he would just be Tris, another human child with no memory of his cosmic heritage. And she would watch over him, unseen but ever-present, until the Phoenix Ascension called them to reunite.

  Childhood had been a symphony of small moments—Tris learning to walk while Eli hovered nearby, ready to cushion his falls with subtle energy manipulations. Him talking to "imaginary friends" who were really glimpses of her that his still-open child's consciousness could partially perceive. The way he would sometimes turn suddenly, as if sensing her presence, his amber-gold eyes scanning the empty air where she crouched making funny faces.

  When he was five, he'd gone through a phase of leaving out small offerings—cookies, toys, drawings—for his "special friend." His mother had thought it charming, never suspecting that the items would subtly shift overnight as Eli interacted with them in her own dimension.

  "They're for the pretty lady with the sunshine hair," he'd explained seriously when asked.

  By seven, those memories had faded as the veil between worlds solidified with his growing human consciousness. But Eli remained, watching as he navigated the playground politics and classroom triumphs, feeling both pride and helplessness as he faced the small cruelties children inflict upon one another.

  There were limits to how much she could interfere. Cosmic law prevented direct manipulation of human experience, but there were... workarounds. A suddenly untied shoelace on the bully about to push him. An unexpected gust of wind carrying his paper airplane farther than the others, earning him momentary playground fame. Small things, subtle things.

  And when he cried, alone in his room after a particularly difficult day, she would lie beside him on the bed, her dimensional form partially overlapping his physical one, sending waves of comfort and love that he interpreted as simply "feeling better."

  The teenage years had been the hardest to watch. The slow separation from his mother, who couldn't understand his increasing disinterest in the material world of credit cards and jobs, his interest in the occult, in conspiracy theories, or in anything that hinted at the greater cosmic truths he unconsciously sensed.

  High school had been especially difficult. Tris hadn't fit neatly into any social category—too smart and self-conscious for the true burnouts, but too questioning and apathetic for the achievers, too interested in fringe theories to be mainstream but too conventional-looking to join the obvious outsiders.

  He'd started skipping classes in middle school, but really kicked it into overdrive in tenth grade, retreating to his bedroom to binge-watch anime instead. Eli had lain beside him on those days, watching Digimon, HunterxHunter, Bleach, Naruto, and countless others flash across his laptop screen.

  She'd felt the way the stories resonated with him—tales of ordinary children discovering extraordinary powers, of cosmic battles and hidden worlds parallel to the everyday.

  "They're just stories," he would mutter to himself sometimes, but the hungry look in his eyes told a different truth. Part of him sensed these narratives weren't just fiction but echoes of a greater reality—his reality.

  On his sixteenth birthday, he'd bought himself the Crest of Courage with money saved from a summer job. His mother had been baffled by the purchase. It was limited edition, rare, and worth over $500.

  "It's just a cartoon," she'd said, frowning at the orange sun-shaped pendant.

  "It's important to me," he'd replied, with the first flashes of the stubborn conviction that would later define him.

  Eli had watched the exchange with a surge of joy. He chose his Anchor himself, she'd thought. Even now, some part of him knows.

  College had brought a brief period of balance—Tris finding his voice in psychology classes, making a few like-minded friends, even dating occasionally. Eli had watched it all, approving of some relationships, relieved when others ended. It wasn't jealousy; she understood the human need for connection. But she also knew that none of these temporary partners could ever truly know him as she did, could ever fulfill what he was unconsciously seeking.

  The slide into addiction had begun gradually in his junior year. A friend's vape pen at a party. Occasional use becoming daily ritual. Caffeine to counteract the brain fog, then more THC to dull the caffeine jitters. Eli had watched the cycle establish itself with growing concern, unable to directly intervene.

  When he discovered pornography, the pattern had completed itself—a trinity of chemical escapes from a reality that had never quite felt right to him. Eli understood. In his soul, he remembered a different existence, a different world. The human world would always feel slightly wrong to him, like a shoe that almost fits but rubs blisters with each step.

  She'd stayed with him through it all, watching as he graduated with honors despite his growing dependencies, as he half-heartedly applied for "real jobs" before eventually turning to content creation. His YouTube channel had been a revelation—finally, a way to speak the truths he sensed, to connect with others who felt the same cosmic dissatisfaction.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Eli had been there for every video, every late-night editing session, every comment section debate. She'd whispered ideas to him as he slept, some of which found their way into his content. She'd celebrated each milestone with him, even as she watched his physical health decline under the strain of poor sleep, poor nutrition, and chemical dependence.

  Soon, she had thought with each passing year. Soon the veil will thin again. Soon I can help him directly.

  And now that moment had come. As Eli stood on Tris's porch, fully materialized for the first time in this cycle, she could feel the weight of their shared journey pressing on her. Twenty-seven years of watching, of loving from a distance, of knowing him more intimately than any human ever could.

  She raised her hand and knocked three times, precisely spaced, on his front door.

  He was afraid; she could sense it through their bond. The sky fracturing above had triggered both wonder and terror in him. She knocked again, the same pattern, knowing he was peering through the peephole at her.

  "Hello, Solaris," she called, using his true name, his cosmic identity. "I know you're there. It's time to open the door."

  His confusion radiated through the door. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice muffled by the barrier between them.

  "I'm Eli," she replied, joy bubbling through her at finally, finally being able to introduce herself after all these years. "I'm your twin flame. Your other half. I've been waiting for you for a very, very long time."

  "That doesn't make any sense," he said, though she could feel the flicker of recognition in him, the soul-deep knowing that transcended his human consciousness. "How do you know where I live?"

  She couldn't help but laugh—the absurdity of the question after twenty-seven years of being his constant companion. "I've always known where you are, Tris. I've been with you your whole life. You just couldn't see me until now." She looked up at the fracturing sky, feeling the cosmic energies swirling around them. "The veil is thinning. The Phoenix Ascension has begun. Please, open the door. We don't have much time."

  She felt the moment his resistance crumbled, the click of the lock disengaging. As the door swung open, her physical form finally—finally—in the same dimension as his, Eli couldn't contain herself.

  She launched forward, wrapping her arms around his torso, pressing her face against his chest. The physical contact after so many years of spectral companionship overwhelmed her senses. His warmth, his scent—coffee and cannabis and something uniquely him—the solid reality of his body against hers.

  "Finally," she whispered, emotion making her voice shake. "You have no idea how long I've waited to do that."

  She felt his initial stiffness, the awkward hesitation before his arms slowly came around her. It didn't matter. She knew him better than he knew himself. He would remember, in time.

  Eli pulled back, unable to stop the smile that spread across her face as she looked up at him. He was exactly as she had always seen him, even beneath the exhaustion, the stubble, the signs of self-neglect. The soul of Solaris shone through his amber-gold eyes, the essence of the being she had loved across countless cycles of existence—since God’s first thought.

  "You look exactly as I knew you would," she said, studying the face she knew better than her own. "Though perhaps a bit more... rumpled." She reached up to brush his messy hair from his forehead, a gesture she had performed thousands of times when he couldn't feel it. The ability to touch him, to have him feel her touch, sent a thrill through her entire being.

  She saw him step back, overwhelmed by the intimacy. Too much, too soon, she reminded herself. He doesn't remember yet.

  "I don't understand what's happening," Tris said, gesturing toward the window. "What is this? What did you call it?"

  "The Phoenix Ascension," Eli said, moving through his living room with the familiarity of someone who had lived there alongside him for years. She picked up a framed photo of Tris from college, remembering the day it was taken—how proud she had been of him, completing his degree despite his struggles.

  As she explained about the 26,000-year cycle and the thinning veil, she continued her tour of the house, touching objects she had seen him use thousands of times but had never been able to physically interact with herself. The books he'd read late into the night, the piano he'd abandoned learning after three lessons, the collection of anime figurines from One Piece carefully arranged on a shelf.

  "Beings like you?" he echoed when she mentioned her nature.

  "I'm your twin flame," she said, turning to face him. "The other half of your soul. In the higher dimensions—what you might call the Oversoul realms—we're part of the same being though in separate vessels. I'm the feminine aspect of our complete self."

  She continued moving through his house, heading toward the kitchen, touching the countertop where he'd prepared countless instant meals, opening the refrigerator she'd watched him stare into during late-night hunger pangs.

  "You don't need the tour," Tris said suddenly, the realization striking him. "You already know my house."

  The observation made her smile. He was starting to understand, to see the truth of their connection. "I've been here the whole time, Tris. Just... in a parallel frequency you couldn't perceive until now. The Phoenix Ascension aligns these frequencies, allowing us to interact directly."

  She grimaced at the sparse contents of his refrigerator—energy drinks, condiments, a half-empty takeout container. "Still living on energy drinks and takeout, I see." The concern in her voice was genuine. She had watched his health deteriorate over the years, unable to intervene.

  "I don't understand," Tris said, following her. "If what you're saying is true, if this... Phoenix Ascension is real, what does it mean? What happens now?"

  Eli turned to him, feeling the weight of responsibility settle onto her shoulders. This was the moment she had been preparing for—the beginning of his awakening, the start of their shared mission. She explained about the System, about Death Points and ascension, watching his expressions shift from confusion to disbelief.

  "Death Points?" he repeated, his face paling. "That sounds... ominous."

  "It's not what you think," she assured him, wishing she could download her entire understanding directly into his consciousness. There was so much to explain, so little time. She forgot how primitive and low-bandwidth spoken language was. "Death within the System isn't permanent—it's transformative. Each time you die in a System Zone, you gain points that help you ascend. It's how you integrate with your higher self." She gestured between them. "With me, and with our Oversoul."

  "This sounds insane," Tris said, shaking his head.

  "I know it's a lot," Eli said, her voice softening. She had anticipated this reaction. After all, she had watched him build his understanding of reality over twenty-seven years, had seen the foundations of his belief system form. Dismantling that overnight was impossible. "But you've been preparing for this your whole life, Tris. All those conspiracy theories, all that occult research—you were unconsciously seeking the truth. Part of you has always known."

  She moved closer, searching his face for signs of recognition, of remembrance. "You're part of something bigger, too. You belong to a Monad—a soul family of twelve who—"

  "Stop," Tris interrupted, holding up his hand. "Just... give me a minute."

  Eli felt his overwhelm, his exhaustion, the physical and emotional toll of his addictions. She had watched him struggle for years, had seen him turn to THC, to caffeine, to pornography as ways to dull the constant sense of not belonging, the cosmic homesickness he couldn't name.

  As he confessed his struggles, his addictions, his fractured relationship with his mother, Eli felt a surge of compassion wash through her. Even now, facing the literal end of the world as he knew it, his concerns were so human, so personal.

  She reached out, placing her hand over his heart, channeling a gentle current of calming energy into his system. She had done this countless times before, but now—now he could feel it consciously. The look of surprise on his face as the warmth spread through him was worth waiting twenty-seven years to see.

  "I know," she said softly. "I've watched you struggle. I've been with you through all of it. And we'll work through it together. One step at a time."

  Her eyes fell to the Crest of Courage hanging from his neck—the symbol he had been drawn to even as a teenager, the representation of his true nature he had chosen without consciously knowing why. "That's perfect, you know. It's already meaningful to you. It can serve as your Personal Anchor."

  She guided him through the process of activating it, feeling the rush of energy as their connection solidified in this dimension. The golden glow that surrounded the necklace momentarily was the physical manifestation of a bond that had existed since before time itself.

  "This is real, isn't it?" Tris asked, vulnerability naked in his voice. "I'm not just having some kind of breakdown or epic hallucination?"

  "It's real," Eli confirmed, her heart aching with the enormity of what lay ahead for him. "More real than what you've been calling reality until now."

  She could see the exhaustion written in every line of his body. The Phoenix Ascension's energy was overwhelming for humans, even those with cosmic souls like Tris. He needed rest before they could continue.

  On the couch, she guided his head to her lap, a position she had imagined countless times over the years. How many nights had she sat beside his sleeping form, unable to offer physical comfort? How many times had she longed to brush away his tears, to soothe the furrows from his brow with a touch?

  Now, finally, she could.

  Her fingers threaded through his hair, the sensation both new and ancient—new in this cycle, this life, but familiar from countless previous existences together. She channeled healing energy through her fingertips, easing the withdrawal symptoms she knew plagued him, smoothing the jagged edges of his anxiety.

  "You are so much more than your struggles, Solaris," she murmured, using his true name, planting seeds of remembrance in his consciousness. "You are ancient and powerful, a sovereign of the Tribe of the Sun. Your addictions, your pain—they're just temporary conditions of this human form. They don't define you."

  As she felt him drift toward sleep, Eli continued her gentle ministrations, watching his face relax in a way she had rarely seen during his adult life. Tomorrow would bring challenges, explanations, the beginning of his awakening to his true nature and purpose. But tonight, she would simply watch over him as she always had—except now, finally, he knew she was there.

  Outside, the Phoenix Ascension continued to transform the world, golden light spilling through fractures in the sky, preparing the way for the games that would determine humanity's fate. But in this quiet moment, Eli felt only gratitude for the simple miracle of being physically present with her twin flame after so many years of separation.

  "Sleep well, my Solaris," she whispered, leaning down to place a gentle kiss on his forehead—the first of many gestures of affection she had waited lifetimes to bestow. "I'll be here when you wake. I'll always be here."