I know you felt it.

No one comes this far without feeling something.
A strange weight in the chest, as though something ancient has shifted inside you. A discomfort that is not fear, it is recognition.

Before churches, before calendars, before anyone believed the world could be named and contained by rules.
The old gods knew. Those who came before them knew as well.

The world is not only what it appears to be.
Much of it lives in the shadows, as though the earth itself had a dark side, much like the moon.

I heard the call for the first time when I still believed such things were only stories. I was wrong. The call does not ask permission. It does not explain itself. It demands.

I do not promise control. Nor redemption.
I promise only this, when the moon rises, lies fall away.

If you have read this far, it is because the call still echoes.
Perhaps faint. Perhaps persistent. Perhaps waiting for courage.

Leave a contact, if you wish.
When the moon changes, and it always does, I will let you know.

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