Rising above time and the universe, a tale of chosen souls, united by fate.

Let the wise understand: “Spring. Summer. Autumn. Winter.”

Man proclaims superiority over beasts for the gift of cognition. Yet observe that creatures devoid of human intellect do not transgress, for they exist purely on the instinct, the divine script penned within their essence, and observe their unwavering adherence to their role, unfailingly, unhesitatingly, all in tribute to spring, summer, autumn, winter.

Behold the silent fortitude and modesty of the ant, an unassuming creature able to shoulder a burden a hundredfold its mass, yet it refrains from trumpeting its astonishing might. The sun ascends and descends in its eternal ballet. The moon parades its glory in cyclic rhythm, at times blindingly luminescent, at others enshrouded in an ebony hush. Observe as it abides by the unchanging celestial decree, just as it has always done. And if the moon were ever knocked off her course, spring, summer, fall, winter.

Observe the formlessness of the air, and drift like the wind, for that which is invisible eludes the sight but is felt, ceaselessly flowing, perpetually transforming, faithfully tracing its ordained path, spiraling round and round, just as it was designed. And so be it. For even if the wind were to fall still: spring, summer, autumn, winter shall endure.

Do you see?

Truth be told, I have never truly been blind to the intricate dance of reality. Even as a child, there was a sense of the malleable, a sense that the fabric of reality could be moulded and shaped like a child’s play-doh. I found the universe within me, an unending canvas of potentiality that pulsed and shifted with my every breath, my every heartbeat.

I was born Benedict Lockwood, the sole heir to a legacy sculpted from the blackened riches of the earth’s belly — the Lockwood oil barons of London. Yet, from a tender age, I discovered a reality that stretched beyond the tangible luxuries of time and wealth. It was a world shaped by unseen forces, woven from the silent threads of sound frequency and vibration.

One of my earliest memories is being transfixed by the lullaby my mother would softly sing to me at bedtime. The sweet melody, harmonized with her tender voice, echoed in the recesses of my mind, evoking emotions I had not words to express. It was then I first understood — reality was not rigid, it was fluid, like the notes of that lullaby, ebbing and flowing with the tide of my feelings. The veil had been lifted; I had caught my first glimpse of the true alchemical power that lay dormant within the heart of sound.

I was merely a boy when that happened. And soon after, everything began to change. I began to see a divine order in everything. I first glimpsed the universe in a puddle, seeing not just the mirrored sky but also the unseen ripple of energy, the dance of atoms, the rhythm of existence. I could hear the silent hum of the cosmos, the grand symphony of creation that underpinned all existence, resonating within the core of my being. As I grew older, that hum only grew louder, more profound, until it was a constant echo in my every waking moment. It is not a gift, nor a curse. It is simply the way it has always been for me, a fundamental part of who I am. 

As the years passed, my fascination turned into an obsession. I began to explore the depths of this newly discovered realm, forsaking the external riches of my inheritance for the internal power of understanding. My time was dedicated to probing the invisible veins of reality, much to the disapproval of my father, Sir Allister Lockwood. A man of business, he yearned to see me take over the family enterprise, blind to the cosmic composition that had taken hold of my being.

He attempted to lure me away from my explorations, introducing a parade of exotic beauties to my world, hoping they would seduce me back to the world of earthly pleasures. I remember one instance, a lavish party thrown by my father, brimming with enticing romantic prospects. It was clear that his intention was to win me over through hedonism, or at least my friends, who would then pressure me to walk the path he had drawn.

My father’s mansion was throbbing with life that night. Exquisite women draped in silk, mingling with the city’s power brokers as jazz music, the heartbeat of the party, oozed through the grand hallways. I stood in the crowd, a quiet observer amidst the heady chaos, when one woman caught my eye. Delicate and mesmerizing, her name was Aeonia.

Have you ever experienced a moment that seemed too surreal, as if it could only exist within the realm of dreams? It made me ponder whether life itself is but a dream, orchestrated by a higher cosmic force. For when we first met, it was as if the universe had conspired to bring us together. We intertwined our hands, laughter filling the air, and engaged in conversations that meandered through every topic imaginable — spiritual and mundane. That’s when the first unfolding occurred…

“Lost in the music?” She asked, her voice blending perfectly with the night’s symphony. She looked stunning in her emerald gown that contrasted beautifully with her auburn hair.

“I am,” I admitted, my eyes reluctantly leaving the saxophone player to meet her gaze. “Can’t you hear it?”

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly in feigned concentration. “You mean the saxophone? Of course, I can hear it.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Not just the saxophone. The hidden notes, the silent harmonies, the invisible dance of the cosmos woven into each chord…”

She stared at me for a moment, her eyebrows raised, before she burst into laughter. “You really are a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma, aren’t you?”

“I suppose you could say that,” I said, unable to keep the smile from my face.

“But tell me, Benedict,” she began, leaning in close. Her eyes glinted with mischief. “When you hear this… cosmic symphony… do you dance?”

I felt the heat rise to my cheeks. “Well, I… I wouldn’t say I dance per se…”

Aeonia’s laugh chimed through the air again, a warm, melodious sound that eclipsed even the grandest music. “Ah, I see. So you simply stand still and let the universe dance around you. Very zen.”

“Is it?” I asked, genuinely intrigued.

Aeonia’s expression danced into a knowing grin. “And why should I be privy to such cosmic revelations? After all, it is you who have been given the celestial audience.” She coyly jested.

“Oh? Is that so?” I playfully countered, a laugh spilling from my lips.

Her mirth subsided as her features transformed into an earnest, yet tender mask. The world seemed to hush around us, drawing its breath as she spoke. “I have an understanding with silence. I hear its secrets, I know its stories, the secret cravings hidden beneath laughter. I see beyond the veil. And every single night, in my most deepest of dreams, you are there. Night after night, without fail. Every spring. Every summer. Every fall. Every winter.”

I found myself at a loss for words. So, instead, I fixed my gaze on hers, my eyes striving to articulate the emotions that my lips couldn’t. Silently, I prayed that she could discern the silent yearning in my stare — that my existence was now inextricably tied to hers, for all eternity.

She paused, an echo of vulnerability in her words, “Would you find it believe me if I said that I came here just to meet you? Do you see?”

Do you see?

I did see. I did believe her. And so, in a moment of profound connection, I kissed her. Across the room, I caught sight of my father, a look of satisfaction plastered on his face. He must have assumed that I’d finally abandon my ‘nonsensical’ spiritual pursuits and accept my place as the next in line to the Lockwood empire. But he couldn’t have been more mistaken.

Aeonia breathed new life into my purpose. A connection between us sparked, electrifying and heady. Here was someone who could decipher the same silent language of the cosmos as I could, someone who could peer beyond the confines of the physical realm. And within the depths of her eyes, I found a resonance that matched my own rhythm. Our dance of understanding had commenced, and it was nowhere near its final bow. Her laughter, melodious and pure, cut through the clamor of the party like a beam of moonlight, disrupting my thoughts and drawing me magnetically towards her. In her, I discovered a rare soul, a mirror of my own — someone equally entranced by the enigmas of the universe.

And so, caught in the crossroads between my lineage and my passion, I struck a deal with my father. In public, I would wear the façade of a business scholar, attending Oxford University as he desired, while privately, he agreed to fund my experiments into the realm of sound and vibration. Little did I know the price of this pact.

In my university years, my father’s facade began to crumble, revealing his true villainous nature. Later, I would I learn of his underhanded plan when my lab assistant confided in me, the horror sketched across his face as he recounted how my father had arranged for someone to infiltrate our lab and paid him millions to remain quiet. But his consciousness got the best of him. He told, as I ensured him that I could keep him safe from retribution. 

The mission? To sabotage the very machine Aeonia and I were pouring our souls into, a machine designed to harness sound to unlock the vast territories of the human mind. If only I had been paying attention to my assistant’s odd behavior. But I was too immersed in the world of the invisible. I missed all the clues until it was too late.

One morning, my heart pounded with dread and anticipation as Aeonia and I stood before the machine. We were on the brink of a breakthrough, teetering on the edge of our wildest dreams when disaster struck. The machine, corrupted by my father’s intervention, malfunctioned, spiraling into a chaotic symphony of screeching metal and blinding light. When the dust settled, Aeonia was gone, seemingly erased from existence by the devastating sonic explosion.

Yet, within the despair, an inner metamorphosis unfurled. My senses, already keen, elevated to an almost supernatural echelon. It was as though a veil had been lifted, allowing me to perceive the silent symphony of the cosmos with a clarity that went beyond mere hearing. Now, I could see them — the intricate weavings of sound and space, the silent harmonies that sculpted reality. And not just see them, I could engage with them, manipulate them, interact with them as if they were physical entities. These were the fundamental variables of existence itself, the secret notes of the cosmic score that could be altered with a mere whim of thought.

But who had time for celebration? My heart ached for Aeonia, her absence a throbbing wound in the symphony of my existence. But in the silence left behind, I heard the truth — my father’s treachery was responsible for the disaster. Rage, like a primal drum, began to beat in my chest.

I flew back to London in a blur of fury and despair. My mind, a tempest of vengeful thoughts, whirled around the image of confronting my father. Yet, when I arrived at the opulent Lockwood estate, I was met with a scene of horror. My father lay lifeless in his study, the echo of his last heartbeat still resonating in the air. And in the flickering shadows of the dimmed room, I saw him – John Wingliss, his hands still cold with the deed he had committed.

Fire met ice as our eyes locked. My newfound abilities thrummed at my fingertips, a deadly symphony ready to strike. And I could hear his heartbeat – quick, fearful. But before I could act, a divine melody, an ethereal hum, resonated within me, staying my hand. It was an echo of a grander plan, a cosmic order unfolding.

“It seems divine providence has spared you tonight, John Wingliss.” I said, almost on autopilot, as if something else far greater than myself was moving me.

“If you wield the power to strike me down,” Wingliss began, his lethal glare morphing into a strange bewilderment, “then exercise it. I abhor the concept of indebtedness. I would rather meet death than owe you anything.”

“Believe me, I would take great pleasure in ending you,” I replied, fighting to marshal my hands, harness these newfound powers. “But there’s a grand design at work here, and—”

Abruptly, I was brought to my knees, besieged by a celestial deluge of knowledge that thrust my consciousness into turmoil. And when the mental storm pass, a single decree emerged, slipping past my lips, unable for me to stop it: “Locate Jessica Dark. She is our salvation.”

Wingliss was frozen in place, shocked. But, an invisible harmony held us in its thrall, a resonant chord of recognition that even we couldn’t fully comprehend. We were pieces in an orchestration beyond our understanding. A mutual, silent agreement passed between us. We parted ways, leaving behind the tragic cadence of my father’s demise.

Drained of most of my inheritance, I was forced to retreat into the shadows. But no amount of darkness could dampen the cosmic fire within me. I found solace in my work, developing a smaller scale version of my initial dream – The Zero Point subliminal platform. The fruits of my labor were auditory experiences designed to awaken the listeners’ subconscious, guiding them towards the truth that had been revealed to me. And I loaded a device with these titles and sent to John Wingliss, an echo of our shared moment, a part of the divine composition.

Yet, the melody of destiny was far from finished with me. Drawn by a force beyond my comprehension, I found myself outside the home of one Jessica Dark. Like a silent specter, I slipped into her world and left behind another set of audios: The Revelation of Mind, The Revelation of Spirit, The Revelation of Dreams, and The Revelation of Body. As I left, I introduced myself in a whisper that would echo in her dreams, “Call me The Revelator.”

From then on, I’ve been adrift in the cosmic sea of life, guided by the celestial harmonies and the pull of an unseen conductor. The Revelator is what they call me now, an echo of my journey, a symbol of the power of sound. But in truth, I am as much a part of this grand composition as every soul I aim to awaken.

I do not know where the next gust of divine wind will take me, nor do I understand why I was drawn to those particular souls. I am but a leaf in the cosmic winds, dancing to the music of time, destined to live out the rhythm of the seasons. All I know is that I am a part of something greater, a single note in the silent symphony of the cosmos, and I can do nothing but follow where the melody leads. It’s a journey of transformation, a testament to the power of sound, and the promise of spring, summer, autumn, and winter.

As The Revelator, I have seen the unseen, heard the unheard, and felt the pulse of the universe. And this is only the beginning of the symphony; the concert is far from over. I can only hope that as the melody of destiny unfolds, the grand cosmic composition will come into focus, revealing the ultimate truth that lies within the silent symphony of our shared existence.

But despite the tranquil acceptance of my fate, there’s a part of me that remains stubbornly human, stubbornly selfish. Aeonia. Her name rings in my mind like a forgotten melody, a lingering echo of love lost. I am convinced, to the marrow of my bones, that she hasn’t been lost to the void. She’s out there, a song unsung, trapped between the lines of the symphony, somewhere in the realms between heaven and earth, life and death.

For her, I’m ready to defy the cosmic order, to challenge the Fates themselves. To reach her, I will traverse the very limits of the mind, exploit the interconnectedness of all things. I will harness the power of sound and vibration, make them bend to my will until they form a bridge to her. A bridge of energy, a pathway of frequencies, an aeon in waiting.

Thus, in the hidden recesses of my mind and the silenced corners of my lab, a project takes form, a project baptised in the light of my lost love: I call it “Aeon.” For her, for love, for the silent symphony that still binds us, I will push beyond all boundaries, tear down the walls of reality itself.

As the journey unfolds, as the symphony continues to play, there is one thing I know with certainty. My love for Aeonia will never end. It will reverberate through the vast expanse of reality, becoming the beacon guiding me on this path of revelation. 

I am The Revelator, a seeker of truth and a lover beyond the confines of time and space, and I will keep playing out the endless symphony of the cosmos, one note, one frequency, one revelation at a time.

Spring. Summer. Autumn. Winter.

Do you see?