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Novelo Rectangle

We were never born. We arrived. Descending like fractals of starlight, cloaked in skin, veiled by time. Each of us chose this: the forgetting, the fragmentation, the fall. Not as punishment—but as play. A game. Divine, dangerous, and deliberate. They called it Earth. And we came to shatter the illusion from the inside out. But first—we had to forget who we were. --- It began in silence. In the still places between thought and dream.A hum. A code.A summons whispered through the bones of the cosmos. The world called it coincidence. But we knew better. It was activation. --- It happened the day we found The Capsule. Not buried by accident.Placed. Planted.Like a key waiting for the right vibration. My best friend and I were walking through that forgotten strip of land behind the old farm. The trees leaned in like ancient sentinels. Something pulsed beneath the ground. I felt it in my blood before I saw it. The Capsule. Iron. Timeless. Covered in runes that flickered between languages.Etched on its lid:"REMEMBER." --- We opened it, not with tools—but with intention.It recognized us.Because we had placed it there. In another life. Another loop. Another level of the game. Inside: A mirror that reflected not our faces—but our true forms. Energy-beings woven from light and will. A crystal disk playing a voice—our voice—saying: “You’re right on time.” And a book, bound in skin made of stardust, titled simply:“The Divine Game.” --- We read. Every page exploded a memory.We saw ourselves—not as children of Earth—but as Seeders. Architects of Worlds.Sent to enter density.To experience limitation.To master shadow.To awaken the collective. We remembered the agreements:You will forget who you are.You will suffer.You will lose yourself.And then—you will find the others.You will wake each other up.You will rise.And together, you will reclaim the grid. --- The Game was never about escape.It was about embodiment.To bring the divine back into matter.To collapse the illusion from within. Trauma was not our curse—it was our teacher.Chaos was not the enemy—it was the catalyst.Every scar was a sigil.Every heartbreak a portal. We read until time folded in on itself.Not with our eyes—but our DNA.Each sentence a key, unlocking dormant codes written into our blood. --- Then it came. The Memory. The real one. Of standing in a circle, before the descent. Holding hands with beings made of music and flame. Looking into each other's eyes and saying: “I’ll find you again.Even if we forget.Even if it takes lifetimes.Even if the world tries to break us—We will return.” And we did. --- That night, the forest became a temple.We stood in the center of a cosmic ripple.The sky split open—not with thunder—but with Knowing. We were never lost.We were never broken.We were never human. Only playing the part. --- We reburied the Capsule, but we left something behind: A new inscription, burned into metal with our own hands: “To the next ones—Welcome back.The Dream is ending.The Real begins now.” --- This is the Awakening.The Return.The Great Remembering. And we are not waiting for it anymore. We are it.

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Novelo Square

The dream

The awakening

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The capsule

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The capsule

Seraphina

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The dream

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Sarah Preston

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