Chapter 22 – The Ones Who Pretend to Awaken
Ash stood at the edge of the park fountain, where the city met silence.
Children laughed in the distance, birds circled the twilight sky, and neon signs flickered like the heartbeat of a restless machine.
But Ash no longer moved like them.
His breath had become rhythm. His thoughts—echoes. His hunger—silent.
Then a voice broke the space around him.
"You've changed your frequency."
A woman stood before him, wrapped in loose linen robes. A crystal pendulum hung from her neck, swaying with dramatic purpose.
Her eyes glittered—not with depth, but performance.
"I can feel it," she continued, smiling as if she'd found a mirror.
"You've awakened, haven't you?"
Ash said nothing. But something inside him tightened—not in resistance, but recognition.
Others approached behind her. Young. Well-dressed. Polished like social media avatars of enlightenment.
They spoke quickly.
"5D timelines are collapsing."
"We're holding portals for the collective ascension."
"Our group is channeling interstellar codes—wanna join?"
Their words were like incense—fragrant, but hollow. Beautiful, but thick.
Ash listened, not with ears, but with resonance.
And what he felt… was noise.
This wasn't presence. It was production.
He smiled politely, allowing the performance to unfold.
Yet deep inside, a question rose:
"If they are truly awake, why do they need to shout?"
He watched their eyes flicker—not inward, but outward. Seeking validation. Applause. Conversion.
Then suddenly, he saw it.
He didn't know how.
But it was clear—like seeing through fog.
Each of them carried a wound, wrapped in light.
Fear of death disguised as transcendence.
Desire for power dressed in love.
Loneliness hidden beneath cosmic jargon.
"Your energy is unique," the woman pressed, stepping closer.
"You must have something to teach us."
Ash looked at her—truly looked.
He didn't see a seeker.
He saw a child crying behind the veil of confidence. A soul wanting to belong.
And something in him softened.
"I have nothing to teach," he said gently.
"I'm still learning how to be silent."
Her smile faded. Just for a moment.
Then she turned away, and the others followed, voices rising again like birds avoiding stillness.
Ash remained.
Not because he didn't belong.
But because he finally understood—
True awakening does not seek an audience.
He walked toward the streetlight, its glow brushing against the shadows.
He felt his breath return to center.
No applause. No initiation. No performance.
Just silence.
And within it, fire.