Aster clears his throat, his voice rough.

  “Who are the Aware, exactly?”

  He hates how eager he sounds. Curiosity is supposed to be dead by now, buried under years of cynicism. And yet…

  Matter’s mouth twitches. A faint gleam lights in those tired cyan eyes, like he’s actually pleased to see Aster keeping up.

  “The Aware,” Matter says, almost softly now, like he’s speaking of something too big for words, “aren’t a people or a moment. They’re a pattern—a lineage of mind and will, woven through human history like a hidden society. In every age, some of us refuse to stop at the surface of reality, searching ever deeper, refusing to look away. Call them shamans, scientists, prophets, heretics. They’re the ones who see the world behind the world—and have the courage to step forward.”

  His gaze flicks to the sky, as if seeing ghosts there.

  “In the beginning, long before cities, before science, before gods had names, there were only the Forgotten—our distant ancestors. They stepped across the threshold around fifty thousand years ago. Primitive, tribal, desperate people who were forced to cross over every night while they slept.”

  He pauses, meeting Aster’s eyes again.

  “But over time, they figured it out. They cracked the code, eventually making the first elixirs and crossing over permanently. Once they did, they showed others the way. Those who came after the Forgotten are referred to as the Aware.”

  Aster’s lips part. He doesn’t want to admit it, but there’s something in the way Matter speaks that hooks into him.

  “So,” he mutters, folding his arms tight across his chest, “knowing about all this makes me one of them? Just like that?”

  His voice drips with scepticism, but there’s a brittle edge under it.

  Matter’s answer is calm, steady.

  “Yes. You’ve crossed the veil. You’re Aware now, whether you like it or not.”

  His stare turns sharp.

  “There’s no going back, Aster. No forgetting. This is your world now, too.”

  Aster blows out a slow breath. His gut twists, but his mind shoves through anyway.

  “Fine. Then let’s cut through the mystical crap. How do you know my father?”

  His voice cracks.

  “And what the hell is this parasite you keep dangling over my head?”

  For the first time, Matter’s gaze falters.

  His eyes turn distant, clouded with something old and heavy.

  When he finally speaks, his voice is lower, rough around the edges.

  “I met your father in Galamad.”

  The name lands like a stone between them.

  Aster blinks.

  “Galamad?”

  The word tastes foreign in his mouth.

  Matter’s mouth tightens.

  “An Astral school. South African branch. One of many across the plane. It trains Initiates—people like you—to survive here. To thrive. If everything goes as planned, it’ll be your next step.”

  He catches Aster’s stare, sharp and lingering, and adds,

  “That’s if you live long enough to get there.”

  Aster flinches.

  The weight in the air thickens.

  Matter’s eyes darken. His words come slower now, like he’s picking his way through barbed wire.

  “Your father and I…” He exhales through his nose, a bitter sound. “We didn’t get along at first. Too alike. Too stubborn. Always butting heads. Until your mother…”

  His voice softens, barely audible.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “She brought balance. She forced us to put aside pride. To work together. For her.”

  Matter’s jaw clenches.

  “We studied together. Fought together. Rose through the ranks—all three of us. In the Caverns, we made names for ourselves. And when your parents’ families arranged their marriage…”

  His eyes flick back to Aster.

  “…they planned to fully unite two powerful South African bloodlines under one name, threatening the fragile balance of power held there up until that time.”

  His gaze sharpens, pinning Aster in place.

  “And you, Aster… are the result of that union. Their child. Their legacy.”

  Aster’s chest tightens until he thinks it might crack open.

  Me?

  The word echoes in his skull like a ricochet.

  Matter looks away now, shoulders heavy.

  “And that’s when the Mesha family made their move.”

  His voice drops, turning colder.

  “They despised the union. Feared what the power imbalance would mean for their family. So they cursed the unborn child—they cursed you.”

  His hands curl into fists at his sides.

  “They sent something from beyond the Astral borders. A parasite. A creature of vast destruction. A Void Wyrm.”

  Aster’s stomach bottoms out.

  His mouth goes dry as dust.

  And before he can stop himself, the word slips out, hoarse and disbelieving:

  “A what?”

  Matter’s face darkens, his cyan eyes locking on Aster’s with a gravity that pulls like a black hole.

  “A Void Wyrm,” he says again, slower this time, like the weight of the words could crush them both. “An entity from the threshold where the Astral frays into things even older. It doesn’t kill you outright. It unthreads you quietly—your fate, your fortune, the fortunes of those karmically connected to you, as well as any chance of fortune that could alleviate your fate.”

  Aster’s head spins. A parasite feeding on fate? A monster that can make chance itself come apart. He can’t even begin to wrap his mind around it.

  “Okay,” Aster barks a sharp laugh, hands thrown up. “We’ve officially passed ‘complicated’ and gone straight into ‘cosmic identity fraud.’”

  Matter’s lips twitch at that—humourless, but not unappreciative.

  “It sounds insane. I get that. But listen carefully now. This… this is the part you have to understand, or you won’t survive what’s coming.”

  Aster crosses his arms, jaw tight.

  “Fine. Enlighten me.”

  Matter steps closer, his voice dropping like a blade.

  “Long before people built cities or worshipped gods, the Forgotten crossed into the Astral Plane in their dreams. And it killed a lot of them. The place was a storm of raw thought and predator instinct—nothing stable, nothing human. They had no defences and were cursed to return every night to fight for their lives. Over and over again, for generations… that was, until they discovered Faith.”

  He says the word like it’s capitalized. Sacred. Loaded. Aster flinches despite himself.

  “Faith is different from the psychic muck that leaks out of humans every second—fear, desire, grief. That stuff fogs the lower Astral layers like pollution. But Faith…” Matter’s eyes gleam. “Faith is focused belief. Pure, condensed meaning. When humans collectively agree that something has value—whether it’s a god, a law, or a shiny bit of metal—that belief crystallizes in the Astral as energy. Power.”

  Aster’s mind clicks into a higher gear. He feels like he’s catching glimpses of an enormous, hidden machine grinding beneath reality.

  “So religion…? Prayer and worship generate this stuff?”

  Matter nods. “Exactly. The Forgotten learned to harness it. They built constructs, totems, and idols that acted like lightning rods for Faith. It let them push back against the chaos—domesticate it. That’s how they survived.”

  He pauses, giving Aster a beat to digest it before continuing.

  “And as our species grew, they industrialized it. Religion became a mass-production engine for Faith. Every prayer, every act of devotion, every ritual added fuel to their strength on the Astral side. It was humanity’s first real foothold in this realm.”

  Aster lets out a low whistle, half in awe, half in horror.

  “So… religion is basically an Astral battery farm.”

  Matter doesn’t smile, but the flicker in his eye says: Now you’re getting it.

  “Yes. And later, as human civilization advanced, they stumbled onto another source of Faith production without even realizing it: money.”

  Aster blinks. “Money?”

  Matter’s voice sharpens.

  “Think about it. A gold coin has no intrinsic value. It only works because people believe it has worth. That belief, spread across billions, feeds the Astral Plane with the same kind of energy that prayers are capable of. Faith doesn’t care if it’s born from a god or the stock market. Belief is belief.”

  Aster’s chest tightens as the implications hit.

  “So every cent in my bank account… has a kind of Astral echo?”

  Matter’s lips press into a thin line.

  “Yes. Your bank balance, your house, your job status—every material thing that gains its power from human consensus that it holds value—creates an equal exchange of value in Faith. And when someone spends or uses that Faith on the Astral side…”

  He draws a breath through his nose, voice going dark.

  “Fate intervenes to balance the books.”

  Aster’s skin prickles. “Meaning…?”

  Matter’s gaze pins him.

  “Meaning if you spend that Faith—use that power—the Material Plane takes it back. Maybe you lose your job. Maybe your roof collapses. Maybe you get sick. Fate finds a way to equalize the value. Every time.”