The fluorescent lights of the New Alexandria Institute hummed like trapped hornets. Dr. Aris Thorne adjusted his spectacles, staring at the neural monitor as Subject Alpha (Male, 19) convulsed on the gurney. Wires snaked from his temples into the Sufi-Tech Core—a black monolith etched with وَفْق (Wafq) grids and ٱسْمَآء (Divine Names) in quantum code.
「𝐈𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐚」 Thorne ordered. His team inputted بِسْمِ ٱللَّٰهِ (In the name of God) into the console. The Core pulsed cobalt.
𝐬𝐲𝐬.𝐭𝐱𝐭//𝐄𝟒𝟎𝟑
𝐬𝐲𝐬.𝐭𝐱𝐭//𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥_𝐫𝐞𝐣
Alpha's eyes snapped open—pure gold. 「𝐈 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬」 he rasped. 「𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬... 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲'𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨—」 Blood trickled from his nose, forming بِسْمِ ٱللَّٰهِ on his lip.
𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐞 #𝟏
Thorne wiped the data tablet. 34 more attempts. The Institute's mandate: Unlock astral projection using التصوّف (Sufi mysticism) rebuilt as 2058 tech. Talismans became encryption keys. ٱسْمَآء (Divine Names) were API endpoints. All for Project سُوحَم (SOHAM — Soul Harmonization).
Alpha survived. Barely. Discharged as 𝗣𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗭𝗲𝗿𝗼—first to glimpse the 𝗖𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗗𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺. But he couldn't return. When Thorne visited him in the asylum, Alpha clawed at the walls, screaming: 「𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞!」
Why "يَا رَزَّاقُ"? Thorne scribbled. The protocol forbids it.
✦
Kaito Tanaka (16) read the contract on his cracked phone:
「𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭-𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐀𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 — ¥𝟐,𝟎𝟎𝟎,𝟎𝟎𝟎 𝐁𝐨𝐧𝐮𝐬. 𝟏𝟎𝟎% 𝐑𝐢𝐬𝐤-𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞」
He needed the money. His mother's 𝐍𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐃𝐞𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 treatment cost ¥1.8M/month.
「𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 35𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞」 Thorne said, handing him a Talisman Chip engraved with آيَةُ الْكُرْسِيِّ (Ayat al-Kursi). 「𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬」
Kaito frowned. 「𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐬?」
「𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥-𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝」 Thorne lied.
✦
Rain lashed the Institute's windows. Kaito lay on the gurney, Talisman Chip taped to his wrist. The AR Headset displayed floating ٱسْمَآء—Divine Names pulsing like heartbeats.
「𝐈𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐎𝐦𝐞𝐠𝐚」
The Core roared. Cobalt light swallowed the room. He heard chanting inside his bones:
「يَا لَطِيفُ... يَا وَكِيلُ...」 (Ya Latif... Ya Wakil...)
The headset flickered:
𝐬𝐲𝐬.𝐭𝐱𝐭//𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌_𝐀𝐂𝐓
𝐬𝐲𝐬.𝐭𝐱𝐭//𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐋_𝐄𝐒𝐓
𝐬𝐲𝐬.𝐭𝐱𝐭//𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋_𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐃
Pain exploded—not physical, but existential. He saw the 𝗖𝗼𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗰𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗗𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺: crystalline spires where humans, wolves, and oaks shared consciousness. A world where thoughts were terrain.
Then—𝐬𝐲𝐬.𝐭𝐱𝐭//𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐑_𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐓
𝐬𝐲𝐬.𝐭𝐱𝐭//𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇_𝐗𝐅𝐄𝐑
Thorne lunged for the abort switch. Too late.
Kaito's last thought: I didn't chant...
The Core imploded. Glass shattered. Alarms wailed. Thorne found Kaito's body—vitals flatlined, Talisman Chip melted into skin.
𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐞 #𝟑𝟓
✦
Cold. Wet. Darkness.
Kaito tried to open his eyes—𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐡𝐮𝐭. Panic surged. 𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦.
Then—light. Blinding. He gasped, inhaling air that burned like ice. 𝘛𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘱-𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘱-𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘱. His heart—𝟭𝟴𝟬 𝐛𝐩𝐦.
Blurred shapes swam above him—a thatched roof, smoke from a clay hearth. Rough hands cradled him. A woman's face: deep wrinkles, eyes rimmed with kohl, tears cutting tracks through dirt. She hummed a lullaby—a melody from the Dream City.
𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦.
He tried to speak. Only a gurgle escaped. His throat was a newborn's—raw, unused. He looked down. 𝐓𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 curled against his chest. Pink. Wrinkled. Not his hands.
Memories flooded him:
- The Institute's cobalt light
- Thorne's panicked shout
- Talisman Chip burning into skin
𝘙𝘦𝘣𝘰𝘳𝘯.
He was Kaito Tanaka no longer. Here, he was... Rizal.
Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing like floating ٱسْمَآء. Outside, a child laughed—a sound echoing with 𝘤𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘫𝘰𝘺. A sparrow landed on the windowsill, 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘰𝘶𝘭.
𝘛𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘮𝘦 Kaito realized. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘪𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘴. 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘴. 𝘌𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦.
He felt the 𝗗𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺 𝗧𝗵𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱—𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘭. 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦. 𝘢 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘥 connecting his tiny body to the vast consciousness beyond the walls. It pulsed with the 𝘛𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘱-𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘱-𝘵𝘩𝘶𝘮𝘱 of his heart.
The woman lifted him higher. 「𝐖𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞, 𝐑𝐢𝐳𝐚𝐥」 she murmured in a language he shouldn't know—but understood. 「𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮」
As her lips brushed his forehead, Kaito felt the Thread 𝘵𝘶𝘨.
Somewhere, in another world, Dr. Thorne stared at a dead monitor.
Somewhere, a 5-𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫-𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝, wondering like adult.
Somewhere in another timelines, a 𝟳-𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫-𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞—her voice unfamiliar, her memories layered with Tokyo rain.
But here—in this sun-drenched room smelling of earth and milk—𝗮 𝗻𝗲𝘄 𝗷𝗼𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘆 𝗯𝗲𝗴𝗮𝗻.