His name is Aliver Wast.
A 24-year-old man who once believed his life was ordinary.
He laughed when laughter was expected.
He grieved when tragedy struck.
He loved his family as if tomorrow was guaranteed.
Nothing felt strange.
Until it did.
It began with patterns.
Misfortune arriving at the perfect dramatic timing.
Happiness blooming only to be torn apart moments later.
Arguments escalating with unnatural precision, as if guided.
At first, he dismissed it as coincidence.
But coincidence should not be symmetrical.
One night, standing beneath a silent sky, Aliver saw it.
A faint fracture stretching across the air.
Not clouds.
Not lightning.
A line.
Thin. Geometric. Wrong.
He blinked—and it vanished.
Yet something inside him shifted.
For the first time in his life, he felt it.
The world was not flowing.
It was being arranged.
And somewhere beyond what he could see…
Something was writing.