Kairos sat across from his friend, his eyes heavy with universes. "I had a vision," he began.

In a new restaurant, under lights promising success, the owner sat with an investor. On the table lay a contract that looked like a family menu—a selection of delicacies for the soul. But Kairos saw the truth: if the owner signed, the investor wouldn’t deliver capital, but would draw a hidden weapon to wound the innocent. In the dream, Kairos reached out and altered reality, erasing the ink before the weapon's metal could glint. "Not all that glitters is gold," Kairos whispered, "and the heart is not made of metal to be forged by force."

The vision shifted. Kairos returned from his travels between worlds and found Nova. She wasn’t in a bed, but suspended in mid-air, floating in the weightlessness of innocence. He watched her sweet face, knowing the moment of awakening was near.

"She is about to wake up," he thought. And as if love itself were gravity, Nova’s eyes slowly opened, and her feet touched the ground. There were no words, only a hug—a hug where the tenderness of the small met the immensity of the father. In that moment, Kairos understood that his resilience had a name and a purpose: to keep that ground steady for her.

Finally, Kairos told his friend about the threshold. They stood before a door—perhaps a bathroom door, perhaps the door to freedom. He gave her a kiss on the cheek, a goodbye to attachments that no longer nourish, to the vices that try to make the sea shine by force.

"I’m coming from an event," she told him, "where love intoxicates." "Can I go?" Kairos asked, feeling the weight of Saturn’s loneliness. "I went last Saturday," she replied firmly, "and I no longer wish to be drunk on that kind of love."

Kairos reflected on the cycle: the event repeated every Saturday, the seventh day, but they were on the Ninth Day of Saturn, a time outside of time. "I will go," Kairos concluded, "but I will only drink water. I want to feel true love—the kind that doesn’t cloud your vision, but clears your path."

P.S. We are made of love, and that is the only truth. The blue sea reminds us of our freedom. Grab your things, because together we shall sail; there is no better compass than the music that always makes you shine.

Kairos sat across from his friend, his eyes heavy with universes. "I had a vision," he began.

In a new restaurant, under lights promising success, the owner sat with an investor. On the table lay a contract that looked like a family menu—a selection of delicacies for the soul. But Kairos saw the truth: if the owner signed, the investor wouldn’t deliver capital, but would draw a hidden weapon to wound the innocent. In the dream, Kairos reached out and altered reality, erasing the ink before the weapon's metal could glint. "Not all that glitters is gold," Kairos whispered, "and the heart is not made of metal to be forged by force."

The vision shifted. Kairos returned from his travels between worlds and found Nova. She wasn’t in a bed, but suspended in mid-air, floating in the weightlessness of innocence. He watched her sweet face, knowing the moment of awakening was near.

"She is about to wake up," he thought. And as if love itself were gravity, Nova’s eyes slowly opened, and her feet touched the ground. There were no words, only a hug—a hug where the tenderness of the small met the immensity of the father. In that moment, Kairos understood that his resilience had a name and a purpose: to keep that ground steady for her.

Finally, Kairos told his friend about the threshold. They stood before a door—perhaps a bathroom door, perhaps the door to freedom. He gave her a kiss on the cheek, a goodbye to attachments that no longer nourish, to the vices that try to make the sea shine by force.

"I’m coming from an event," she told him, "where love intoxicates." "Can I go?" Kairos asked, feeling the weight of Saturn’s loneliness. "I went last Saturday," she replied firmly, "and I no longer wish to be drunk on that kind of love."

Kairos reflected on the cycle: the event repeated every Saturday, the seventh day, but they were on the Ninth Day of Saturn, a time outside of time. "I will go," Kairos concluded, "but I will only drink water. I want to feel true love—the kind that doesn’t cloud your vision, but clears your path."

P.S. We are made of love, and that is the only truth. The blue sea reminds us of our freedom. Grab your things, because together we shall sail; there is no better compass than the music that always makes you shine.