The unknown

Last night, I dreamed I was walking alone through a shadowy forest at midnight. The trees were so tall and thick they swallowed the stars, but a faint silver path wound ahead, like it was guiding me somewhere I wasn’t supposed to find.

Behind me, something moved — soft footsteps matching mine, always stopping when I stopped. I didn’t feel afraid, just strangely calm, like I knew I had to keep going.

Eventually, I came to a clearing. In the center stood an ancient stone well, half-hidden by black vines that pulsed like veins. From deep inside, I heard a low, echoing chant — not words I recognized, but they felt older than anything I’d ever heard.

I leaned over the edge and whispered my name. The well whispered back, but in a voice layered with others — hundreds of voices, echoing like a chorus. One word rose clear above the rest: Anunnaki.

Suddenly, the trees bent backward, branches cracking like bones, revealing a sky swirling with symbols I couldn’t read. A shape moved deep inside the well — tall, draped in shifting shadows, eyes like burning coals. It whispered again: “We remember you.”

Wind howled so loud I felt it shake my bones. I tried to step back but roots wrapped around my ankles, holding me still as the voice said my name once more.

Then I woke up — breathless, heart pounding — with a faint taste of earth and ash in my mouth, and the word Anunnaki still ringing in my head like a secret I wasn’t supposed to know.