Speaker 1: Calarogu Shark Media, Hello and Welcome to Echoes of the Void,
Episode three, Artifacts, Part one.
Speaker 2: Prague in winter feels like a city suspended between worlds.
Gothic spires pierce a pearl, gray sky, Snow muffles footsteps
on ancient cobblestones. Time moves differently here, the medieval and
modern coexisting in a dream like state. Perhaps that's why
Margaret suggested I come, a city famous for its ghosts
and alchemists, might be the perfect place to find what
we need. It's been two weeks since the solstice, since
Alexander and I created the third Anchor, two weeks of preparation,
of studying the ancient text of Margaret, calling in favors
from colleagues across the occult academic world, all leading me
here to the narrow, winding streets of Prague's old town,
searching for a man who might possess the final artifact
we need for the triangulation. I clutch the crystal anchor
in my coat pocket, its warmth a constant reminder of
Alexander's presence across the Void. The ceremonial knife and the
text remain at Blackwood Estate with Margaret too dangerous to
travel with all three anchor points together. But I keep
the key around my neck always, its metal warm against
my skin, no matter how bitter the check winter becomes
Dragomere Novak. That's the name Margaret's contacts provided. A collector
of occult artifacts, a scholar of liminal spaces, A man
who supposedly possesses the one object that can protect me
during the full triangulation, a specialized crystal that can stabilize
human consciousness during dimensional transitions. Without it, Margaret had warned,
your mind could be torn apart when you attempt to
bring Alexander back. Every step of the way, you need protection.
Finding Novak has proven challenging. His address is an ancient
building tucked into a crooked alley off the Old Town Square.
I've knocked three times over two days, with no answer,
no name on the door, no indication anyone has lived
here recently. Today, on my third attempt, I noticed something different.
A small symbol etched into the doorframe that wasn't there before,
Or perhaps it was and I simply didn't see it.
A triangle with an eye at its center, the same
symbol that appears repeatedly in the ancient text Alexander found
in France. I trace the symbol with my fingertip, and
immediately the crystal anchor in my pocket pulses with heat.
The key around my neck seems to vibrate in response.
Something within me, that part of me that can reach
across the void to Alexander, recognizes this place, this symbol,
as if responding to my touch. The door swings open silently.
No one stands in the doorway, just a dimly lit
corridor beyond. Every instinct should be screaming danger, but instead
I feel a pull, a recognition, the same feeling I
had when I first set foot in Blackwood Estate. I
step inside and the door closes behind me of its
own accord. Mister Novak, I call, my voice, swallowed by
the silence of the old building. No answer comes, but
lights flicker to life along the corridor, guiding me deeper
into the house. I follow, one hand on the crystal anchor,
the other ready to grab the small vial of protective
liquid Margaret insisted I carry. The corridor opens into a
circular room lined with bookshelves. A fireplace flares to life
as I enter, illuminating a space that feels more like
a small museum than a living area. Display Cases hold
objects of obvious antiquity and power, amulets, manuscripts, ritual tools.
The wall walls are covered with maps marked with complex symbols,
diagrams of cosmic alignments, illustrations of what appear to be
dimensional gateways. But what draws my attention is the painting
above the fireplace, a portrait of a man in early
twentieth century formal attire. His gaze intense and familiar. Though
the style and setting are different from the portrait I
found at Blackwood Estate, there's no mistaking Alexander's face. He
was remarkable, wasn't he? A voice says from behind me,
even before his transformation. I turned to find an elderly
man standing in a doorway I hadn't noticed before, Tall
and thin, with silver hair, and eyes so dark they
appear almost black. He wears a well tailored suit that
seems neither modern nor antique, but somehow timeless. Dragomir Novak,
I ask, though I already know the answer. He inclines
his head slightly, and you are Alice Morgan, the woman
who shares consciousness resonance with Alexander Blackwood. His English is perfect,
accented only slightly. I've been expecting you. The crystal anchor
pulses in my pocket, neither warning nor welcome, simply recognition.
You have a portrait of Alexander, I say, nodding toward
the fireplace. Did you know him? Novak moves further into
the room, his movements graceful despite his apparent age. Not personally, no,
but I've studied him for decades, his work with liminal spaces,
with cross dimensional communication. He was ahead of his time.
How do you know about me? About my connection to Alexander?
He smiles, an express that doesn't quite reach those dark eyes.
The void speaks to those who know how to listen,
and what happened at the winter solstice that created ripples
felt by many who study such phenomena. I touched the
crystal anchor in my pocket, suddenly protective of it. Margaret
Holloway suggested, you might have something. I need, a crystal
that can protect my consciousness during dimensional transition. Ah Margaret
from the Holloway lineage. Her grandmother was quite formidable. Novak
gestures to a pair of chairs near the fire. Please sit.
This conversation requires comfort and perhaps tea I remain standing.
I'd prefer to complete my business and go. I don't
have much time. The smile fades from his face. No,
I suppose you don't. Entity grows stronger with each passing day,
feeding on what remains of Alexander's consciousness. Soon there may
be nothing left of him to save. A chill runs
through me at his words, you know about the entity,
of course. He moves to one of the display cases,
opening it with a small key he produces from his pocket.
I've spent my life studying entities from the void, fragments
of the ancient one that was shattered eons ago. Fragments,
I repeat, So there are more than what's bound with Alexander.
Novak removes something from the case, a crystal similar in
size to the anchor Alexander and I created, but different
in composition. Where our anchor shifts with colors that reflect
our joined consciousness, this crystal is midnight blue, with pin
points of light suspended within, like a captured piece of
night sky. Many fragments, he confirms, turning the crystal in
his hands, scattered across dimensions, some bound by ancient rituals,
some still roaming free in the spaces between worlds. He
looks up at me. The one bound with Alexander is
particularly old and particularly dangerous. Why because it has learned patience.
Most fragments are hungry, impulsive, seeking immediate gratification. This one planned,
it waited, It orchestrated events across a century to find
the perfect vessel. His dark gaze settles on me. You.
I take an involuntary step back. I'm not its vessel.
I refused its offer for now. He sets the Midnight
Crystal on a small table between us. But your repeated
journeys to the threshold of the void have marked you,
changed you. Have you noticed how much easier it becomes
each time, How the boundaries between worlds seem to thin
around you. I have noticed, though I haven't admitted it
to anyone, not even Margaret, how ordinary reality sometimes seems
less substantial than it once did. How I can feel
the void pulsing just beyond the visible world, even when
I'm not actively seeking contact with Alexander. That's why you
need this, Novak continues, gesturing to the crystal, not just
to protect your consciousness during triangulation, but to ensure you
remain yourself afterward, to prevent the slow transformation. The entity
has already begun within you. Fear and anger rise in
equal measure. I'm not being transformed an Alexand would have
warned me if that were happening, would he? Novak ask softly,
if he believed it was the only way to free
himself to be with you. I reach for the crystal anchor,
drawing strength from its warmth, from the distant sense of
Alexander's presence, it provides. You don't know him or me,
perhaps not. Novak picks up the Midnight crystal again. But
I know entities from the void. I know how they manipulate,
how they seduce with exactly what we most desire. He
holds the crystal out to me. Take it. Whether I'm
right or wrong, you'll need its protection. I eye the
crystal warily. What's your price? A fair question? He places
the crystal back on the table between us. I want
access to your memories of the void, your direct experiences
with the entity, knowledge that cannot be gained from books
or secondhand accounts. How would you access my memories through
a simple ritual, painless, non invasive. I would observe only
what you choose to share. Something tells me it wouldn't
be that simple, that benign. But I need what he has.
I'll consider it first. I want to know more about
this crystal. What exactly does it do? Novak nods, seemingly
pleased by my caution. It's called a stabilizer, created centuries
ago by an order of Czech alchemists who specialized in
dimensional travel. It anchors human consciousness to physical reality while
allowing the mind to traverse the void. And it would
protect me from the entity's influence to an extent. No
protection is absolute, but it would prevent the kind of
gradual transformation I believe has begun. He studies me carefully.
You don't trust me, I don't know you wise, He
gestures toward the painting of Alexander. He trusted too easily
believed Sullivan was merely a colleague, a friend sharing his
intellectual pursuits. Never saw the jealousy, the hunger for power
that made him susceptible to the entity's influence. I moved
toward the painting, studying Alexander's face, so familiar yet somehow
different from the man I know. You seem to know
a great deal about what happened. I've studied the case extensively.
The Blackwood binding, as it's known in certain circles, was
a remarkable feat. Flawed, but remarkable, Novak joins me. By
the painting, few have ever managed to partially bind a
void fragment without complete destruction of their own consciousness. Alexander
was special. The way he says special makes me turn
to look at him more closely. Special. How Novak's dark
eyes gleam in the firelight, like you. He had a
natural affinity for liminal spaces, a consciousness that could perceive
beyond ordinary reality. That's why the entity chose him. Whyat
arranged for him to find the text in France, arranged
you make it sound like nothing was coincidental, Novak interrupts,
Not Alexander finding the text, not Sullivan's betrayal, not your
inheritance of Blackwood estate a century later. He turns back
to the crystal on the table. The entity has been
orchestrating this scenario for longer than you can imagine. I
want to dismiss his words as paranoia, as the conspiracy
theories of an isolated occultist. But something rings true in
what he's saying, resonates with doubts. I've tried to suppress.
If what you're saying is true, I say slowly, then
my connection with Alexander is genuine, Novak says, surprising me.
The entity didn't create your resonance. It simply recognized its
potential and positioned you both to activate it. He picks
up the Midnight Crystal again. Some connections exist beyond the
entity's manipulation, beyond even the void itself. What you humans
sometimes call soulmates is actually a quantum entanglement of consciousness
that transcends dimensional boundaries. The key at my throat warms
at his words, as if responding to this truth. Then
helping me free Alexander would disrupt the entity's plans. Yes,
which is why it will fight you with everything it possesses.
He holds out the crystal once more. Now do you
understand why you need this? I do, But something still
holds me back. You still haven't told me your real price.
Knowledge of the void isn't all you want. A smile
slowly spreads across Novak's face, genuine, this time, reaching those
dark eyes. You are perceptive, Elise Morgan, very well, My
full price is this knowledge of your experienceiances in the
void and you'll promise to return here after the triangulation,
to tell me what you learned, what you saw, and
to bring me a sample of the entity's essence, if possible,
a sample. How would I even do that? The stabilizer
crystal can capture and contain small amounts of void energy.
If you succeed in freeing Alexander while keeping the entity bound,
a trace of its essence will transfer to the crystal.
He shrugs slightly. Think of it as a scientific sample
for study only. Every instinct tells me this is dangerous,
that Novak's interest in the entity goes beyond academic curiosity.
But I need the stabilizer crystal. Without it, According to
both him and Margaret, I risk losing myself in the
triangulation attempt. I'll agree to share my experience speriences, I say, carefully,
and to return hereafter if I can, But I make
no promises about bringing you a sample of the entity.
That decision will depend on what happens during the triangulation.
Novak considers this for a long moment, those dark eyes unreadable. Finally,
he nods, acceptable, though, I think you'll find that once
you've used the stabilizer, you'll want to return it to
me personally. He holds out the crystal. Do we have
an agreement? I hesitate only briefly before taking the midnight
crystal from his hand. The moment my fingers close around it,
a shock runs through me, not painful, but intense. The
crystal seems to pulse in response to my touch, the
pinpoints of light within it swirling like tiny stars. At
the same time time, the anchor crystal in my pocket
and the key around my neck both grow warmer, as
if recognizing a new component in our dimensional equation. It
responds to you, Novak observes, as I thought it would.
Your consciousness is already partially attuned to the void. I
slip the stabilizer crystal into my other pocket, keeping the
anchor crystal separate. What now, How do I fulfill my
end of the bargain? Novak gestures toward the doorway he
entered from my workroom. Is through here the ritual to
share your void experiences will take perhaps an hour comfortable,
as I promised, though you may find it intimate. Something
in the way, he says intimate makes me uneasy. But
I've come too far to turn back now. I follow
him through the doorway into a smaller room dominated by
a circular table. The surface of the table is inscribed
with familiar symbols, many matching those in Alexander's ancient text.
In the center sits a device somewhat similar to Margaret's resonator,
but more complex with multiple rotating components. Please sit, Novak says,
indicating a chair at the table. As I take my seat,
he moves around the room, lighting candles, adjusting curtains to
block out what little daylight filters through the windows. The
ritual requires a certain liminality of its own, not quite darkness,
not quite light. I keep one hand in my coat pocket,
fingers wrapped around the anchor crystal, drawing comfort from Alexander's
distant presence. Will this affect my connection to Alexander? No,
In fact, it may strengthen it. Novac takes the seat
opposite me. The ritual opens channels in your consciousness, makes
you more receptive to cross dimensional communication. He places a
small bowl in the center of the table, filling it
with a liquid that smells of herbs and something metallic.
From around his neck, he removes a crystal pendant similar
to but smaller than the stabilizer he gave me. This
will guide me to the specific memories we seek, he explains,
dipping the pendant into the liquid, I will see what
you've experienced in the void, but nothing more. Your privacy
remains intact. I'm skeptical, but say nothing. As he begins
to adjust the device in the center of the table,
its components start to rotate, slowly, creating a low humming
sound just at the edge of hearing. Close your eyes,
Novak instructs, think of your journeys to the void of Alexander,
of the Entity. Let those memories rise to the surface
of your consciousness. I do as he asks, partly because
I've agreed to this exchange, partly because I'm curious about
the ritual itself. I close my eyes and let my
mind drift to those experiences, my first tentative contacts with
Alexander across the void, the growing strength of our connection,
the creation of the anchor crystal at the solstice, and yes,
my encounters with the Entity. The humming from the device intensifies.
The air in the room seems to thicken, to press
against my skin. Behind my closed eyelids, I see patterns
forming geometric shapes, that correspond to the rotation of the device,
creating a visual representation of its sound. Yes, Novak murmurs, good,
the memories are accessing. Now reach for Alexander. Let me
see how you connect across the void without questioning. I
do this too, reaching through that now familiar channel in
my consciousness, seeking the unique frequency that is Alexander. The
crystal anchor in my pocket grows almost hot against my fingers,
the key around my neck pulses in rhythm with my
heart beat, And suddenly, unexpectedly, he's there, not just a
distant presence, but immediate, as if the ritual has somehow
amplified our connection. Eli Alexander's voice in my mind, urgent
and clear. Where are you? Something's wrong? I feel interference.
I try to respond mentally, without speaking aloud, prague with
a man named Novak, getting something to help with the triangulation.
Novak alarm colors Alexander's presence at lease, be careful that name.
I know it from somewhere, something in Sullivan's papers. The
connection wavers. As Novak leans forward across the table. I
feel his attention shift, as if he's noticed our communication. Fascinating,
he says, his voice seeming to come from very far away.
You can reach him even now without the full resonator
set up. The bond between you is remarkably strong. I
try to maintain the connection with Alexander, to ask what
he knows about Novak, but the ritual is pulling me
in a different direction. Now, the rotating device spins faster,
the humming deepening to a vibration. I can feel in
my chest memory's surface without my conscious direction. My first
dream of Alexander, the night I discovered his portrait are
early encounters in that liminal space between sleeping and waking.
The sensations of those experiences flood through me, his touch,
his kiss, the impossible pleasure of our connection across the
boundaries of life and death.
Speaker 3: This episode will continue next week. Romance Weekly is a
production of Calaroga Shark Media executive producers Mark Francis and
John McDermott. Portions of this podcast may have been created
with the assistance of Ai
Speaker 2: Calaruga Shark Media.