Speaker 1: Calarogu Shark Media.
Speaker 2: Hello and welcome to Echoes of the Void, Episode eight, Resurrection,
Part two.
Speaker 1: We meet in the space between dimensions, our separate awareness
merging not just in alignment, but in perfect union. Not
too consciousnesses resonating in harmony, but a single new consciousness
formed from both, Greater than either alone, different than the
sum of our parts. The entity recoils from this transformation,
its tendrils releasing Alexander as if burned. What is this?
It demands, its multitude of voices, discordant with alarm. What
are you becoming? We don't answer, can't answer as separate
individuals anymore. The new consciousness we've become has no interest
in dialogue with the entity it perceives. The void differently
sees pathways and possibilities invisible before, with clarity that transcends
ordinary understanding. We I recognize what must be done, not
trapping the entity in the stabilizer, a crystal too small
to contain such vastness, not allowing it to follow us
back to physical reality, but something else, entirely, a third
option hidden in the very structure of dimensional boundaries. Through
our merged consciousness, we I reach deeper into the void,
pass the entity's fragmented awareness to the foundational pattern underlying
all realities. The entity's prison was never physical, never a
specific location. It was a resonant frequency, a harmonic barrier
created by Alexander's original binding ritual a century ago. And
we can recreate that barrier, strengthen it, perfect it from
within our new unified consciousness. No, the entity howls, recognizing
our intent too late, it abandons the stabilizer's channel, redirecting
all its vast attention toward us, attacking with everything it possesses.
You cannot contain me. I am beyond your comprehension, beyond
your pitiful human limitations. But we are no longer merely human.
Our merged consciousness exists outside ordinary limitations of perception and ability.
We see the entity for what it truly is, not
a godlike power, but a broken fragment itself, a piece
of something shattered eons ago, something that can be bound
again properly. This time, we begin to weave a new binding,
not with physical anchors or blood sacrifices, but with the
perfect resonance of our unified consciousness, a harmonic barrier attuned
specifically to the entity's frequency, designed to contain it permanently
within the void. The entity fights viciously, tearing at our
merged awareness, trying to create discord, to separate us back
into vulnerable individual consciousnesses. The pain is extraordinary, beyond physical,
beyond even psychological suffering. It's the agony of having one's
very essence attacked at its most fundamental level. But we persevere,
our unified purpose stronger than the entity's desperate assault. The
binding takes shape around it, a multi dimensional lattice of
resonant energy that responds to the entity's struggles by drawing tighter,
more specific to its particular frequency. You cannot escape what
you are, we tell it. As the binding nears completion,
and what you are is contained, with a final surge
of unified will, we close the binding, a perfect prison,
shaped exactly to the entity's frequency, impermeable to its influence,
permanent in ways Alexander's original ritual could never achieve. The
entities howl of rage and defeat reverberates through the void,
through all adjacent dimensions, through the physical room at Blackwood Estate,
where our body sits in trance. The sound of something
ancient being truly constrained for the first time in its existence,
and then silence, the entity contained, unable to reach beyond
its new prison, unable to influence physical reality or the
void beyond its boundaries. But our victory comes with immediate consequence.
The unified consciousness we've become cannot maintain its cohesion. The
effort of creating the binding has depleted our combined energy,
our combined will. We begin to separate, to return to
our individual awareness. Alexander, I call as our merging begins
to reverse. Hold on to me, follow me back. I'm trying,
he responds, his separate consciousness reforming from our unity. But
I'm so weak a lease. The transition requires strength. I
no longer have horror fills me as I realize the
truth in merging completely with him to defeat the entity,
I've shared my energy, my essence. But that sharing has
flowed both ways. His weakness has become mine, his depletion
now affecting us both. Neither of us may have the
strength to complete the crossing. Now, no, I refuse this reality.
I won't accept failure, not when we've come so far
in physical reality. I become aware of Margaret moving within
the triangular boundary, breaking her own rule about non interference.
She's chanting something, adding her blood to the pattern on
the floor, reinforcing the dimensional doorway. With her own sacrifice,
Margaret is helping. I tell Alexander one final push. Together
with the last of our unified strength, we propel ourselves
toward the threshold between worlds, toward the triangulation pattern. In
the master bedroom of Blackwood Estate, I feel the familiar
pull of my physical body, the weight of gravity and
flesh calling my consciousness home. But Alexander remains tethered to
the void even as he strains toward freedom. The century
of binding, combined with the entity's predation, has created roots
that go too deep, connections too fundamental to break through.
Will alone, I can't, he says, his consciousness beginning to
slip from mine. As I'm drawn back toward physical reality,
something still holds me here. Desperation surges through me. After
everything we've accomplished, defeating the entity, creating a permanent binding,
I cannot lose him now, will not lose him. In
that moment of purest need, purest determination, the key around
my physical neck flares with sudden heat, with power that
transcends its simple metal filth. I feel it responding to
our plight, to our separation, activating a potential that has
been dormant until this precise circumstance. The Key, I gasp
in realization, Alexander is not just a symbol. It's the
final component of your original binding ritual, the physical anchor
that connected you to this world, even as the entity
held you in the void. Understanding floods through him. Yes,
I remember now. I created it as a failsafe, a
way back if the binding went wrong. Focus on it,
I urge, as my consciousness continues to be pulled toward
physical reality, follow its resonance. It's attuned specifically to you,
to your frequency. His fading awareness reaches for the key,
attuning itself to the objects resonance. I feel the connection
strengthened between them, between Alexander's consciousness and this physical anchor
he created a century ago. It's working, he says, wonder
coloring his presence. I can feel it pulling me home.
The transition accelerates, his consciousness, following mine along the path
created by the triangulation, guided by the key's resonance. As
we approach the threshold between void and physical reality, I
feel resistance, the natural opposition to a consciousness crossing dimensional boundaries.
Something must take my place, Alexander reminds me, his voice
tight with concern. The exchange requires balance. In answer, the
midnight stabilizer shatters in my physical hand, releasing the portion
of the entity's consciousness that had begun to transfer into it.
Not the entity itself, safely bound now in its new prison,
but a small fragment, an echo of its presence, that
I say, with grim satisfaction, that will take your place.
The fragment is drawn into the void as Alexander crosses
the threshold, the exchange completing with perfect balance. I feel
his consciousness following mine into physical reality, into the triangulation pattern,
where Margaret continues her supportive chanting, her blood mingling with
mine on the ritual floor. And then we're through, both
of us snapping back into physical existence with such force
that I'm thrown backward, my body hitting the floor. At
the edge of the triangular pattern, the resonator explodes into fragments,
its components, unable to contain the energies of our crossing
candles extinguish simultaneously around the room, plunging everything into darkness.
For a moment, there is only silence, only the sound
of my ragged breathing and Margaret's softer exhalations. Then a
new sound, another person, breathing, steady, deep, alive Alexander, I
whisper into the darkness. A match strikes, illuminating Margaret's face
as she lights a single candle. Its flame grows, pushing
back the shadows, revealing the rooms still scattered with ritual components,
still marked with the triangular pattern, and within that pattern,
lying unconscious but undeniably physical, undeniably real, Alexander Blackwood. Not
a ghost, not a consciousness without form, but a flesh
and blood man, his chest rising and falling with steady breath.
I crawled toward him, ignoring the pain of my exhausted body,
The bleeding reopened in my wounded palm. When I reach him,
my trembling fingers touch his face, warm skin, solid, alive, Alexander,
I say again, tears streaming down my face. We did it.
You're free. His eyes flutter open, those impossible eyes that
have haunted my dreams since the first night at Blackwood Estate.
For a moment, there's confusion, disorientation, Then recognition fills his gaze. Elise,
he whispers, his voice rough with disuse, with the novelty
of physical speech, after a century without it, you found
me always, I reply, gathering him into my arms, feeling
the solid weight of him, the miraculous reality of his
physical presence. Margaret approaches cautiously, her expression a mixture of
wonder and concern. The transition appears complete, she says, checking
Alexander's pulse, his pupils, physical form, fully manifested, vital signs, stable,
the entity, Alexander asks, his voice growing stronger as he
adjusts to embodiment. Contained, I assure him properly, this time
in a prison, it cannot escape. Relief washes over his features.
He sits up with my help, looking around the room
with the wonder of someone seeing physical reality anew after
an eternity in the void. How do you feel, I ask,
unable to stop touching him, confirming his solidity, his presence strange,
he admits, heavy, confined, his fingers flex experimentally, exploring sensation,
but good, real, in a way I'd forgotten was possible.
Margaret helps us both to our feet. Alexander sways, slightly,
unaccustomed to gravity, to balance, but remains standing. There will
be adjustments, she warns. Physical reality operates by different rules
than the void. Your consciousness remembers being human, but your
new body will need time to fully integrate with your awareness.
New body, I echo, confused, Margaret nods. The triangulation didn't
retrieve his original physical form that's long gone. It created
a new one, shaped by his consciousness, by his self perception,
by the memory of what he was. Alexand under examines
his hands, his arms. It feels like me, like I
remember being. It is you, Margaret confirms, just reconstituted rather
than resurrected in the traditional sense. I don't care about
the metaphysical details, the technical distinctions. Alexander is here, solid
and real in my arms. The entity is contained. The
century of separation of half existence between worlds is over.
Thank you, I tell Margaret, knowing the words are inadequate
for what she's helped us accomplish. For everything, She smiles tiredly.
My grandmother would be proud. Three generations of Holloways working
to undo what happened in this house one hundred years ago.
She collects her ritual tools, preparing to leave us alone. Rest. Now,
both of you the triangulation has depleted your energy significantly.
We can discuss next steps tomorrow. As she leaves, closing
the door quietly behind her, I turn back to Alexander
in the soft candlelight. He looks exactly as he did
in my dreams, handsome, intense, slightly out of time. But
now when I touch his face, his skin warms under
my fingers. When I kiss him, his lips respond with
physical pressure, physical heat. I can't believe you're really here.
I whisper against his mouth that this is real. His
arms tighten around me, strong and solid, more real than
anything I've experienced in a century. His hand tangles in
my hair, sensation making him gasp slightly. Everything is so immediate,
so intense. I lead him to the bed, the same
bed where we've shared countless dream encounters, where we experience
the exchange ritual just yesterday. But this is different. This
is physical reality, where touch has weight, where sensation has limits,
but also an immediacy that transcends what was possible in
dreams or the void. We learn each other again in
this new context, his hands exploring my body with the
wonder of someone rediscovering touch. My response is heightened by
the knowledge that this is truly Alexander, not just his
consciousness or his ghostly manifestation, but his complete self. Our
joining is both familiar and entirely new. We know each
other's desires intimately from our shared consciousness, yet the physical
expression of those desires brings surprises, discoveries, pleasures that need
either of us anticipated. When release comes, it's grounded in
a way. Our transcendent experiences never were located specifically in
our bodies, yet no less powerful for that limitation. Afterward,
lying in his arms, watching dawnlight begin to filter through
the windows, I feel a sense of completion that goes
beyond physical satisfaction, beyond even the triumph of defeating the entity.
This is what we fought for, what we risked everything
to achieve, Not just Alexander's freedom, not just victory over
cosmic forces, but the simple, profound miracle of being together
in the same reality. What happens now, I ask, softly,
tracing patterns on his chest, the chest that no longer
bears the scar from Sullivan's knife, recreated whole and unmarked
in this new physical form. Alexander's fingers trail along my spine,
each touch a small marvel to him. After so long
without physical sensation, we live, he says, simply. We experience
what was denied me for a century, ordinary days, ordinary pleasures,
sunrise and sunset, rain and snow, food and drink. He
kisses me gently, Love without barriers, without the void between
us and Sullivan. I ask the question, unavoidable despite the
perfection of this moment, his splinter of the entity is
still out there, diminished now that the primary fragment is
properly bound, less dangerous. Alexander's expression grows serious, but still
a concern. Yes, something we'll need to address in time.
In time, I repeat, unwilling to thoughts of future conflicts,
intrude further on this first morning together. For now, this
is enough. You're enough. His smile, the same smile I've
seen in dreams, but now warmed by true life, true presence,
fills me with a joy I hadn't known was possible.
More than enough, he agrees, a miracle I never thought
to experience again. As the sun rises, fully bathing the
room in golden light, Alexander experiences his first sun rise
in a century, not as a ghost trapped between worlds,
not as a consciousness imprisoned in the void, but as
a man restored to life, to wholeness, to love that
transcended time and death and dimensional barriers to find him.
The void between us is gone. What remains is simply us.
Elise and Alexander impossibly reunite, impossibly whole. The resonance we
discovered across a century of separation now manifests in shared breaths,
shared heartbeats, shared life. Some stories end with death, some
with triumph over supernatural forces. But ours, despite all its
ghostly beginnings and cosmic conflicts, ends with something far more extraordinary,
the simple miracle of two people who found each other
across impossible distances, who fought reality itself to be together,
and who now face whatever comes next as they've faced
everything before, together without void or barrier, Just love that
refused to accept the limitations of time, space, life or death.
Speaker 2: Just Us. Romance Weekly is a production of Caloroga Shark
Media executive producers Mark Francis and John McDermott. Portions of
this podcast may have been created with the assistance of
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Speaker 1: Calaruga Shark Media