“What do you see exactly?” Maria’s voice pierced through the thick fog of concentration clouding Michael’s thoughts.

  He flinched slightly at the sound, but it was a reminder—one he needed. Damn it, now that I was starting to enjoy it… oh well, she’s the teacher, after all…

  “A river—the one we visited on that trip together. I dreamed about it last night,” Michael muttered, his voice distant, like he was speaking from somewhere else entirely.

  “Good,” Maria replied, calm yet firm. “Focus. Look around. Don’t overthink it. Live the moment.”

  So this is navigation… The name makes sense, it’s literally like being on a boat, the boat being the mind of the other person… and the water you’re sailing on—her world. Unless I’m mistaken of course, delusional in a certain way, and I’m just imagining things.

  Michael let out a shallow breath, nodding as he scanned the scene. Not too convinced, to be honest. It just seemed like a scam, that’s all.

  The river stretched ahead of him, its tranquil surface reflecting slivers of sunlight that peeked through scattered clouds. Strange trees, bright green and shaped like balloons, with roots dripping into the water like veins, pulsating with life. He sat in a narrow canoe, its wooden frame creaking softly beneath his weight. Behind him, the man paddled slowly, silently—his presence looming just outside of clarity.

  Michael shifted uncomfortably, trying to focus but unsure of how much was real. The world wasn’t his—it belonged to someone else entirely. Yet it felt familiar, like stepping into the faint echoes of his own forgotten memories. His voice trembled as he spoke again.

  “There’s Dad,” he said cautiously. “Behind me.”

  “Good. Speak to him,” Maria prompted, her words cutting through the haze with precision.

  Michael hesitated. “What should I say?”

  Maria’s tone softened. “Don’t think too much. Live the moment. Feel what she feels.”

  Wish I could do that, maybe when she’s alone, in her room… Damn it Michael, concentrate!

  Closing his eyes briefly, Michael steadied himself, letting the sensations wash over him. Not the sensations he wanted, but the ones that were coming. Go with the flow was the motto here. Be her.

  The air was heavy, humid, brimming with the faint sweetness of blooming flowers and the earthy tang of damp wood. Sounds mingled, blurring together—a gurgling ripple below him, the soft scrape of the paddle against water, and somewhere farther off, the faint chatter of distant birds. His breath caught as the memories deepened. It was her world, now, he was sure. Yes, the images he saw in his mind were his own, built with the bricks of his own memories. But what he was experiencing was something foreign to him: feelings, emotions that didn’t belong to him, like an alien world inhabiting his brain, so to speak. Yet, on second thought, the alien was not the girl. He was inhabiting her—the girl—so he was the alien.

  Everything seemed sharper, almost unnervingly real. The river stretched wider, its banks receding farther into the distance than he remembered. The canoe rocked lightly beneath him, its proportions unfamiliar—hers. His gaze dropped to his legs, tanned and slender, her legs. For the first time, Michael felt the faint shiver of disconnection—his body wasn’t his anymore. It was hers.

  The man behind him paddled rhythmically, his sinewy arms moving with efficient grace. Michael didn’t just see him—he felt him, the anchor of her memories, a steadfast presence radiating comfort. Her father. The connection startled him, but it wasn’t frightening. It was safe, warm, familiar. He exhaled softly and spoke again.

  “Dad, what kind of trees are those? The ones with roots falling into the water?” The words tumbled out clumsily, more his own than hers. Michael tried to relax as the man responded. He couldn’t understand the words at first, but her memories compensated, translating them as though they were his own. No need to look for translations. I’m the girl now, I know this language. And when we talk… we don’t think about the meaning of the words… we just let it happen… the meaning comes to us.

  “They’re mangroves, of course,” her father said, and he finally understood him. “The roots sink deep into the water, sometimes meters below. Fish and creatures live between them, hiding from predators. It’s where life thrives. They are part of the river, as are the water and the fish.”

  “Like a coral reef?” Michael asked, his voice slipping back into hers.

  “What’s a coral reef?” her father replied.

  “I saw it on television.”

  “I don’t understand—where did you find a television?”

  Idiot! That was Michael—not the girl. The Michael from Rosenfield. If I really want to navigate her mind, I have to become her.

  Michael felt a warm, soft hand stroke his palm—it was his mother’s. It was the signal he and Maria had agreed on, a gentle reminder to stay immersed in the moment through the eyes, body, and memories of that faraway place, not through the lens of this body sitting on the couch in his living room, absorbed in a world too distant from hers. He had to live it—that life tens of thousands of kilometers away—not explain it, not impose his point of view. He had to be her.

  Sorry, I will not try to impose my point of view on yours anymore, I will try to just be you, without prejudices!

  He knew the girl could not hear him, but he still perceived a sort of warmth in his heart, as if the girl managed somehow to tell him not to worry, that everything was fine. Stop imagining things, it’s not possible!

  He felt comfortable now, enjoying the hot, humid weather. Even the insects did not bother him. He was home. The shimmering of the light on the water, the buzzing sounds and far echoes of the fishermen’s cries… the breeze on the sweaty skin, scorched by the sun. All very familiar.

  Then, something shifted. The air grew still, the light dimming as the memory began to warp. A shadow moved across the mangroves, bending their shapes unnaturally, like they were twisting away from his gaze. Michael flinched, his breath catching as the steady pulse of her world faltered.

  Something’s wrong…

  The thought struck him unbidden, cutting through the calm like a knife. He tried to focus, tried to cling to the sensations, but her unease pulsed through him—hers, not his. Should I leave? Am I afraid? Is she afraid? Are we in danger?

  “Michael,” Maria’s voice cut through again. “You need to focus. Stay in the moment. Don’t lose her.”

  But the mangroves blurred, dissolving into warped shadows that clawed at the edges of the scene. Michael felt the world shift again, the canoe shaking beneath him as her father’s presence sharpened into focus. His figure loomed larger, his movements quicker, his eyes fixed on her—on him.

  The girl’s emotions surged forward—comfort and trust intertwined with unyielding fear.

  Is it still… Dad?

  Her father’s hand—was it her father’s?—reached out. Michael felt her hesitate.

  She’s resisting it, but why?

  Her struggle rippled through their connection, pulling at him, dragging him deeper into feelings of alienation, solitude, despair.

  Her hand moved instinctively to meet his, pushed by an unknown power. Like it was controlling her, like she was its puppet. Michael followed, unable to stop himself—the navigation pulling him closer, forcing him to live through her moment. As their fingers almost touched, just a few inches apart, the world erupted.

  The canoe lurched. He was going to fall! The world around him blurred, twisting in ways he couldn’t control. The steady presence of Malee’s father was now amplified, lurking above him like a demonic shadow, his claw-like fingers almost touching his, enveloping them.

  What are you doing? Where are you bringing me?

  Then, like two dark clouds in the sky right before a thunderstorm, the fingers touched.

  Michael gasped sharply as a burst of energy slammed into him, raw and unrelenting. It wasn’t the familiar warmth of illumination—it was different, violent, invasive. Like a physical object slammed into his flesh.

  The connection tightened, pulling him deeper, faster than he could process. Malee’s father possessed the Light—Michael could feel it. And he was illuminating him! But he was a vessel, nothing else.

  I’m in her mind, in her memories… he’s not really here, touching me! How is it possible?

  The memory of her father, was twisted somehow, manipulated, forcing the illumination into spaces it didn’t belong.

  Pain lanced through Michael’s body. His chest tightened, his breath shallow and uneven. His vision blurred, swimming with colors that didn’t make sense.

  Is it real? Is it my real body that is aching?

  Back in Rosenfield, Michael focused his attention, the connection of the navigation somehow severed, but still he could not be totally himself.

  Have I really been… illuminated?

  Back in Rosenfield, Michael’s physical body convulsed, his limbs jerking as tremors racked him. Blood—it must be blood—trickled from his nose, warm and slow, staining his shirt. He could hear faint voices in the room—Maria and Edgar calling his name—but the sound was distant, muffled by the chaos consuming his mind.

  “Michael, get out! You need to get out!” Maria’s voice cut through faintly, her words sharp but drowned in the tide of energy surging through him.

  The Light trembled.

  Erica felt it ripple through her mind—unstable, chaotic, dangerous. She braced herself, pulling every thread of her own illumination into focus, but the pressure was immense, consuming. Malee’s presence was undeniable, her energy forcing its way through the delicate fabric of the Light, reaching for Michael like claws in the dark.

  Michael is not your toy!

  Erica’s thoughts thundered in her mind, the words sharp and biting. Che knew they reached the girl’s mind. They reached far beyond the limits of sound, spreading immensely through the subtle vibrations of the Light, through quantum connections that defied human understanding.

  The ache of frustration burned in her chest as she fought to steady herself, weaving her Poet’s abilities into threads of defense.

  He needs calm, focus, willpower... Concentrate, Erica. Use Heartstrings Lullaby. You can do it.

  Using her Poet ability, she sent the emotions forward, wrapping them around Michael as barriers against the storm. But Malee’s energy surged again, more forceful this time, tearing through Erica’s influence like it was nothing.

  “Why?” Erica whispered in the silence of the Light, her voice filled with desperation. Her question hung unanswered, sharp and fragile. “Why are you doing this?”

  She could feel Malee’s touch on Michael, the way her illumination pressed against him, suffocating, pulling him deeper into the dreamlike state.

  Erica closed her eyes, trying to center herself. She knew Malee’s power was extraordinary—it was the power of a Queen, like hers. Yet there was something different about it, something raw, unrefined, but impossible to ignore. Malee wasn’t just attacking. Erica could feel the girl’s struggle, the undercurrent of resistance within her illumination. Malee wasn’t entirely in control—she was being forced to act.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Michael struggled to regain control, tried to anchor himself in the moment, but the connection was overwhelming. He thought he was a Guardian, thought he could resist illumination like it was nothing... How na?ve!

  The power of this girl... could anything stop her?

  Malee’s world pressed against his own, vast and unrelenting, demanding space. The memories were hers, the emotions hers, yet they were suffocating him, threatening to engulf his identity entirely.

  A quiet change rippled through the chaos—a new force threading through his thoughts. It wasn’t Malee’s, but it wasn’t his either.

  Is somebody helping me? Mum, is it you?

  Michael couldn’t place it, but it was there, steady and quiet amidst the turmoil. The pressure eased slightly—just enough for him to breathe, enough for his mind to push back against the dissonance.

  The scene began to crack. The river dissolved, its shimmering surface replaced by shadows and void. The canoe vanished, its creak silenced. Michael tried to hold on to what remained, tried to cling to the fragments of her world, but the force of the illumination refused to let go.

  Malee’s memories surged again—stronger, heavier, pushing against his mind in waves of chaos. It advanced like total darkness, suffocating him under immense pressure. Michael gasped, his chest tightening as the weight grew unbearable, his breath stolen by the crushing sensation. It was like being submerged tens of meters underwater—the depth pulling at his body, the pressure increasing exponentially. More and more, the chaos consumed him, and Michael felt himself begin to unravel.

  I cannot take it anymore... Is it possible to die like this? Is this the end?

  Suddenly, the atmosphere turned heavy, damp, oppressive. But at least he could breathe. I’m not going to die, after all. Or am I?

  The sky above cloaked itself in dark, solid clouds, thick and immovable. Michael felt it immediately—an unsettling, suffocating change that made his chest tighten. He tried to look up, but the air itself seemed to weigh down on him, resisting every movement.

  Malee’s mother appeared, moving through the shadows, holding a glass of pale brown liquid in her hand, ready to help. It wasn’t Coke. It wasn’t Mum. Michael knew immediately after tasting it—bitter, metallic, with an aftertaste that lingered unpleasantly on his tongue.

  Who is she?

  It was clear. Malee now felt disgusted by the presence of this woman. Disappointed, at the least. They were now sitting at a table. It should have felt warm and soft to the touch, but it was cold and smooth. Metallic. Even the rice on her plate clashed with what she expected from her memories—it had turned bland, lifeless. The fish, once fresh and appetizing, now appeared slimy, fried into unrecognizable chunks that crumbled to dust when touched. The world around him felt wrong, decayed.

  He looked down. The river was gone. Her parents—gone too.

  That’s it! I see it now! If my brain is processing these emotions and feelings right...

  They were trapped in a prison cell. The walls were gray and filthy, stained with streaks that hinted at years of neglect. They sat at a cold, metallic table. They had been given horrible food. They wished it was tasteless; at least they wouldn’t have felt like throwing up. The room was dirty, stinky, oppressive. The emotions he was feeling were suffocating—like being trapped.

  No doubt, they were prisoners.

  What are they doing to you? Why are they keeping you here, why? he found himself asking. Damn, she cannot hear me!

  Dim light seeped through a high window, unreachable, casting a sickly yellow glow across the small space. It wasn’t sunlight; it was artificial, like the harsh glare of streetlamps. The air was damp, carrying the stench of mildew, metal, and car exhaust fumes.

  Michael’s breath caught. He understood immediately. They were in a city now, no longer by the river. The memories he had experienced before were fragments of Malee’s past, a refuge she had created to escape her present reality. But this... this was her present. Her horrible, oppressive present. Her real life.

  The realization struck like lightning. Malee wasn’t the enemy, not truly. Erica’s breath caught, the threads of her defense faltering momentarily. She could feel Malee’s desperation seeping through the Light, tangled with the overwhelming strength of her power. It wasn’t just the strength of a Queen—it was the strength of survival. Malee was fighting too, though her fight was different.

  “Let him go!” Erica demanded, her voice shaking but fired up with the force of everything she had left to fight with. “He doesn’t belong to this. He’s not yours to use.”

  Malee’s illumination faltered for a moment, but then surged again, stronger than ever. Erica gasped, bracing herself against the weight of the Light crashing into her. She could feel the connections burning around her, her influence straining to hold its ground. Michael was caught in the storm, his own will slipping further away, the dreamlike state pulling him deeper.

  Erica forced herself to act. Her Poet abilities swelled within her, sending waves of resilience and clarity into Michael’s mind. Hold on, Michael. Hold on to yourself, she thought, pouring the strength of her illumination into him. Yet the chaos advanced, darker and heavier, pressing against her defenses.

  It is not working. I need to try something else.

  A ripple through the Light.

  It wasn’t Malee. It wasn’t Michael. It was something else—something that wrapped around them like a shield, pushing gently against the suffocating darkness. The figures in the room blurred, their sharp edges softening, their presence fading just enough to breathe. A thread of calm wove through the fear—steady and resolute.

  “No,” the presence whispered, its voice quiet yet commanding. “You won’t take him.”

  “I can’t…”

  “I see now. It’s now your fault, but I cannot let you use him as your toy. But I know: to defend him, I need first to help you.”

  Michael didn’t understand the words fully, but he felt their impact. It was tangible. A barrier formed between him and the void of the cell. The air felt lighter, the weight lifting just enough for him to regain control of his thoughts.

  In the heart of the storm, Erica saw Malee.

  She wasn’t just a force—she was there, her presence tangible in the Light. Erica’s illumination reached toward her instinctively, and for the first time, the two Queens confronted each other directly. Malee’s energy burned bright, uncontrolled, while Erica’s threads wove through the chaos, seeking balance.

  Erica felt the tension hit like a boss battle—their power clashed, pushing and pulling, each of them refusing to back down. But beneath it, she felt something else. Malee wasn’t just reaching for Michael; she was reaching for her. The Light flickered, and Erica glimpsed the truth behind Malee’s actions. It wasn’t just manipulation—it was survival. Malee was trapped, her power twisted by forces she couldn’t control, forced to act in ways she didn’t want.

  “I’ll fight you if I have to,” Erica thought, the words fierce but tinged with sorrow. “But you’re not alone in this. I see you, Malee. I see what they’re doing to you.”

  The two Queens stood against each other in the realm of the Light, their energies clashing, yet their connection deepening. Erica felt Malee’s fear slam into her like a wave, but there was something else in it—her anger, her pain—and Erica could feel her own emotions boiling up, crashing back toward Malee. The rivalry between them was undeniable, but so was the fragile thread of understanding.

  “We’ll manage,” Erica whispered, her voice carried by the Light. “We’ll fix this—together. But leave Michael out of it, okay? I mean it!”

  Then she acted: she severed the illumination of Malee’s father. If Malee was a victim here, there was no point in fighting her. If she wanted to win, she had to defend her.

  Flame of Rebellion—that’s what I need. Erica locked onto the connection, pouring everything she had into it. She concentrated on the connection the linked Malee to her captors. It wasn’t a simple illumination—it was something… chemical? Did they inject poison into her? But there was no time to wonder.

  She ignited feelings of defiance and resistance. She inspired her to challenge authority, to break free from constraints. The moment she sent her wave, the Light exploded like a dam giving way to the power of an immense river. Compared to that surge in power, Erica felt her illumination was just a drop in the ocean. But a drop that allowed the incredible amount of free will left in Malee—or, better, desperation—to break her chains. Everything flooded away in a tsunami of relief and then, as if it nothing had happened, everything was quiet again.

  Silence enveloped him. The crushing darkness dissipated, replaced by emptiness. The cell was gone. The river was gone. The canoe was gone. Malee was gone. Michael floated in the vast hollow that remained—a void so complete it almost felt peaceful.

  And then, at the very end there was, rest.

  Michael gasped awake, his chest heaving, desperate for air. His limbs trembled violently, his body heavy with the lingering sensations of what he had just experienced. Blood still trickled faintly from his nose, streaking his face and staining his shirt. He blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his surroundings—the faint glow of the living room lamp, Maria’s worried face hovering over him, and Edgar pacing near the sofa.

  “She’s in Bangkok…” Michael gasped, like the words had been punched out of him. The weight in his chest didn’t let up, but he had to get this out—it was too important. “She found a way to tell me…”

  Maria leaned closer, her hands steadying his shoulders, her touch gentle despite the panic in her eyes. “What are you talking about? Are you okay?” she asked urgently.

  “Her name is Malee,” Michael blurted out. He didn’t even know if they’d believe him—it sounded so crazy. “She made a boy call her, so I could hear it. And she showed me where she is—through a magazine. There was an article, something about skyscrapers… Bangkok. That’s where she is.”

  His heart pounded, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths as the memory came flooding back. He remembered opening his eyes—no longer in the suffocating chaos of the previous moment but in a meadow, bathed in golden light. The air was warm and thick, the grass poking at his ankles like tiny needles. Michael didn’t care—it wasn’t his feeling, but hers, and somehow that made it okay.

  Kids their age roamed the meadow, laughing and running like they didn’t have a care in the world. Michael could hear it all—the rustling leaves, the river humming softly in the background, just loud enough to feel alive. The mangroves downstream looked like something out of a fantasy game—dark, twisty, and totally hiding something epic. Seriously, Malee, what’s with this mangrove obsession? Is this, like, the jungle version of cat videos?

  But Malee loved this place, and her awe slowly soaked into him like sunlight—it felt almost magical.

  She held something in her hands: a magazine, its pages slightly frayed from use. Michael felt the weight of the paper against his fingers as though he were holding it himself, the connection so complete it blurred the boundaries between them. The children surrounding them clung to every word she read aloud. They hung on her voice—not for what it meant, but for what it represented. She must have been the only one among them who could read.

  Michael had glanced at the text on the page, strange and unfamiliar. The alphabet wasn’t his, but somehow, through her connection, he understood it.

  The magazine articles were eclectic, their subjects varied. One spoke of the King of Thailand, his birthday celebrations, and the grandeur of the festivities. Another described plans for towering skyscrapers, shining beacons of modernity that would rise above the river, casting their shadows across her world. Others mentioned personal computers—strange, unfamiliar devices that promised change, creating jobs and improving lives.

  Michael felt the children’s curiosity waning. Some stood up, wandering off toward the distant stilt houses. These stories weren’t meant for them—poor, simple kids who had grown up along the riverbanks, far removed from modernity. Words like skyscrapers and personal computers meant little in their lives. Even the royal celebrations felt distant, unattainable. So, they ran toward the houses, climbing the rickety platforms and diving into the cool water below. Their laughter carried across the meadow, light and uninhibited.

  Malee’s emotions stirred within him. She wanted to join them, and so did Michael. The lure of the river was irresistible, the chance to cool off, to splash and play. He felt her eagerness, the itch to leap into the water and compete with the others—to see who could create the biggest splash with a cannonball dive.

  But something stopped them. A sudden, unexplainable intuition. An instinct.

  Michael flinched as a tingling sensation spread through his hand—not hers, but his own. The connection had shifted somehow, its nature had changed. He wasn’t navigating anymore. It was illumination—pure, gentle, and unforced. Malee, through navigation, was illuminating him. He didn’t even know it was possible. It was also an illumination that left him completely conscious. Is she going to show me something, something that I should remember?

  Malee turned sharply toward the magazine, her movements deliberate yet urgent.

  The children noticed her abrupt shift. One began waving enthusiastically, while another cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Malee!”

  The sound had struck Michael like lightning. Malee. That was her name. The revelation had brought a rush of clarity, the first piece of the puzzle falling into place. Michael’s heart surged—he could feel her satisfaction, her relief that her message had gotten through.

  But Malee wasn’t finished.

  She dove back into the magazine, flipping through its pages with frantic urgency. Michael felt her determination seeping into him, driving his focus. She needed something. She was searching—but for what?

  Pain erupted suddenly in Michael’s head, sharp and explosive, like a ticking time bomb. The connection strained as Malee’s energy faltered, her physical strength waning. Michael clenched his fists, bracing against the sensation.

  Something was trying to get control of Malee again—her captors. His energy was fading; he could barely manage to resist. In that moment, he had felt he was going to faint, and surrendering felt like a comforting release he desperately needed. But he had to hold on, just a few more seconds. Malee was fighting, and so would he.

  Eventually, her hand stopped. The page about the skyscrapers lay open before her. Michael felt the surge of relief as her finger landed on the article’s headline, bold letters jumping out at him: Bangkok.

  She pointed to the word repeatedly, her emotions brimming with joy and urgency. “Bangkok. Bangkok. Bangkok…” The word hit Michael like a giant neon sign in his brain, flashing over and over, its significance resonating deeply within him.

  And then Malee was gone. The meadow dissolved, the magazine vanished, leaving only the lingering weight of her message. He had woken up in his mother’s arms, his father looking at him with the hands closed in prayer in front of his mouth.

  She hugged him even stronger.

  “Maria, give him space,” Edgar said gently, his voice carrying the weight of thought. Michael’s tears began to fall. He clutched his chest, still trembling under the weight of Malee’s emotions—the fear, the exhaustion, the terror.

  “She’s trapped… I don’t know where exactly, but she’s scared. She’s fighting, but she can’t take it anymore. She’s so tired… She’s so—” His voice broke.

  Michael flinched like he’d touched a live wire when Maria reached for him. The burn wasn’t on his skin, but somewhere deeper—like his brain was too crowded with everything Malee left behind. The pain of Malee’s life still lingered in his mind, raw and searing. Every sensation—every memory—warred with his own, pushing against the edges of his identity, threatening to consume him entirely. What he normally would have felt as a simple touch, had become a lorry crashing into him at full speed.

  Michael shuddered violently. The connection to Malee still lingered faintly, the fragments of her world pressing against his own. The captivity, the fear—it clung to him, suffocating him, pulling him deeper into the chaos.

  “Let him go, just a moment” his father said softly, his voice steady with a thoughtful calm that carried both empathy and clarity. “A single life is already heavy enough to bear. When another world crashes into yours, overflowing into the cracks, reality starts to buckle under the strain. He needs time to hold his balance—before it all gives way.”

  Wow, thanks, Dad. Always with the metaphors. Just say, ‘Let the kid chill,’ and call it a day.

  But it worked.

  Michael had never felt so grateful to his father. Freed of any physical contact, he could finally rest.

  He began to fall into a well-deserved abyss of nothingness. The void and darkness enveloped his existence piece by piece. He gave in, Maria’s voice fading further and further, memories slipping away like grains of sand through his fingers. The last thing he felt was the warm comfort of a caress–like a distant memory.

  And then, the silence of the void.