The Testament of Light
May 13, 2024. The day began with an unusual sense of urgency, a persistent voice echoing in my mind: "Go to the park tonight at 11:11 PM." It wasn’t just once or twice—it came in waves, spoken at random moments throughout the day, firm yet gentle. At first, I brushed it off, thinking it was simply my imagination. But each time the message returned, it grew clearer and more insistent, leaving no room for doubt. By evening, I had surrendered. I had no idea why, but I knew I had to go. The hours crept forward, and as the time neared, I made my way to the park. The night was eerily still, and the air carried a weight that seemed to press against my chest. The sky, blanketed in heavy clouds, looked impenetrable—no stars, no moonlight, just an endless expanse of gray. I checked my watch. The seconds ticked closer to 11:11 PM. I stood there, enveloped in the quiet of the park, waiting. And then, as the clock struck 11:11, it happened. A slit began to tear through the dense veil of c...