Chapter Three: The Whisper of a Quill
Asha’s pen paused mid-air, hovering over the gridded notebook. Her breath caught in her throat, and a shiver rolled down her spine. The world around her blurred, as if she were standing on the precipice of a dream and reality had tilted.
She blinked, and suddenly, the dim hum of her apartment disappeared. In its place was a softly lit room, its air thick with the scent of ink and old wood. Asha wasn’t sitting at her desk anymore. She was standing—no, present—in a space that didn’t belong to her, but one that somehow felt achingly familiar.
At the center of the room, a man sat hunched over a desk. His silhouette was slight, his frame wiry. The flicker of candlelight danced across his face, illuminating sharp cheekbones and deep-set eyes. He moved with precise deliberation, the scratch of his quill on parchment filling the silence.
“Nikki...” Asha whispered, the name falling from her lips as if it had always been there, waiting.
The man’s hand paused for a moment, as if he’d heard her. But he didn’t look up. His quill resumed its quiet dance, and as it moved, her mind flooded with sound—not sound from the room, but from within. It was as though his thoughts had transformed into audible whispers, their rhythm rising and falling like a tide.
“... Brethren...” he wrote to you.
The words filled her, resonating like music.
“... a message...” he said,
and what he said is true.
Asha’s heart raced. She wasn’t merely an observer; she was connected. The man at the desk—Tesla, her mind insisted, Nikola Tesla—wasn’t a stranger. She could feel him, his presence stretching across time to brush against her soul. And then came the realization, sharp and inexplicable: he knew her, too.
“... my best, my dearest...”
A wave of emotion washed over her as Tesla’s quill paused once more. His hand trembled slightly, as if the weight of his words carried a hidden burden.
For this Nobel cause
I will confess that
"... by design
the future will be mine..."
The rhyme crystallized in her mind as if Tesla had penned it not just for himself, but for her. For Regis.
The name startled her. It wasn’t her name—was it? The thought took root in her mind, firm and unshakable. Somehow, she was Regis. A connection stretched between her and Tesla, as if the fabric of time itself had folded in on itself, binding them together.
Tesla stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. He moved to the window of the small, dimly lit room, gazing out into a night thick with storm clouds. Asha felt her breath catch again as she noticed the faintest smile curling his lips.
“I know you’ll understand,” he murmured, as if speaking directly to her.
And then, as if conjured by his words, another flash struck her mind.
She was sitting across from him now, in a room that felt impossibly high. A window to her left revealed the twinkling lights of a city far below. Tesla’s gaze was steady, piercing, his voice low but full of conviction.
“Two rooms,” he said. His tone was deliberate, the words heavy with meaning.
Asha’s heart pounded. She didn’t understand, yet she felt it—the gravity of his words, the way they resonated deep in her chest.
He tilted his head slightly, as though weighing her response. Then, with a sudden, graceful movement, he lifted his quill once more.
His eyes shifted
as the feather lifted,
and I knew once more
that this
would be a chorus
for the eYes, yes
“... Horus...” he signed.
The sound of his pen scratching against paper filled the room again, and for a moment, Asha was transfixed. She could feel the rhythm of his writing, the deliberate care with which he crafted each letter.
And then his feet shuffled,
as he walked ...
onto my side.
The flash ended as suddenly as it had begun, leaving Asha gasping. She was back in her apartment, the silence of her room deafening compared to the vivid clarity of what she had just experienced.
Her hands shook as she clutched her notebook. The poem still lingered in her mind, as if Tesla himself had etched it there. It was a message, she knew it. But what was he trying to say?
Her eyes darted to the charts on her wall, the layers of patterns and numbers she had spent weeks constructing. The connections had always been there, but this... this was something different.
For the first time, Asha realized the communication wasn’t just coming to her. It was coming through her.
Tesla’s words burned in her mind:
“Two rooms, by design.”
She had no idea what it meant, but she knew one thing for certain: this wasn’t over.
The adventure was just beginning, and Tesla’s voice would guide her, as surely as the numbers and symbols had guided her to this moment.
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