The Lens Of The Unseen

I saw them once, but it was in a dream, if dream is even the right word for that place where fear feels older than memory. They were not shapes I could clearly name, only presences, like shadows breathing in the dark, and I woke with the certainty that they were devils wearing silence as their skin. Since then, a question has followed me like a second heartbeat: what if there is a tool, a lens, a forbidden camera that could pierce the veil of this world and reveal what trembles just beyond our sight? What if we are not alone on this planet, not abandoned in the vastness, but surrounded, always surrounded, by creatures layered over our reality like invisible ink, waiting for the right light to expose them?

In that dream, my aunt’s voice called me from somewhere distant and urgent, warning me not to look, not to resist the blindness that protects us, telling me they are awful, that some doors remain mercifully closed. Yet I held a camera in my hands, though everything around me was drowned in darkness, I could not see their faces, only hear their whispers dark voices threading through the night like a secret celebration, a hidden party of elves turned sinister, laughing in tones that made the air feel heavy.

The sound alone was enough to chill my bones, and my aunt’s frightened voice kept breaking through, pleading with me to turn away, to stop searching, to let the unseen remain unseen. But I am Soufiane, the doctor who seeks to uncover, the writer of shadows who longs to name the nameless and somewhere between terror and wonder, I still ache for that lens, that impossible instrument that would let me look behind the curtain of the world and finally know whether the darkness is empty or watching.

Knock. Knock.

“Who is it?” I asked, and I opened the door, The hallway was empty and silent.

Yet I felt it  something had slipped into my room. Something invisible but powerful.

“Baah!  delicious.” The voice was small, careless, chewing.

“Wait! is there an animal in my room?” I muttered, irritation rising in my chest.

“Strawberries, mmm. So many strawberries in this room.” The creature appeared suddenly  a tiny figure, no taller than a child’s doll, with sharp ears and mischievous eyes, like something torn from the pages of an old fantasy book.

“Oh my God ! who are you?!” I shouted, and he barely looked at me.

“Writer,” he said with his mouth full. “Let me finish my strawberry.”, I stared at him.

“Writer? Do you know me?” There was something familiar about him, something unsettling. As if I had seen him before  not in this room,  but somewhere deeper, and he kept eating.

hurried to retrieve the Book of the Age Stone, an ancient volume said to hold forgotten knowledge. But when I returned, I found him already writing rapidly on a sheet of paper. His hand moved with unnatural speed, as if guided by an invisible force. The symbols forming beneath his pen were strange and unfamiliar not like any language I had ever seen. They curved and intertwined like living vines. Perhaps it was the ancient language of the elves, and then he suddenly stopped and looked at me with urgency in his eyes.

“You must write this,” he said in a low voice. “You must remember every word. Only you can stop the Five Black Wizards. They are destroying our world, and soon they will come to yours.”

My heart tightened as he continued.

“Magic exists,” he whispered. “Wizards and witches will soon pass through the Door on the Island of Spirits. It is the only passage between our world and yours." He paused for a moment, as if listening to something far away.

“That door,” he said, “stands between two worlds. But it will not remain open forever.” and a cold silence filled the room.

“I must return before it closes again.”, then he looked at me one last time and began to speak the final words I needed to remember.

 Dear soufiane

As you have seen, the world of magic you created many years ago has slowly fallen into darkness. A shadow spreads across its lands, and soon it may be swallowed by the deepest and most evil place in existence. The one who rises to control it is the Black Wizard the same one you once named Eris.

I hope this letter has reached your hands safely. I sent my little elf to find you and tell you what has happened, for the fate of that world may soon be decided.

Time grows short, and the darkness is awakening.     From centinella

After that day  i could just sleep like i have did before. Something had been changed like i was dueling for peace in my mind every day and each night i was waiting for it to come back again

The supremacy in the world of magic was very close to be between the hands of the black wizards who peek for power  , and fortunaténon centinella foziane and the old wizard are so tenacious, and the ominous event didn't happen because of their outrageous  spells.

War begins in the world of humans, our spell has finaly overwhelmed their space, soon it will be submerged in the shadows and darkness forever

"Did u tell him " centinella was asking her elf, in her garden at night, wearing her red coat and the purple ring in her finger

"I did my lady , soufiane was so surpried about what happend, but I'm afraid he isn't capable of changing anything !" The elf replied with a rush intuition about soufiane's plan

"Why would you say that about him? he is the legendary writer of the age stone he created us " Centinella was absolutely sure and believed in my will.

The elf squinted his eyes and lingerd in his answer and said with a sure voice : I'm certain about that idiot he is only carrying about patients in the hospital and his stupid girlfriend !

Oh dear! you are so nervous today,go and have some rest and don't forget to take some strawberry before bed it will calm you down " Centinella said and laughed about the elf's reaction she knew he is talking that way because he is so scared and frisky.