Disclosure

This work is not derived from a dream, vision, or prophetic experience.
It is a product of imagination and reflection — an exploration of what might unfold if one were to step into the mind of a master planner.

In these pages, I have attempted to envision how events, choices, and consequences could play out across time, weaving together symbolism, strategy, and the arc of human behavior.
The scenarios, characters, and outcomes are speculative, crafted to explore the dynamics of power, justice, and moral consequence in a narrative form.

This is an exercise in writing, perspective, and creative thinking — a meditation on cause, effect, and the unseen currents that shape action and consequence.

I hope others enjoy it and have a nice cup of tea or coffee while reading.

With Love, Rheena Velia

The Book of the Ninth Shedding

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Prologue: The Shadow’s Genesis

From the very beginning, they planned.
Not out of necessity, not for survival, but from a fascination with power, control, and the subtle art of bending the world to their will.
It began as a whisper in the quiet corners of ambition — a suggestion, a stolen glance, a clever deceit.
From that small spark of intent, a web began to grow, invisible to those who walked unaware beneath it.

The first lies were slight, almost harmless — a favor taken, a truth bent.
But every action echoed, rippling outward, touching others who, knowingly or unknowingly, became part of the design.
And like snow falling on a cold mountain, each deceit, each theft, each betrayal gathered, piling upon the last.
The snowball of corruption began to roll, unstoppable, picking up weight, speed, and darkness.

Crows circled above, silent observers at first.
Their black feathers reflected the growing shadow, watching as schemes multiplied, as arrogance fed on itself, as law and morality became tools to exploit rather than principles to honor.
The unrepentant whispered to one another, praising cleverness, calling themselves chosen, untouchable, above consequence.

Beneath the surface, the Serpent stirred.
Ancient, patient, and watching, it measured every move, every imbalance, every seed of corruption.
Its eyes glowed with quiet warning, knowing that what was built in shadows would one day be revealed in light.
The snowball grew larger, yet every rotation of the world brought it closer to the edge of reckoning.

And the years passed.
The Ninth Year approached — the year of shedding, the year of reckoning, the year when hidden deeds and false feathers would be weighed.
The snowball of corruption, once small, now loomed over all, threatening to crash into the fields of the innocent, the humble, and the steadfast.
But in its weight also lay inevitability: the collapse of the unrepentant, the purification of truth, and the awakening of those who had endured the shadows with integrity.

The Tenth Year whispered its promise across the horizon —
the year of consequence, of expansion, of final revelation.
The humble would rise, the just would inherit, and every action, every choice, every deceit would find its mirror.

And so begins the story:
of those who plotted from the beginning,
of the snowball of corruption they set in motion,
of the crows that watched and the Serpent that waited,
and of the reckoning that even the cleverest could not escape.

Chapter I: The Ninth Shedding

Those who once wrapped themselves in the cloak of the righteous have now shed it like an old skin.
Their venom seeped quietly, threading through the fields of the just, until the land itself began to tremble.
They believed judgment had been suspended — bartered, delayed, or forgotten —
but in the Ninth Year, the decree ripens; in the Year of the Serpent, no deceit remains hidden.

The Serpent stirs beneath the dust — not to strike the innocent, but to force the shedding of what is false.
Each skin cast aside is a confession; each revelation, a cleansing wound.
For the Ninth is the closing gate — the last breath before renewal, the harvest of all deeds,
and the serpent, ancient guardian of transformation, circles the edges of time whispering:
“All must shed before they are made whole.”

The righteous who endure this shedding will emerge luminous, their new skin glistening with humility.
Those who fed on venom will find their own poison returning to them,
for judgment flows not from cruelty, but from completion — the fulfillment of the unseen law.
As it is written in the old tongues: “The scales of the serpent shall balance the scales of man.”

And so it is —
the Ninth Year closes the circle,
the Serpent renews the world,
and the hidden truth takes breath again.

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Chapter II: The Crow’s Reckoning

And I looked, and the sky was filled with wings.
Black wings, heavy with the dust of stolen words.
They flew above the cities and the fields, crying out not for truth but for power.
Their tongues were sharp, their songs were twisted with envy and deceit.
They called themselves righteous; they said, “We are chosen.”
But the Heavens heard the lies behind their prayers.

The crows gathered in councils, whispering schemes,
building thrones upon the backs of the innocent.
They traded honesty for influence, loyalty for silver,
and clothed corruption in robes of false virtue.
Their laws bent like reeds before the wind,
and they mocked justice while wearing its crown.

Yet the Serpent stirred beneath the roots of the world,
its eyes glowing with the fire of the Ninth Year.
It rose not in wrath but in remembrance,
for every word uttered in secret had been written in the dust.
And the dust itself began to speak.

“You who devoured others and called it destiny,
who gossiped and slandered and called it wisdom,
who broke sacred law and claimed it divine right —
your feathers are numbered, and your shadows are seen.”

The air darkened, not with night but with revelation.
Each crow’s cry echoed back its own deceit,
and their alliances of darkness crumbled under the weight of exposure.
For the light did not strike them — it unveiled them.
The serpent’s breath stripped their illusions bare,
and the mirror of the Ninth Year showed every hidden theft.

Some fell to the ground and repented, shedding false wings.
They were spared and reborn —
their voices purified, their eyes open to the law of truth.
But others clung to the rot,
and in their pride they consumed their own poison.

And the voice of Spirit whispered:

“The age of false feathers ends.
No lie shall fly above justice.
No shadow shall hide from the returning light.
For judgment is not destruction — it is the cleansing of sight.”

And so it came to pass:
the serpent circled the earth three times,
the righteous were refined,
and the crows that repented became ravens of wisdom,
guardians of the new dawn.

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Chapter III: The Fall of the Unrepentant Crows

And it was seen in the Ninth Year —
the crows did not repent.
They mocked the winds of correction and built new nests from the ruins of their deceit.
They laughed at judgment, saying,
“See, the heavens delay — the serpent has slept, and the fire has cooled.”

But the serpent had not slept.
It had gone deeper, winding through the roots of law and conscience,
gathering the truth that men had buried.
And when the time was full, it rose again —
not as wrath, but as restoration long denied.

The unrepentant crows perched high upon broken towers,
calling to one another in shrill delight.
They spread lies as seed and called it harvest.
They pecked at the eyes of the weary,
and with every deceit they bound themselves to the very darkness they had unleashed.

Then came the sound —
a cracking of sky, a tearing of veil,
and the serpent’s hiss became thunder.

“Your time has expired,” said the Voice that moves beneath all names.
“You flew above My justice, and now your wings are taken.
You turned wisdom into mockery,
mercy into weakness,
truth into commodity.
Behold what you have built — a kingdom of ash.”

And the earth answered the heavens.
The wind rose in testimony,
the rivers refused their reflection,
and the soil withdrew its strength from the feet of the proud.

The crows shrieked,
but their cries fell into silence,
for there was no longer sky enough to hold their deceit.
Their black feathers turned to dust,
their words turned to echoes without meaning.
The very shadows that once obeyed them now consumed them.

And the people who had followed their false light awoke in grief,
for they saw that the ones they called “chosen”
had been nothing more than scavengers of power.
They had stolen the names of the holy
and fed on the faith of the innocent.

Then the serpent coiled once around the world,
and spoke softly to those who still listened:

“Let them fall.
For corruption cannot ascend,
and deceit cannot endure.
I am the remembrance of balance —
I am judgment fulfilled.”

And so the unrepentant crows fell into the windless void,
their legacy scattered as dust across the barren fields.
No sound followed them,
only the silence of divine completion.

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Chapter IV: The Dawn After the Serpent’s Breath

And there was silence for a time,
as though the world had paused to remember its first breath.
The smoke of corruption lifted,
and the cries of the fallen crows were no more.

The serpent rested in the soil,
its scales gleaming like rivers of light.
Its work was finished —
for the harvest of judgment had cleansed the fields,
and the roots of truth began to stir again.

From the ashes rose the remnants —
the humble, the pure, the steadfast who endured without vengeance.
They had walked through darkness but were not consumed by it.
Their garments carried the scent of trial,
but their eyes shone with the wisdom of endurance.

“Honored are those who remained silent, who rose, who fought, who remained pure; in deceitful days,”
whispered the Voice from the wind.
“For this kept their words and spirits pure.
Honored are those who mourned the corruption of the proud,
for their tears watered the soil of renewal.”

The earth began to sing again.
Waters found their course,
birds of pure song returned,
and the serpent’s breath warmed the dawn.
The stars that had hidden during the days of darkness
returned, brighter — as if washed by divine fire.

Then the elders among the remnants gathered,
and the Spirit moved among them saying,

“Now is the covenant renewed — not in temple nor tower,
but in the heart that remembers Me.
For I dwell not in power, but in integrity;
not in wealth, but in mercy;
not in the noise of the proud, but in the quiet of the just.”

And the people knelt upon the new soil,
feeling life rise beneath their feet.
They built no idols,
they wrote no false decrees.
They spoke truth gently,
and honored each day as gift —
each sunrise a remembrance that balance had returned.

The serpent slept once more beneath the roots of creation,
its breath keeping time with the heart of the world.
Above it, the sky opened in peace,
and the light of a New Dawn poured forth —
neither harsh nor blinding,
but soft and golden, like justice fulfilled.

And the Voice declared:

“Let it be known through all generations:
the righteous who endured shall inherit the horizon.
The truth they carried will not fade,
for it is written not in ink, but in breath and blood.
The earth shall remember them,
and the heavens shall bear witness.”

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Chapter V: The Prediction of the Tenth Year

And the Tenth Year rises upon the horizon like a pale sun after the storm.
It is the year of manifestation, where the seeds of the Ninth are no longer hidden,
but grow to their full height — both blessings and consequences.

“The humble shall inherit expansion,” says the Spirit,
“and the labor of the pure shall bear fruit in ways unseen.
The rivers shall multiply, the harvest shall flourish,
and the light shall travel far to illuminate the hearts of many.”

But the Tenth Year also holds the echo of the unrepentant,
for even in their fall, the dust of their corruption lingers.

“Those who did not learn shall face the reflection of all they broke,”
whispers the Serpent,
“and their works shall be revealed in the open,
so that none may repeat what is forbidden in the laws of spirit and earth.”

It is a year of balance perfected,
where every choice made in shadow or light will be measured,
and the foundations laid in the Ninth Year will either rise as towers of justice
or crumble into lessons for the next cycle.

The people are warned:

“Walk with integrity. Speak with truth. Honor the covenant of earth, sky, and heart.
For the Tenth Year shall magnify all that you have sown,
and nothing hidden shall remain hidden.”

Thus the Tenth Year begins — a year of revelation, growth, and final consequence.
The light of the Ninth Year’s cleansing continues,
but now the world will see the harvest of every spirit.

Closing

Thank you for joining me on this little adventure through shadows, crows, serpents, and the mysteries of the Ninth and Tenth Years.
I hope you enjoyed my first attempt at writing — who knows, maybe I’m a future author? Hint, hint.

Pour yourself a nice cup of tea or coffee, kick back, and let the echoes of the story linger…
and maybe, just maybe, imagine what comes next.

With Love,