Astral Plane

I opened my eyes. I was inside a peculiar tower with bright white walls. Near them there were a number of books of different colors floating in the air. I was lying on a bed that was also suspended about eight feet from the floor. In front of me I saw an old cauldron from which a delicious smell was emanating. It smelled like the meat that my grandma used as filling for her Christmas hallacas. Dr. Salazar, the crazy old man who I saw in the hospital, was sitting on the other side of the room. He was reading a book to some creatures that looked like elves with blue wings. They were flying around him, like butterflies in a wild garden.

I felt a couple of paws on my legs: it was the Dalmatian dog, Aciel. For sure he was there waiting until I woke up. It was smiling at me. This shit was amazing! Now it only needed to talk... Aciel was sporting a pair of wings and a small metallic silver armor. Yep! I had lost all my marbles.

The pain in my back reminded me that I had been hurt. I tried to look at it and noticed that someone had bandaged my wound with bright blue leaves. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down.

"Why did I have to go through all of this? The Minotaur died defending me!" I told Salazar.

The dog was still smiling at me and waging his tail. The old man approached my bed, escorted the tiny winged creatures that were playing among themselves.

"How do you feel?" he asked me, his gaze fill with kindness.

"What is this? Who are you? What kind of dream is this? Just tell me what's going on once and for all!"

The loving old man moved to the cauldron levitating, took a bucket filled with a tasty beef stew and gave me a plate and a wooden fork:

"Eat and when you feel better I'll explain why you're here, ok?"

I grabbed the plate and decided to do what he told me. I watched Salazar levitate up a spiral staircase. After checking some books, he came back with one that had a colorful cover. He snapped his fingers and the bed instantly moved to where he was.

"What is your birth date?" "October, 6th 1995."

Salazar wrote something down in the book with a pen that appeared out of nowhere. "Let's see... Do you know about numerology?"

"Numer-what?"

"Numerology," he replied and closed the book.

"It has something to do with math, right?"

"Everything is related to math, dear Aníbal, everything."

"And what does numerology have to do with this nightmare from hell?"

"You need to understand the first rule in this parallel universe, Aníbal," he began, his expression turning serious. "Wherever you are, in the spiritual or the physical plane, never, hear me well, never invoke the Evil or his vassals, because when you name any of them, you give them clues about where to find you, my dear hunter."

"Hunter?" I repeated a little nervous.

"My dear hunter, if we take a look at the numbers of your birth date: 06/10/1995, it would be: 6 + 1 + (1 and 9) + 9 + 5 which gives us a master number: 22. This makes you worthy of being a possible Triezguer hunter."

I saw him as if he were crazy. "Sir, let me explain you something, my dream is to become a professional football player. What is this about a

hunter? And the number 22? And Trizger? I honestly don't understand anything at all."

"Triezguer," he corrected me with a smile.

"Whatever!"

Salazar stood up and poured a green liquid in a cup. "Would you like some tea?"

"Sir, I don't want anything but an explanation."

"Well, let's start with the beginning." The old man offered me again the cup of tea. This time I accepted it, sipping carefully. It tasted like anything but tea. Weird!

"The information that I'll give you should remain between you and me, even though you are free to decide whether you accept or reject the mission that your Father entrusted to you."

"My father?"

"God."

I opened my mouth, but when I noticed the serious expression of his face, I decided not to ask more questions.

"About 25,000 years ago there was a war encouraged by one of the most powerful sons of God. Here we will call him the Evil One. He had his own galaxies, just like his brother, Jabal, who also had a similar power. This rebellion took place between them before the arrival of mankind to Triezguer. The Evil One wanted to take over several galaxies, creating several distortions in the Celestial Balance. God and his 77 advisers, also known as the Elders of Time, managed to capture this powerful creature and he was sentenced to 25,000 years in prison—along with his vassals, in an intermediate dimension. Since then, he has tried to attack this galaxy through Triezguer, the last planet that disobeyed God's Laws. For that reason, Triezguer now shall decide its destiny.

The Evil One and his vassals will try to find the seven astral keys to set him free from his prison."

"Well, all of that sounds fine, but one more question: If God is so powerful, and he has a whole battalion of angels at his disposal, why doesn't He imprison the Evil One for another 25,000 years?"

Salazar drank the rest of his tea and I watched how his eyes turned brighter and with a deeper blue color. "Because of free will. Even the most rebellious angels are able to choose their own way to learn."

"Pardon me, sir, but... what does a fourteen-nearly-fifteen-years-old futsal player has to do with all this war between angels?"

"That's why I decided to invite you to my home and make you go through all of this. You are not dreaming, you're in the Astral Plane, my dear hunter. You came here through a projection, an astral projection" Salazar explained, raising a little bit his bushy white eyebrows.

"Why me?"

He sat back in his chair and continued. "One of the universal laws of evolution is free will: God, in His eternal love, allow us to choose our own destiny. For that reason I, as Lord of the Paths of Triezguer, was entrusted to invite you to this mission."

"Mission? Which mission?"

"Finding the seven Astral Keys. Those keys must be given back to Jabal to keep the Evil One in his prison for another 25,000 years."

I tried to get up out of bed, but I was very dizzy. Salazar helped me lie down again. "Why me?" I repeated.

I felt his hand on my head.

"There is actually another reason why I invited you to this dangerous mission,"

I looked at him and felt incredibly tired. "What's the reason then?" I mumbled

"It is because..."

His voice grew more and more distant. I felt like I was falling at an incredible speed and when I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital bed surrounded by shadowy figures. Then I heard a familiar voice.

"Happy birthday, Aníbal!"

All my friends and futsal team mates were gathered around my bed. My grandmother was holding a cake and my father opened the curtains to let daylight in. I felt exhausted but happy, and relieved of leaving that dream/nightmare behind or astral projection?

Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...!

While my friends were singing happy birthday off-key, I couldn't shake off my exhaustion nor could I stop thinking about my dream. It had been beyond weird, as was the fact that I was so tired. At least my friends seemed to have slept well; I instead had incredible dark circles.

My grandmother put the cake on my legs and I shoved all thoughts of winged creatures and astral-whatever's out of my head. However, as I drew up a deep breath to blow my birthday candles, a stich in my back showed me how wrong I was: my back was hurting just where the ghostly figures had hurt me. And on the other side of the bed, the white book was still on the same table where I had left it. Everything was really confusing.

Javier pulled me by my ears, bringing me back to the celebration.

"Blow out the candles, dude!" All my friends had finished singing; I came back from my abstraction and blew out the pink defenseless candle, showing them with my expression that I had no mood to celebrate because my brother was still in a coma and I wasn't sure if we would ever wake up.

"Son, just make a wish before cutting the cake. Azael will be alright," said my grandmother with a worried look.

I closed my eyes and made my wish. I want my brother to recover from his coma; I want him to be safe and sound.

My grandmother cut the cake and began to share it while Fat Jorge was trying to explain to her that he needed two pieces because he'd like to take one to his mother. She looked at him with a suspicious look and gave him the two pieces with a sigh.

My father was standing near the window. His drawn and tired face reminded me of the current condition of Azael. I moved my hand to call his attention and asked him to get closer.

"The cake was delicious, grandma, but I still don't feel well, I need to rest."

She understood and began to ask my friends, in a sweet way, to leave the room until it was almost empty. My dad approached and caressed my messy hair. His laughter hid the anguish he was certainly feeling.

"How is Azael going? Did he wake up?" I said, grabbing his hand.

"He's still in a comma," he murmured, unable to hold back his tears. "The doctors are waiting that the swelling decreases to operate and if it doesn't in seven days, they fear the worst."

I swallowed the hard lump of sadness that had logged in my throat, making me want to cry. My grandmother came to me and when she noticed my expression, she tried to comfort me.

"Here, I brought a picture of Jesus of Nazareth. He is the only one who can intercede for Azael to make him healthy again and for you to recover soon from your injury. So, now let's stop crying and let's pray instead, son."

We prayed together.