- Oct 13, 2025
Scroll 01: The Gate of Remembering & Catching My Relic
- Letters to Flame
- 0 comments
I’m Kristen — though some of you will know me as Velthara.
I write to share the memories and codes I carry — pieces of an older Earth, before the veil and before forgetting.
These scrolls are sacred. They are records of flame, written from what I have lived, felt, and remembered.
This is not story — it is remembrance.
A map back to sovereignty, and the truth of what you already are.
This scroll is the beginning of my real story—where the fragments of my life lined up like mirrors and I finally saw the pattern beneath them.
Every cycle I lived—silence, betrayal, exile, purpose—was a loop designed to keep me asleep. Each heartbreak, every loss, every strange dream was a doorway showing me how energy moves when we forget who we are.
When I caught the relic, everything changed. That single moment in dream and body marked the start of remembrance. It was the moment I realized the loops were not punishments—they were proof of my own return. This is where my journey truly began: when I stopped surviving the past and started retrieving the light I had left behind.
🔇 The Silence Loop — I Spoke Anyway
I was never truly voiceless, but from a young age, the world tried to convince me that my truth was too much.
It began in high school, where rivalry and whispers moved like smoke. The girls sensed something in me—something they couldn’t name. A light. A softness that didn’t break. A fire that wouldn’t play their games.
I loved the ones no one else did—the quiet ones, the outcasts, the overlooked. I didn’t choose sides; I chose people. And for that, they turned on me. When the friendships fell apart all at once, I didn’t disappear. I sharpened. That’s when the real test came.
My mother had an affair and left during my junior year. She married someone else and became a stranger overnight. I was supposed to be protected, guided, loved. Instead, I was left holding silence and truth no one wanted to hear.
But I spoke it anyway.
I’ve always said what others fear to say—even when it costs comfort, connection, or belonging. Even when it costs me my job—because I stand for those who can’t speak without consequence. Lying has never lived in my blood. I was born coded for truth. It’s not a habit. It’s a soul language.
For years, I believed others were like me—that honesty was a shared ground. It took thirty years to see the truth: many people lie. Some to win. Some to survive. And people like me—those who feel the vibration of truth—become easy targets in a world that feeds on illusion.
I’m still learning to navigate that world. But I come from the old one—where lies cracked the air and truth rang like a bell. That world still lives in me.
For too long, I let others lead. Not because I lacked power, but because I thought my role was to support, not shine. Now I know: I was never meant to stay in the background. My voice is the torch. My truth, the road.
The silence didn’t erase me—it refined me. It turned my words into fire. Now I speak not to be heard, but to set things free.
🥀 The Betrayal Loop — I Gave Love Anyway
Every person I’ve ever truly loved has left. Every time, I gave something real—something ancient and bigger than they could hold.
I didn’t just like them. I felt them, on levels that made no sense in this world. It was like meeting souls I’d known before, like recognizing their shadows and loving them anyway. But they never stayed.
I see the good in people before they earn it. I give them time, care, energy, trust. I hand them pieces of my soul, and they walk away like it was nothing. No closure. No honoring. Just silence—or worse, blame.
And still, I love.
Even when it leaves me cracked open. Even when logic says stop. That is the betrayal loop—to keep being the one who gives when everyone else forgets how to hold. To feel deeper than others are willing to meet. To believe in the best of them and watch them choose less.
But I am not broken. I am not foolish. I am simply from an older world—a place where connection was sacred and love was law.
I gave love anyway. And that means I win—every time.
🏚️ The Exile Loop — I Belonged to Myself
I’ve never fully fit anywhere—not in the loud way, just in the soul way. I could talk, laugh, blend in, but there was always a wall they couldn’t see. It was the same with men, friends, and every circle I stepped into.
The druggies, the cowgirls, the athletes—I could hang with anyone. They liked me. I was accepted. But I was never in it.
I was a floater—belonging everywhere and nowhere. If I showed one side of me, I had to hide another. If I was too wild, I wasn’t soft enough. If I was too spiritual, I wasn’t grounded enough. If I was too loving, I was too much.
So I stayed in the middle. And that’s where exile lives—not on the edge, but in between.
People knew me, but no one saw me. They liked me, but they didn’t know how to hold me. So I held myself. I shaped myself.
And now, I return to claim what they missed: I don’t need to fit in to be whole. I don’t need a tribe to be worthy. I belong—to me.
🔮 The Purpose Loop — I Am the Path
I always knew my biggest lessons would come through love and loss. And I walked straight into them—four relationships, millions of tears, nights spent asking why.
Each time, I saw the pattern. Each time, I whispered, This is part of it—the breaking before the rising.
I’ve always known I had power, but I didn’t yet understand its greatness. I wasn’t meant to feel something big—I was meant to become it.
So I kept searching, chasing, longing for the mystery that lived under my ribs. Nothing made sense, and still, I kept going. Because I knew I had a mission. I just didn’t know how it would find me.
Until I realized: it doesn’t find you. It’s been inside you the whole time.
Saying no to what drains you—that’s the first gate. Calling in true friendship—that’s the second.
And now, I see clearly: I knew the answers all along. I just didn’t know how to trust them.
But I made it. I found the path—because I am the path. I am the flame that lights the way. The Purpose Loop is closed.
I no longer chase. I create. I no longer wait. I walk. And from here—everything rises.
🕯️ MEMORY I — The Timeline Where It Fell
(Dream occurred around 2022–2023, during the toxic breakup in Wyoming)
It began like a dream, but it never felt like one. I stood beneath a burning sky—the light around me a deep golden haze that shimmered through spiraling sand. The air was thick, almost alive, and time slowed until even my heartbeat sounded distant. From above, a crystalline relic drifted downward, glowing faintly, calling me. I wanted to reach for it, but I hesitated.
It hit the ground. The sound—glass cracking against stone—was final. Light spilled out like lifeblood: white, then gold, then gone. Something inside me tore open. A signal went dark. I knew it was mine. I knew I was supposed to catch it. But I froze. The crowd rushed in, faceless, reaching, and the air turned to cotton around my lungs. Then everything went black.
When I woke, my body felt heavy, my chest hollow, my mind looping the same sentence—I missed it. For weeks that ache followed me, a phantom of something lost just beyond reach.
At that time, I was back home in Wyoming—surrounded by familiar streets that suddenly felt foreign. I had just crawled out of a toxic relationship that drained every ounce of my energy. He was charming but hollow, all surface and shadow. A man disconnected from Source, sustained only by the light of whoever stood too close.
Every time I walked into his house, my body dimmed. My thoughts fogged. My fire went quiet. I would leave exhausted, confused, and small—like something invisible had been siphoned out of me. I didn’t have the words then, but now I know: he was an energy vampire, a false-light attachment disguised as love.
I was still learning what loss could carve. I hadn’t yet seen the cost of staying where my light couldn’t breathe. That dream came as a mirror—showing me that I wasn’t ready to hold what was mine. My guides sent it not as punishment, but as a checkpoint. I hadn’t hit rock bottom yet. My flame was still sedated, dimmed by the pull of something that fed on it.
That was the night my soul whispered: You are not safe where your light goes dark.
I just didn’t know how to listen—yet.
🕯️ MEMORY II — The Timeline Where I Caught It
(Dream occurred June, 29th 2025, after awakening to my higher truth.)
Two years later, the dream returned—but this time I was different.
The same burning sky, the same spiraling sand, the same relic falling through golden air. Yet my body moved before my mind could hesitate. I reached out and caught it.
The relic was solid and alive in my hands—about the length of my forearm, clear quartz threaded with white light, crowned by molten orange glass that looked like flame trapped in honey. Down its sides ran inscriptions I could read without knowing the language. They were mine—codes I had written lifetimes ago.
As I held it, heat ran up my arms and into my chest. The glow didn’t blind; it breathed. I felt my pulse sync to its rhythm, as if my heart had remembered its true frequency. When I woke, the dream hadn’t faded. My palms buzzed with warmth. I sat straight up, grabbed my journal, and drew it—the shape, the crown, the symbols that glimmered even behind closed eyes. I knew instantly: this was my relic returned.
That morning, the memory of the first dream rushed back like a movie I’d forgotten I’d filmed. I realized it was the same scene, the same moment rewritten—but this time, I had chosen differently. I’d moved fast enough. I’d claimed what was mine.
The vision pulled me back to another night—the night in Las Vegas when the warning came.
🌆 The Night in Vegas
I was visiting with my roommate, sitting near the fountains off the Strip, water catching the pink and gold lights of the hotels. It was warm, maybe ten o’clock, the city humming with laughter and bass lines. I was completely sober, calm, just watching the reflections ripple across the surface when a woman approached.
“I felt your energy from across the block,” she said. “You’re radiating. You hold something strong.”
It didn’t scare me. I’d felt the strange and unseen my whole life. We talked easily, and when she offered a reading, something in me said yes. We found a quiet spot away from the noise, and she began to speak truths that felt older than both of us.
When I tested her—If you’re real, tell me who my guardian angel is—she didn’t pause. “A woman on your mother’s side,” she said. “She’s watching over you—and a little boy.”
My breath caught. She was describing my Aunt Amy, who stepped in when my mother left during high school. Amy had a young son, Seth. The psychic couldn’t have known those names. I knew she was seeing what was real.
Then her tone changed. “Vegas could take you,” she warned. “You could get addicted to the energy, the lights, the rush. Be careful—you could lose yourself here.”
Her words landed like a bell inside my chest. Even then I’d always been the protector, the mother bear who made sure everyone got home safe, who never left a drink unattended, who drove us all back to my apartment for a slumber party instead of chasing the after-hours scene. But that night, her warning sealed the instinct deeper.
I didn’t realize until later that she was seeing a loop—a version of my life where I didn’t wake up, where I drowned in distraction and never returned to my mission. She was sent to stop that version.
Looking back, I understand she was a gatekeeper. That conversation snapped a thread that could have led me into the very sedation I once dreamed about. She kept me aligned so I could remember when the time came to catch the relic.
Because if I hadn’t listened, I might not have woken in this lifetime.
And if I hadn’t woken, the veil might not fall through my line.
I am one of the pillars holding that fall. If I rise fully, the veil collapses in this timeline. If I don’t, it waits for another generation.
The first time, I wasn’t ready.
The second time, I was.
The relic didn’t just survive—I did.
🔐 PAID CONTENT ONLY 🔐
Everything beyond this point is sacred and paid subscriber-only.
Here’s what’s inside:
🜂 A short Flame Transmission
🜂 The Flame Reclamation Breath
🜂 An optional mirror practice
This is living prophecy—
not content.
And if you’re just here passing through, no pressure at all—
you can always send me a coffee and still be part of the flame.
Thank you for witnessing the return—this flame burns brighter with you here!