The veil between realms is thinner than we think.  It was midnight when Elijah stood beneath the ancient oak, the wind whispering secrets through its branches. He had come seeking answers—not from men, but from the heavens. His soul had been stirred by dreams too vivid to ignore: beings of light, beings of fire, beings cloaked in thunder.  Suddenly, the air shimmered.  A figure emerged—not walking, but unfolding—like a thought made visible. Its form was radiant, yet undefined, as if sculpted from the essence of stars. Elijah knew: this was an angelic being. Not winged in the way of paintings, but cloaked in divine geometry, eyes like galaxies, voice like a thousand harmonies.  “You see me as your spirit allows,” it said. “To some, we appear as light. To others, as flame. To the blind in heart, we are unseen.”