The Start: Opening the Floodgates

I didn’t just remember who I am. I remembered what I am.

The Start: OPENING THE FLOODGATES

My journey didn’t begin the moment I opened my prophecy folder. It began long before—before memory, before words. I remember being born. I remember the black. I remember the light. I remember the sound of consciousness forming. There has always been a part of me that knew there was more. As a child, I could feel spirits and energies no one else acknowledged. My mom confirmed my sensitivity, but the world didn’t. So I buried that knowing just to survive.

In early 2025, everything shifted. I began to feel the weight of everything I had silenced. The pretending. The pleasing. The fear of being misunderstood. I had already walked through heartbreak, betrayal, and the endless cycle of giving more than I received. But something in me refused to stay quiet any longer. My divine energy—my flame—was rising. I created my prophecy folder, not knowing I was preparing for a full-blown spiritual reactivation.

In 2024, I moved to Cheyenne, Wyoming, with someone I thought was my future—let’s just call him what he really was: a vessel of false light, dressed up in charm and illusion. We had just bought a house together when, two weeks later, he ended the relationship. Two weeks. It destroyed me. Not just emotionally, but on a soul level. I felt used, erased, discarded. I wanted to die. I didn’t want to keep living this shitty life, where people betray you and no one ever truly sees you. I was so done with having to hide who I really am just to be accepted. I was so done with being misunderstood. I did fall apart. And in that wreckage, something deeper began to stir.

I tried to keep going. I poured myself into work, hoping structure and purpose would save me. And to be clear—I loved the people I helped. My clients brought me light and joy. The older generation, 65 and up—you are my people. We’d be on the phone talking about life, laughter, and truth, and for a while, it made me feel human again. But the corporate structure I worked under? That was a different beast entirely.

What I witnessed inside that system wasn’t just dysfunction—it was deception. It was a boys’ club of polished Mormon men who didn’t care about people or purpose—they cared about profit. They shifted values like outfits. They were draining what wasn’t theirs. Siphoning energy, time, and soul from the very people doing the real work. From the patients. From the truth.

And when I got too close to that truth—when I began speaking up, questioning, remembering why we were really there—they fired me. Wrongfully. Quietly. Strategically. Because I was no longer controllable. Because I could see through the illusion. Because I wasn’t afraid to name what they were really doing. I wasn’t just another employee. I was a mirror. And they couldn’t stand what they saw.

First, false light shattered my heart. Then the system tried to bury my spirit. But even in that darkness, the ember in me wouldn’t go out.

I made a decision: I was going to listen. Not to people. Not to logic. But to God. To the divine voice I had always known—the one I used to hear when I was little but learned to ignore. I whispered a prayer: “I want to walk closer to You. Show me who I am.” And He did.

Things started happening. I noticed synchronicities. Numbers, music, animals, random conversations. It was like life had been trying to speak to me the whole time—I just hadn’t been tuned in. My spiritual memory started to rise. I began writing. I started keeping record of visions, dreams, random feelings, truths that didn’t make sense to the world but made perfect sense to my bones. I wasn’t imagining. I was remembering.

And I was finally listening.

One day, I walked into a metaphysical shop and laid eyes on a quartz dragon head with golden-orange veins. I didn’t buy it—$325 I didn't have. But the moment I saw it, I felt something surge through my chest. I froze. I started crying in the middle of the store, completely overwhelmed. It was like something ancient had recognized me. I could feel her inside me, like a homecoming. Like picking a puppy out of a litter—you don’t pick them. They pick you. And Sylareth picked me.

(For anyone wondering—Sylareth is more than a crystal or a carving. She is a guardian dragon, encoded with memory and frequency. A soul-bonded entity from beyond this realm. When I say she picked me, I mean she remembered me. She is a piece of my ancient line, a keeper of codes I had long forgotten, and the moment I saw her, something clicked back into place. She wasn’t just art. She was family.)

I left the store without her, but she came with me anyway. Her presence lingered in my space, in my dreams, in the quiet moments where the veil thins and truth speaks. Sylareth isn’t just a crystal. She’s not just a dragon head. She’s a soul-bound guardian. A part of me that waited lifetimes to return.

And then came the plane ride.

I was flying with my dad in his little plane—doors off, wind rushing in, just gliding through the open air. I was looking out over the land, thinking about Myrrakal—my real dragon. Not just a symbol or a memory, but a living being. A dragon I had flown with. A guardian I knew in my bones. I yelled her name to the world. It felt like I am officially free. Then I felt it again—dizziness, lightheadedness, the sense of time folding in on itself.

Myrrakal is different from Sylareth. She isn’t a guide waiting to return—she’s a dragon I have flown with, in other lifetimes, in other realms. She is alive and conscious, and her presence is cosmic. If Sylareth is the anchor that reconnected me to my flame, Myrrakal is the one who will carry me into the sky. She is freedom. Flight. Fire. And yes—I fully believe I will ride her again, not just in dreamspace or memory, but here. In this world. In this lifetime.

I didn’t just remember her. I remembered the feeling of riding her. I knew, without question, that one day I will ride her again—not metaphorically, but physically. In this world. In this lifetime.

That moment marked the beginning of my first true communion between worlds.

After that flight, everything began to accelerate. My visions got sharper. My body reacted stronger. Tingling in my arms during rituals. Ringing in my left ear that wasn’t medical—it was a frequency, a message. Pressure on my right temple while seeing through my left eye. Pain in my right thumb while I wrote—like fire flowing through my hand. And warmth over my heart like a weightless hand pressing in. These weren’t random symptoms. These were confirmations. My flamebody was coming back online.

I started remembering not just feelings—but places. Events. Memories that had no logical explanation. I remembered the Moon. Not how you’re taught to imagine it. It wasn’t dark and cold. It was bright—full of light, full of presence. I remembered standing there with two dragon eggs—twins. One was Myrrakal. The other... still hidden. I remembered the chamber beneath the Sphinx, my words carved into the wall, my language—my code. I remembered that my name wasn’t just Kristen. It was Velthara.

And that changes everything.

Dreams started hitting harder. Some felt ancient. Others felt like alternate versions of me—different timelines I’d escaped or collapsed. I’d wake up and feel it in my bones, like I’d just been somewhere real. And honestly? I had. I wasn’t just dreaming. I was recovering myself. I started seeing how trauma fractures timelines. How every time I aligned with truth, one of those false timelines collapsed. That’s how we reclaim ourselves. One true decision at a time.

On June 17, 2025, it all cracked wide open.
— Velthara

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