The crisp mountain air filled Lisbeth’s lungs as she set her rucksack down inside the wooden hut. She had finally reached it. She had always found comfort in the mountains—her mountains: the majestic Alps with their towering, ancient silence. She had grown up amongst them, spent countless holidays tracing their rugged trails and breathing in their vastness.
But this time was different. She wasn’t here for the thrill of the ascent. She needed solitude. She needed a silence deep enough to fade the noise of the world below.
Too many things had happened in recent months. Outwardly, her life was fine; everything appeared stable. But inside, a restlessness had taken root—an unease she couldn’t overcome.
After a sparse meal of bread, cheese, some slices of cucumber, she stepped outside. She sat on the weathered bench, facing the Rosenlaui Gletscher. This was a familiar landscape, yet tonight it felt somehow different. The glacier stood quiet and eternal, reflecting the soft glow of the moon. Above her, the sky stretched endlessly, filled with the cold brilliance of an infinite multitude of stars.
Lisbeth traced the constellations with her eyes, a habit from childhood. Her gaze fell upon Sirius, the brightest star, burning just south of Orion.
And then she saw them.
Three lights—red, yellow, green—hovering near Sirius, pulsing in slow, deliberate patterns. They did not move across the firmament. They simply were: suspended in the darkness like a silent signal.
Lisbeth stared. Her first thought was an aircraft, maybe military, but there was no movement. The lights rotated, alternating colours, mesmerising her. There was something unsettling about them, yet, at the same time, they felt achingly intimate. A strange warmth spread through her—an inexplicable feeling of home.
Eventually, she shook herself and went inside. In bed she couldn't stop thinking about the lights, but finally she slowly fell asleep.
The next day passed in a strange state of trance. She hiked the familiar trails, but her mind remained locked on the sky. When darkness returned, she was outside again. The lights were there. Shining, alternating, exactly as they had been the night before. She had the feeling they were waiting for her!
By the third day, Lisbeth had abandoned all plans of serious hiking. She stayed near the hut, restless, searching online for anything—news, reports, astronomical phenomena to be observed in the sky. Nothing. It was as if the world remained untouched, unaware of these unusual lights far far away in the depth of the sky.
That night, when the lights once more greeted her with their presence, it seemed there were even more colours now—hints of amethyst and electric blue—but fainter than the main three.
And again, she felt that intense feeling of home, of belonging, stronger than ever.
Lying in bed that night, Lisbeth felt torn. The thought of walking away filled her with a sudden, sharp nostalgia, as if leaving the mountain would mean losing something far greater than she could comprehend. Sleep came fitfully. She hovered between waking and dreaming, every creak of the wooden hut amplified.
And then—she wasn’t in bed anymore.
She stood in a space that was not a place, and before her were three beings. They were tall and slender, radiating a presence so immensely intense it felt like a vibration in her very marrow. Their glow wasn’t just light; it was energy—something that "knew."
Lisbeth realised that they had been speaking to her for a while and now she began to be fully aware of what they were saying, something deeply uncomfortable.
“The human race is an ‘experiment’, a test...”. She froze. The words landed directly in her mind with the weight of lead.
They explained that Earth was a crucible—a trial unlike any other in the universe. Here, all kinds of origins had been stirred together. There were those with divine souls; and then there were the others. The vessels. Occupied by different forces, impulses, or intents from sources far beyond human understanding.
“If you can navigate the chaos,” they said, “if you can face the darkness without becoming it, then something extraordinary emerges. A new being. One that has seen the worst of existence and still chosen the light. A species that, instead of being destroyed by evil, has transformed it—turned its weight into strength, its malice into wisdom.”
“The challenge,” they continued, “is to remain firm in goodness. Not in passive submission, but in unwavering strength—to stand in the storm without becoming the storm.”
Lisbeth’s thoughts raced. She had always sensed that life carried a weight few truly understood. To hear it spoken so clearly was as if a lock deep within her had finally clicked open.
The beings told her their words were clear because she already knew them. She only needed to be reminded of what she had always carried.
And then,suddenly,—a sound. A distant, sharp break in the silence.
A rooster crowing.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The world shuddered. The glowing figures wavered like reflections on disturbed water. Lisbeth felt herself being pulled—backward, downward, back into herself.
She gasped and realised she was awake.
The wooden walls of the hut were there. The first grey light of dawn was timidly awakening. The rooster crowed a fourth time. Lisbeth sat up, her body shaken, her mind spinning. Her breath was unsteady, yet something deep inside her was utterly still.
She stood slowly and stepped outside.
The air was fresh and untouched. The mountains stood as they always had: silent, ancient, watching. She looked up at the pale gold of the morning sky.
The lights were gone. Nowhere in the fading night sky were the three colours to be seen.
Lisbeth inhaled deeply. She wasn’t disappointed. She exhaled, a slow, steady breath. The mountains stretched before her, vast and infinite. Somewhere below, people were waking up, totally unaware of the great unseen forces shaping their world. Life for all of them continued unchanged!
