His Grandfather had spent four years in Colditz prisoner of war camp and was it now true that like him he had experienced a world totally different to what the public had been led to believe. And had his grandfather been met with the gaslighting that they do to all who simply knew too much. Because his Grandfather was half native Moari he had a darker skin colour and it never made sense just how he could have survived under the most historically racist known reigns. Did he know of the truth hidden under the skin, did he know the relevance of all seeds in the mind were questions he'd held onto for some time. Now they had been answered if he is to believe them from beyond the reeds.

Chapter one - The Key

Balancing on one tiptoe he prepares to snap his feet back into the cycle clip pedals. It was an uneven gravel and launching as the tip of one shoe slips off an unstable larger stone sending him sideways over into the grass and down beside the chair. The grass between the road and paddock is at least two foot high and on his back he felt as if hidden from the world. "Darn it I've no more words for you now", he says to the chair and looking straight to the underside he bangs his hand down to attempt his sit up. Catching his eye was a small glinting of something that had shone through the smallest of tear in the underneath upholstery.

"What's that chair, are you hiding secrets", he jokingly says and reaching up underneath he squeezes a finger between the fabric material. The tip of his index finger is in a void so he pushes harder, ripping the fabric a little more. He squeezes two fingers and fumbles straight into the object that did not take him too long to recognise as the shape of a large skeleton door key. In his past life as a carpenter he had fitted many types of locks to doors, leaving him with a knowledge and the size of the key only adds to all intrigue, noting instantly it must be very old and no ordinary key. He's quick to reach up with his remaining hand assisting the other to rip the tear larger and exposing into full view the key that had been mask taped to the underside.

The large, well honed metallic bow handle gleamed and the single digit code moulded centre above the barrel was not recognisable as a numeral he knew. An array of questions speed threw his mind before instinctively concentrating on what seemed only curtain. The sizing of the original tear had required for the key to be taped in position before the upholstery covering, meaning this was intentionally placed there. Panic crept in with all notions; this was no finding or mistake.

In a past period to life, he was enlightened to all coincidences, killing all sovereignty over his soul and leaving him with a knowledge of string pullers behind the curtains. To follow was an out of this world type shaming he felt never deserved and was never able to forget. Because of this he'd hoped patterns would forever remain hidden and to never again pick up on signs or clues. A sudden uneasiness of tension grabbed at his heart and mind. He feels a bead of sweat trickle down the side of his face. "No way", he murmurs before shouting, "Fuck off assholes, no way, I am not playing your games."

Suddenly an enormous gust of wind punches down from the heavens, flattening the reeds in an instant. He's startled into a heightened state of alertness. First looking one way while flipping to his stomach , he coast the grounds making sure to look covering all directions. The blast had been quick and powerful and was gone just as quickly, allowing the reeds to bounce back stiff and upright but not before he again had glimpsed something. That something had been a dark blur set not far behind the reeds of grass and instantly sending a spasm of chills crawling up his spine as he knew the dark object had just now arrived. The rolling hills of farmland fences were all but barron with empty seasoned grain fields, dotted throughout some small gatherings of pine trees and this a dissecting road.