Codex Entry I: The Fall of Lemuria

There are memories the mind could never hold, but the soul refuses to forget.This one came to me in two parts: first through the Akashic Records, and then during a soul retrieval where my body remembered what my mind could not. Some truths will only rise when the spirit is strong enough to bear them.

This is one of mine.

The War That Reached the Edges of Eden

Before Earth collapsed into density, before the veil thickened, there was an intergalactic war ripping its way through the star systems. Planet after planet fell to the Draconians, Reptilians, and Dark Greys—civilizations harvested, light extinguished, frequencies inverted.

Mintaka, one of my most prominent homes, was one of the first to be erased.

The survivors—angelics, starborne, and original lightworkers—were scattered across the cosmos. Many incarnated into Lemuria, a realm adjacent to Earth but vibrating in the sixth dimension. It was a sanctuary, a heaven-made-physical, a place suspended between land and sea.

Lemurians were amphibious beings of pure consciousness: fins unfurled on our legs when we entered the water, bioluminescent sea life lit up our underwater villages, and beneath the waves sat a city of gold that today's architects could only dream of.

It was a temple disguised as a civilization. And I was seated on the council that protected it.

The Lemurian Council

In those days, Lemuria’s borders were sealed. Not out of cruelty—but because darkness was leaping across galaxies like a plague, and Mintaka’s destruction had taught us how quickly paradise can die.

One council member, Calvin, disagreed with our way of protecting Lemuria. He said that to refuse refugees made us no different than the Draconians themselves. He argued for compassion, integration, mercy.

And though I carried the trauma of watching my home star implode, though every part of my being screamed this is how worlds fall, I was outvoted.

The gates were ordered open.

It is a strange thing to know destiny is about to break—and to be unable to stop it.

The Day the Darkness Tore Through Lemuria

I was stationed miles from the main gates, standing on the warm white sand, checking in new arrivals—documenting their stories, their wounds, their origins—when the sound hit.

A shriek not meant for the human ear. Part demon, part alien, but complete nightmare fuel. Something ancient, predatory, and void-born. The air vibrated with terror.

People began sprinting toward me, screaming, fleeing the gates. I saw nothing at first—only shadows bending in ways shadows shouldn’t, like something was slipping between dimensions.

Then the beasts appeared.

Colossal entities, phasing in and out of visibility—here one second, gone the next—as if skipping across parallel realms and in and out of dimensions. You can’t kill what refuses to stay solid.

Our warriors fought anyway. Weapons of light, frequency shields…none of it was enough.

Someone ripped open a wormhole in the sand. A swirling, shimmering portal to extract us before the collapse was total. I held the line by the doorway, watching terrified people hurl themselves through.

I stayed watching my second safe place be destroyed slowly, the people I loved falling one by one, until a Lemurian elder woman grabbed my arms and pushed me through the wormhole.

The Fall Into Earth

The landing was agony.

The drop from the 6th dimension into Earth’s density is a violence the body is not designed to endure. My light cracked. My memory fractured. My frequency collapsed into something heavy and human.

I woke in the sands of what would one day be called the Sahara.

Across the desert sat a Pleiadian craft, its silver hull humming with healing light. Inside were med beds—technology far beyond this planet—designed to repair multidimensional trauma.

They treated us, stabilized us, and when our bodies settled into Earth’s gravity, they left.

And that was the moment my Earth cycles began.

Why I Returned Again and Again

Since that fall, I have incarnated into Earth over and over for one reason:

To anchor enough light into this plane to lift humanity back toward the frequency we lost.

Lemuria was not destroyed because darkness was strong—but because compassion was unguarded.

We opened the gates before we had fortified the light within them.

The mission has been the same in every lifetime since:

Rebuild what was lost. Restore the frequency of Eden. Help Earth rise to meet the dimension we fell from.

This is why the memories returned. Why the body reawakened the trauma.

Why the timeline reopened itself to me.

Because the gates are opening again.And this time, we must choose differently.

Now I want to shift the lens—not outward toward the collective history, but inward toward the part of this timeline that shattered me.

Because it wasn’t until I retrieved this lifetime that my abandonment wound finally made sense…

To understand the true cost of the Fall, I need to shift the lens inward—away from the grand sweep of cosmic historyand into the moment my own soul broke.

Because what happened that day did not just collapse a civilization. It fractured me.

The Marriage by the White Sea

In Lemuria, I was not only a council member. I was a wife.

My beloved, Fitz, served beside me—a warrior of the trident, a man whose heart was made of mercy and honor, a soul I had known in many lifetimes.

I had seen a vision of our wedding day. White sands. White garments. A white gazebo where we were married in a ceremony of vows spoken in light-language. The sea itself celebrated us, waves glowing with faint gold luminescence. It was beautiful. Our connection spanned lifetimes.

I carried our first child for eight months in my womb, and she was nearly ready to be born into a world of harmony. It was a life of peace, the kind you only appreciate when you’ve lost it.

The Vote That Changed Everything

Fitz agreed with me: the borders must stay sealed.

He knew of the annihilation of Mintaka. He knew the ache I carried for that lost community. We knew what darkness disguised as “mercy” could do. But the council chose compassion without discernment—or perhaps manipulation masquerading as compassion.

To this day, I wonder if Calvin’s persuasive plea for open borders was an act of naivety—or if he had already been compromised by the forces sweeping through the galaxies.

Either way, the vote passed.

The gates opened.

And the end began.

The Moment I Watched Him Die

When the Draconian creatures infiltrated our shores, Fitz looked at me with the calm certainty of a man who had already made a choice.

“Go to the portal,” he told me. “I’ll meet you. I promise. I have to give people a chance to reach safety.”

I begged him to come with me. Told him I wouldn't leave him behind. But Fitz was a protector, a warrior, and a gentleman whose loyalty was absolute. He refused to leave anyone behind.

So I stood beside the swirling wormhole terrified, trembling, clutching my swollen belly—and watched him confront a towering Draconian beast with a three-pronged tail.

He lunged. His weapon met air.

The creature phased out of existence and reappeared behind him.

Before I could scream, its tail speared through his heart impaling him, lifting him into the air, and then snapping his neck with a flick of monstrous strength before his lifeless body was tossed to the sand.

My vision tunneled. My knees gave way. My own scream devoured the sound of battle.

I watched the man I loved, my divine counterpart, die less than a hundred feet from me and I could do nothing.

The creature turned toward me, but before its shadow fell across my body, a Lemurian elder wrapped her arms around me and hurled me into the portal. She saved my life. And it cost me everything.

The Child I Lost Between Dimensions

Inside the wormhole, the frequency collapse hit me like lightning. My body convulsed, my aura split, and stabbing pain tore through my abdomen.

By the time I was thrown onto the desert sands of Earth, my placenta had ruptured. I bled out onto the ground, half-conscious, half-mad with grief and shock.

I was carried to the Pleiadian craft where my child's lifeless body was surgically removed, and I was placed in a med-bed to stabilize my dying body.

I survived. But only in body.

My soul shattered.

I wandered that lifetime only briefly before choosing to check out, the grief too great, the fracture too deep. It would take thousands of years for the memory to return to me.

Why This Memory Matters

This lifetime became the root of one of my deepest wounds.

I lost Mintaka. I lost Lemuria. I lost my beloved. I lost our child. I lost my own life.

Every abandonment wound my human self—Kaila—has battled did not begin here. It began there.

This is why some of your wounds don’t make sense. This is why healing sometimes feels impossibly layered. This is why certain patterns repeat even when your current life is stable.

The body remembers what the conscious mind has never known.

The Full Circle:

Fitz returned to me in this lifetime.

My counterpart, Fitz, incarnated with me again in this life. Carrying the imprint of watching me die because he couldn’t save me, he came into this incarnation with a wound too: a fear that loving me might destroy me. His avoidant fear was not rejection. It was guilt. Ancient guilt. Soul-level guilt.

The kind born when a man watches the woman he loves—and the child he created—die because he chose duty over escape.

We met again with the intention to heal—but timelines don’t fall away easily. The trauma was too embedded. His fear of failing me again became the very thing that made union impossible.

This is what soul fractures do. They echo across incarnations until retrieved, witnessed, integrated, and healed.

Why I’m Sharing This

Because you deserve to know the truth.

Not all wounds originate here. Not all pain belongs to this lifetime. Some fractures come from worlds long gone.

Sometimes the abandonment you feel is not about who left you, but who you couldn’t save.

Sometimes the terror of loss you carry is not yours—but your soul’s last memory of death.

And sometimes the person you love is avoiding you because they are still trying to forgive themselves for something that happened centuries ago in a world you no longer remember.

You are allowed to retrieve your fragments. You are allowed to heal timelines you never knew existed. You are allowed to rise whole.

Your soul has been waiting.