There were always those who kept the old flame. Not in public pulpits or stained glass towers — but in forests, in dreams, in bloodlines that refused to forget.

They were hunted. Called pagans, witches, rebels, heretics. But they were the keepers — not of religion, but of memory. Not of ritual, but of rhythm.

They waited in silence while the world screamed its creeds. They protected the sacred from the spectacle. And now, they return — not with vengeance, but with remembrance.

You may be one of them.

• If you've always known truth beyond sermons…
• If you've felt spirit in silence, not shouts…
• If your dreams feel older than this life…
• If you've been called strange, yet carry peace…

Then you are not awakening — you are returning.

Some are born. Some are called. But the Hidden Ones… awaken themselves.