When Silence Becomes an Inner Cry

For much of my life, I’ve been surrounded by silences — some imposed by routine, others by faith, and many that echoed from deep within. It was in one of those silences — the deepest of all — that Veridion was born. Temporarily away from work due to health issues, facing physical pain and existential doubt, I found in writing a way out. A cry. A way to reconnect with something that had always pulsed inside me, yet which I had never dared to shape into words. I’m not a writer by training. I didn’t study literature, nor did I follow a formula or have a mentor. But I had ideas — vivid, intense, relentless. I had visions, characters, cosmic landscapes that visited me as if they’d always lived inside me. And I had the courage to listen. I used artificial intelligence tools as creative support — not as origin. Every narrative choice, every symbol and silence, was guided by my own voice, shaped by what I felt needed to be said. And for a long time, I didn’t say it. Because, in truth, Veridion wasn’t born just from the silence of the universe. It was born from mine. All my life, I’ve hidden my condition — I live with limb-girdle muscular dystrophy. Almost no one knew. I carried it in silence, afraid of being judged, limited, or discredited. But in writing this book, I chose a different path. This book is my act of courage. My tearing of the Veil. The Silence of Veridion is not just science fiction. It’s an open letter to anyone who’s ever looked up at the sky and wondered why it stays silent — and to everyone who carries a silence within, waiting to be heard. If you’ve made it this far, thank you. Now take a deep breath. And listen. Because sometimes, silence speaks.