The Portal in the Peony Patch: That’s how this Discovery of mordant, judgmental slang for Ultimate Chill was made.

When I was walking through the backyard one day in a simmering oppressive Islamabad, the heat sucked the life out of the place. The lush green grass which previously carpeted the front yard was now more akin to an abandoned Sahara desert with a yellowish tinge to it and the melodious songs of birds had been replaced with the cacophony of cicadas. It was on such day, when tired from a long-haul journey, escaping from scorching heat that something miraculous befell me.

I was pulling the final obstinate flowers in the peony bed; their preliminary pink color was already fading under the weather vane determinedly scorching the whole garden when the blade of the trowel hit against something. I was immediately intrigued by this sight and wiped the dust on it<|reserved_special_token_274|> to discover that what lay right before me was a brand-new circular stone tile that had no business being there given the conditions of the terrain. Curiously, I applied some pressure on it as I anticipated some sort of a pushback akin to opening an unwieldy lid. Though the idea almost made me roll my eyes; alright, the tile actually creaked slightly and opened to a dark abyss below.

Finally, I mustered my courage to look down into what from this distance appeared to be bottomless pit. A gentle zephyr brushed my face, as suddenly, instead of the burning heat any above, a pleasant windswept. Part of me wanted to know what they were doing while another part of me still feared the unknown, I squatted. The night was filled with a void of freedom and light, yet it called for the freedom that was not possible in the backyard. I took a slow, deep breath trying to ignore the cold breeze that was blowing over the compound.

The transition was instantaneous. Suddenly one was at the edge of the abyss, gazing out into the darkness, the next one was in the middle of what could simply be described as another planet. A lush green grass of a quality which seemed unnatural; too green it was covering the ground which I was touching with my feet. Gigantic trees with rainbow-tinted foliage created AIDS-prone light patterns on the ground, evoking an expressive midnight feel. It was resonating with the sounds of birds singing, even though I couldn’t see them; the sound waves filled me with happiness.

However, the month most outstanding feature of this secret gem of a city was its lack of noise. But it was not the silence per se; rather, it was the music of the forest: the leaves whispering to each other, the water flowing in the stream beneath the shelters, the birds singing somewhere among the trees, merging into the general symphony of the world. It was the kind of silence that seemed to scream and the kind of peace that comes with the feeling of a heart well-tuned.

Continuing my walk, I noticed that the corridor grew and became wider and I found myself in front of an illuminated area, which was as if suffused with light from all directions. In the center of the clearing grew a large willow tree: its broken boughs formed a green, dense canopy overhead. As I reached the powerful giant tree and lay on the soft grass beneath it, people were surrounding me, belonging to a population I had never seen before.

In English a wise old woman with brown skin akin to the color of the earth and her eyes shining like polished stones. Beneath her was a young man, his skin covered with geometric patterns that glowed as if they were burning within. There was an old creature, not much larger than a child, which had fur of the bright silver of the lunar surface and big, thoughtful eyes, sitting on a rock to the left. And last, the woman with the silver hair and the ethereal wings that reflected all the colors in the sky flew above the group.

I stared for a moment and froze unsure of what my next step should be. I felt the presence of the old woman and turned towards her direction, she beckoned me with her eyes, each wrinkle on her face giving her the look of an ageless grandmother.

“Hello, stranger,” she greeted warmly, and as warm as her tone was, her voice was deep, rich, and resonant like a woman of many octaves. I said to them, “They said we have been expecting you.”

In the end, I had no choice but to go toward the group since my head was spinning from the disbelief of the entire situation. This youth had a beautiful smile on his face as did his fresh tattoos that were written on his face to tell the world that he was a gangster.

The little creature, whose voice was not louder than a chirp, bent its head to one side, wore look of pure curiosity on its face. The woman, winged and ethereal, as light as a fallen leaf, touched down next to the old woman.

I got comfortable quickly, and for the first time in a while, I felt at ease; the stress and pressures that I always felt did not matter anymore, as if the creatures were soothing my mind. When the old woman presented herself as Anya, she told them that this was some kind of sanctuary for people who needed a break from their problems.

That’s when she spoke, “We are the Chill Guardians,” her tones being melodiously reassuring. We exist to make the chaos in the world tolerable and ensure that those who need order have somewhere to find it.

Their intended use was also explained to me by the young man whose name I later found out was Kai. He described the existence of a world where there was no struggle and everybody lived in mutual agreement before the culture of assimilation took over. This secret sanctuary, he said, is only a part of that gone world, a possibility of what may be.

The small creature, referred to as Pip, twittered gaily, flying back and forth between us as it described the web’s marvels. It spoke of waterfalls that gushed down pure rock walls, fields that contained flowers never seen before, at least they could not be found on this planet, forests full of creatures beyond imagination.

This winged woman with graceful movements identified herself as Luna and explained the bond.