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Ahavah follows fractured lives colliding with systems that promise peace while hollowing out meaning. It asks what remains of belief when it is regulated, what remains of love when it must be justified, and what remains of the self when every instinct is taught to feel sinful.
This is not a story about saving the world.
It is a story about surviving the knowledge that it was built wrong.
At its heart, Ahavah is about freedom-what we're told it is, what it costs, and whether it can exist at all without loneliness, rebellion, or loss. A cosmic shadow looms in the background, but the true horror lives closer: in compliance, in comfort, in the quiet decision not to ask why.
Set in the decaying sprawl of New Pall City, the story follows a cast of fractured people-outcasts, skeptics, believers, addicts, idealists, and the quietly broken-each navigating their own personal wars against systems that claim to protect them while hollowing them out. Courtrooms become confessional chambers. Streets become pulpits. Conversations with strangers reveal more theology than sermons ever did.
At its core, Ahavah is not about the end of the world, but about living inside one that has already ended-where faith is weaponized, desire is criminalized, freedom is commodified, and morality is enforced rather than discovered. As the characters confront love, lust, guilt, purpose, and loneliness, they are forced to ask a question more terrifying than any cosmic horror:
What does freedom mean when every choice is shaped before you make it?
Blending cosmic dread with social critique, Ahavah is a story about people searching for liberation-not just from the State, the Church, or the Market, but from the versions of themselves those forces created. It is a meditation on identity, rebellion, and the thin line between awakening and exile.
Once seen, nothing can be unseen.
Once questioned, nothing remains simple.
And once freedom is pursued, it may never look the way it was promised.