Book 1: The Chosen

JOURNAL ENTRY #100

Do the prophecies bind the grand destiny of a hero, or is it the hero that binds prophecies together to form their grand destiny? I ponder at this query, getting more vexed than ever. These dreams I have been experiencing a few years ago wasted precious hours of my life, but I keep thinking about those dreams that...I don't have anymore.
Now I only see twisted realities every night, but they contain a few fragments of something out of the ring of reality. For example, a few nights ago, I dreamed of isolation. I ended up in an ethereal beach of soft ashes, with spiraling gray mountains in distance. And the rest of the surroundings seem to fade into a chromatic, cloudy sunset, as if I am stranded on a floating piece of misty land. Anyways, the ebony sea contained celestial fish. I caught an albino piranha with piercing, ice blue eyes and retractable spikes along its back. I also saw a disastrous, aquatic woman. Her hair was a mix of teal and black eels that spits out tar-like venom. Her skin blended well with the ashes, except her tangy, jewel-like eyes. This was no "marine" Medusa. She had tentacles for legs. Ok, maybe the concept of Medusa did affect my dream...
Later on, obsidian skyscrapers came into view and familiar humans appeared, making this dream seem more like reality. However, the strange multi-hued sky of light pinks, purples, yellows, and darkening blues...and nebulas clotted with stars, made me think for a while.
Could I be soon be dreaming those "dreams" soon?
Wah, heck no! Nonetheless, those precious hours I wasted thinking about my dreams are never coming back. I could have utilized those hours for something advantageous, like constructing a box full of crap I don't want anymore-the good kind of crap-and donate to charity. I could have saved lives in this way, giving them the notion that compassion is everlasting, and by giving them necessities that will extend their chances to accomplish something (good) in life. I should have spent those wasted hours in studying more, or otherwise I wouldn't be have that one "A-" in a report card. Yes, my standards are set high, but that applies to everyone who wants to go into medical school. Becoming a doctor would be perfect for paving a direct road to achieving my goal...
To save lives.
I saved lives. In my dreams, at least. That's one of the countless things that kept my heart beating strongly, which is replacing malevolence with benevolence. I want to devote part of my life to nourish those who suffer and once I saved their lives, whether physically, mentally, or emotionally, I want to see happiness flourish within their souls. Those opportunities were reached in my dreams. Dreams that did not tie with reality, that is. Hold on, journal, I got to keep this all brief...
My ink is running out. Forgive me for vague details, but I'm the only one reading this...unless someone else ends up "stealing" my entire record. Whoever is reading this entry, know that this is just an overview of the next 470 pages of nonsensical crap-
I'm kidding. Still, I don't know if I want to record my dreams anymore...because they will go on until I die-well-can a dead person still dream?
Dammit, I'm off topic. And I wasted a milliliter of ink by doing so. Just understand that the "dreams" will be thoroughly recorded.
What do I mean about "dreams"? Oh, where shall we start...hm...
First of all, those hallucinations acted as if I was the hallucination in their world. They thought I existed. I do exist. And they say that they also existed. Does that mean the world that I was dreamed of existed too? Soon, they were beckoning me to find a connection between their world and Earth. A portal. Do you know what a portal is? It's basically the gateway between designated realms that teleports you across a great chunk of distance in seconds, minutes, or hours, depending how far you want to go. Nerds of magic say that some portals (conjured by arduously cultivated magic or a simple wave of the hand if you are a Celestial Sage) can direct the conjurer to the location he or she thinks of decisively-
Forget it, I am wasting a precious hour sitting here thinking about all this and writing it down over and over! I just want my mind completely directed to reality, and hope that I would be forgiven.
For the sake of my minor OCD, where I like to "finish" unresolved "problems", I will continue.
To start off my babbling, my dreams, ever since I was two, had been going in an uncanny story. It's like I am living an alternative life every night. I will try to fit all the details in a lengthy summary, if you don't mind. This world wasn't just a parallel version of Earth. It's more composed of...fantasy. It's the kind of fantasy that I have never perceived, conceived, or believed. It's not your stereotypical ideas of sorcerers and dragons, Hobbits and elves, or just anything! Well, maybe some dragons...and forest elves...but they are a lot different. Why? In a nutshell, they look real, they feel real, and they have different customs. And they are only .001% of the entire composition of this world. They are areas kind of like Earth, too. Humans thrive in multiple regions, but they are compatible with other humanoid "races" and "species". But 90% percent of the stuff I see in these dreams, they don't relate to Earth. They have characteristics like Earth, such as green grass, trees, and some blue skies. On the contrary, nothing is specifically the same. I may see typical human-made skyscrapers, but there isn't anything explicitly related. I have been through diverse forests, but they are not exactly the same as the ones in Yellowstone Park-come on, you should get my drift by now! Ugh, one last example. I don't see McDonalds when I dream. I see a completely different restaurant with whimsical settings and different foods of more innovative recipes, in a way. Same rule applies to "humanoids" that live there. I haven't seen a four legged silver alien with neon blue eyes and a spiky head, with electrifying guns as arms ANYWHERE, but in one random dream, and I didn't even have the capabilities of imagining such creature! This is the bottom line, to be honest. There is a lot to explain. Anything ranging from ancient practices to ultramodern societies, this world has it all. Look up in the sky, you will see stars, a moon, and also two neighboring planets, distant nebulas, and harmless nova explosions. It's utterly ravishing, and horrific. Why horrific? Well, very rarely I have seen planets orbit super close to where I stand, because when I hold my fist up to compare sizes, the unknown planet in the sky is bigger than my fist! Oh, and the arbitrary patterns on those vivid planets are just so visible, I can tell if there is a ring, if the planet has oceans, lands, gases, or even storms...and gravity does seem to change quite a bit, temporarily, when such event occurs.
I am not even a quarter way done explaining about this world, so I'll just leave it at that.
When I turned four years old (I am sixteen years old currently), that's when my dreams altered significantly. I had to travel to survive in this new world. Luckily, I met someone who took care of me from time to time. His name was Emyrlin, I think. He was an elderly human, who knew sorcery, but would only use it in subtle manners unless he wanted to train me or defend me and his wife, Liah, from enemies. He would come up with incantations unlike any before. And he doesn't go offense with sorcery when it comes to a precarious scenario. He likes to "trick" his enemies until they let themselves be fettered into his traps.
I enjoyed these times, particularly because of the foreign landscapes and their tranquility, and the people I met. They inspired me to become really adventurous. At the same time, I grew...kind of stupid. I wanted action. I wanted to become a vigilante. What sparked the pyre within my tiny frame was the newspapers Emyrlin would bring home. Celestial invaders partying in blood and violence on the other side of the planet. Ghastly spirits trudging through local parks, traumatizing children. The number of robberies drawing exponential lines on charts. Covert gangs, craving for wealth, decapitating hostages in a far-off city. Saving lives isn't a bad idea, but try doing it when you are eight years old. It was the right choice for me to run away...but the wrong choice to leave without saying goodbye.
Well, at least I tried to become a vigilante. First procedure was to run away from Emyrlin's citadel. Check. Second was to self-train in combat. Check. Third, sell hand-picked fruits to random markets. Check. Fourth, use the money to buy weapons. Check. Hitch hike until reaching a designated area. Check. Beat up the kidnappers, save the hostages, give cookies to petrified children, beat up ghosts without getting a curse, and get shot through the stomach without flinching. Check. Be suddenly recruited into a national organization that protects the planet in multiple ways, and be placed in M.C.A., the Master Combat Agency. Check!
Yes. I was only eight when they found me, accepted me, and trained me until I can be declared as an "agent". The M.C.A. were basically the arms of the entire organization. Although we specialize in myriad fields of combat, we also encompass some of the most intelligent minds in the organization, which is why we are also in charge of carrying out most of the missions and in directing mobilization for wars. We train the strongest military, but we make sure that if a war is considered, we try NOT let anyone spur a war, unless a war ends up being a plan Z.
I endeavored to make full use of this gargantuan opportunity. On the other side of the equation, my jubilance moderated once I was no longer the top dog. More importantly, my countenance transitioned into pure sketchiness, meaning that everyone grew really cynical about me. More of my allies' doubts pummeled me to the very earth until I felt like dirt under their scraping feet. How did this happen? Well...let's just say that whenever we are on a mission, the probability of dangers increase when I join. It seemed like that I was a bad luck charm of some sort, but we always vanquished our foes, ultimately, so why does it matter if I...you know what...let's cut to the damn chase.
There was a certain mission that took place in an urban city situated in a desert, mostly inhabited by humans. The situation was a small apocalypse of zombies. The fact of the matter here is that the zombies aren't actually zombies. They were plagued lives. An unknown entity that my team talks about, without telling me the details sadly, was said to be the primary cause. He has the ability to alter innocent lives into vile monsters by using this stuff called blackest blood, a liquid that holds parasites no one has ever recorded in the history of...parasites? Anyways, the idea of being plagued isn't a simple notion where you would think, oh it's just a physical curse roused by evil powers. It's something way more significant, but I don't quite remember. Let's move on.
I know that I woke up from the apocalypse dream without seeing a resolution. Anyways, I failed to attain the real solution. Why? Well...I always thought these dreams were just dreams. Thus, I have done stupid things, driven by the thirst for thrill, and achieving utter recklessness. This chain led me to different path, a darker path, and a path that I hope that I will never unintentionally embark on again.
I killed two of my friends.
Oh, now you think I'm the antagonist. Go ahead.
Alright, let me be a little clearer. How did I kill my friends? Hm...I don't know. Let's just say I am horrible at extinguishing fires. I couldn't get rid of those giant flames and lessen the vicious increments of plagued beasts before I could grab the hand of my friend. He slipped away, in seconds. The barrier of beasts mocked me with howls and wounds. Yeah, I failed to save a hallucination. He was a good friend...though...
His name was Bastion. Sort of tall for a dwarvyn (a dwarf). I always admired how he tied his jet black mane and beard, with each strand of hair dyed in the ends with a gradual, crimson to orange, shade. He would make multiple braids and tie them just like that, until he looked like half of a peculiar sun with spiky rays. He had swarthy skin that seemed to shine whenever he showed off his buff physique. I think he accepted traits from both the modern world and old traditions of his tribe. In example, his weapon is a medieval axe that can switch into a hammer with implanted guns. Bastion also played the drums, always encompassing fantastic taste in beats of songs. He was one of the few allies that never doubted me. Later this dream, we were supposed to throw a small party in the meadows near another M.C.A. base, but...
That never happened.
And we planned to invite our second friend. Floriana. I was always a charismatic girl for farions. They are a humanoid race with distinct traditions. Some chose to live a modern life. Some stick with traditional lifestyles. They are very artistic folks, but what they known for usually is...their ability to control nature, moreover, nourish nature. Fairions own some of the most beautiful wings, like giant butterfly wings to complex, richly hued petals of celestial flowers. Otherwise, I haven't done much research, but fairions do look like humans, but they have subtle, alien-like features. For instance, on farions can have ANY colored eyes, a slightly prominent brow, and flawless skin. They are quite tall, and I think that parts of their crown (head) can look like parts of a flower, with their skin tone, but what come out of their head varies among different sub species. Their hair can be very human-like, or have strands of leaves and thin, ribbon-like petals that provide moisture, or the "hair" can be branches (like antlers). Or, it could be a mix of all sorts of authentic features.
Floriana was indeed beautiful. She had dark, red hair chopped in a punk/pixie cut that suited her wild, but sweet personality. Her wings were considerably big, and full of dark, warm colors that reminds me of an eclipse during a sunset reflected on a beautiful ocean. I wish I remembered more about her...
And how I lost her...too...
Ever since I dreamed the next day, I was the most loathed person on the M.C.A. team, apart from having a few friends. They didn't blame me for failing to save our two partners. The thing is, I made myself look too prominent in our institute that the authorities developed high expectations for me. I even made a promise that I wouldn't fail simple objectives, and signed an agreement that if I do screw up...then I will be kicked off the top dog list and repeat certain courses and test out until I can regain my position. And saving my allies from a fire and a crowd of plagued lives was considered a fair objective, but...I was the one who promised to execute that particular mission.
I failed. And the next day...I got into a fight. My combat privileges were taken away. And once I got them back after arduous trials, I was forgiven after another year. I proved myself worthy by saving a city from an atomic bomb. I disabled it before the last thirty seconds disappeared. I saved multiple villages from robotic invaders. I annihilated an underground facility and recovered a stolen artifact that was a part of a secret blueprint that led to a development of a sacred weapon. I spied on several agencies, and with success, I gave enough information so that the M.C.A. had more advantages over their adversaries. I saved a couple of hostages from here and there, and got out of several apocalypses without letting a single soul be left behind. I had to deal with a couple of school shootings too, in human inhabited cities. I also did community services in the most random areas. Well, I'll just leave it at that. To me, I'm still eager to make more amendments. Along these rigorous roads, I still made a hell a lot of mistakes, but not as bad as...losing more allies.
Two months before I turned 13, I quitted the team. I don't remember why, but I knew that it was the right choice. Because during those two months, something...new happened.
And just a month after turning 13, it all...tumbled down from there.
Ever since my connection to that extraordinary world started fading, those dreams got hazier and hazier in memories. Soon all I can recall now is blurs and muttering. I only choose to forget, in fact, since those supernatural hallucinations had only interfered with my daily life. Some of those dreams are actually quite intriguing that I just cannot stop pondering about. The one that pursues me like a spirit imprinted on my soul-that one dream-should I repent because I...forgot it?
I dunno. All I know is that I can't answer anymore.
I thought dreams were just something imagination cooks up to entertain your slumber!
Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months...and yet after that very day (almost five years ago) nothing essential have transpired afterwards. Just teleporting to myriads of strange lands I never conceived of, every night. I only dreamed of twisted reality, or "normal" dreams. Five years of "normal" dreams. It's so boring, probably because it's been so long since I haven't see those mystical creatures. Now, nothing linked back to the very sequence of my truly exotic dreams. Everything vanished, I guess. Perhaps, it was meant to be that way. Ilithianorhya never existed...the world I would appear in when I dreamed.
I was told that I stumbled into a portal of the Celestial Sages, well-they were the ones who deliberately activated the chromatic portal that made the brightest bridges across the galaxies. I somehow went through it, but I don't remember how. All I know is that ever since that very moment, being four years old, my dreams took place in Ilithianorhya.
Back to the Sages. They are extraterrestrial beings I can blame for my weird dreams. Moreover, they created a portal only because they fathomed out a perfect choice for a hero...a savior of a certain dimension. I seriously didn't know how all my dreams came to this, but I accepted it. And I learned that sometimes...if we dream too big, we are going to have a bigger plunge down a mountain coated with land mines if those dreams end up...fake.
I still wonder if Ilithianorhya exists. I still wonder if those sages still exist. I wonder if they still regard me by a very uncanny title, the Chosen one. (It's actually the stupidest thing I ever heard).
I always dreamed, literally, of relentlessly hanging about in nature, surrounded by whispering trees. Lush meadows and vibrant flowers scattering the fields with a lively touch, which arouse blithe in life. Snow-doused crags with frore wind wandering relentlessly. Mysterious deserts that shrouds treacherous, but entrancing creatures. Oceans with abundant life with everlasting diversity, teeming of waters that changes into stunning colors by reflecting the shifting sky. The beauty God has bestowed upon worlds, I dreamed of exploring it.
I know, I'm weird. I seem like a typical high school student/human on the outside. I go to school, go home, hang out with family, do homework, eat food, listen to music, paint pictures, do religious obligations, work out with father, play videogames with my brother, go shopping with my mother, hang out with friends, eat more food, maintain homeostasis, cram stuff at night for a test at 8:00 a.m., sleep an average of six hours, and repeat the stuff, but with more adventures on the eternal to-do list. Life is life. Hey, I got friends, but they don't know what's wrong with my cranium. My families don't know how to untangle my extra-twisted mesh of spaghetti (a.k.a the brain) either, but they ignore me whenever I talk about my dreams. We just move on.
Ah...I should perhaps wind up this matter a little more snuggly, just to make sure how my memories are doing in a nice, summery day.
The highlight of most of my dreams...was him. Oh, you think I am going to waste another half-page on a boy? This boy had screwed up my mind the most, yet he remains the highlight of the Ilithianorhyans I met, really.
It's funny to think of him as an imaginary friend who spontaneously shows up with a mind of his own. Oh well, I did the right thing to stop thinking about this boy. Who cares if he is alive or not. Just like Ilithianorhya, he abandoned me. So I guess I have a mental issue about dreaming bizarre things. However, in my dreams, whenever I come to gesticulate about the "mental issue" topic, the boy denied it completely. He told me he existed, and he promised me that we will reunite someday...but it's been almost five years.
Yet, he was the only ally who stood by my side for the longest time in my dreams. I wasted tears over him. Now, I wish I can swallow those tears back in and use them for something else, like when Dumbledore died or when gas prices are too stupid to look at these days. It's funny how my dreams didn't form entirely from my crazy imagination when Ilithianorhya took over reality. It has to be a mental issue of mine...what else could it be?
Yet, I am a fanatic of adventures. I cherish Ilithianorhya in my heart, even though I sound like an obdurate platypus who stepped on a thorn on some parts of my journal. Yeah, who wouldn't get angry if one's awesome dreams turned into a pile of goblin dung? I hate dreaming of reality...loathe it...like last night I dreamed of winning those millions bucks by some talent I try to hone in real life. I got a new house and other crap load of bull crap transpired. That dream sounds like paradise, but to me it's nothing but too-good-to-be-true rubbish. I want to dream of Ilithianorhya again...
Dammit, I am contradicting myself again! And my ink is going to run out any nanosecond!
Why have I visited Ilithianorhya so often? That one dream had a chance to reveal everything that was hidden amidst of a tenebrous cage. That one dream gave me the chance to believe in the real reason to unravel the tightly woven threads of obscurities. I took it for granted that all those details of the truth-the truth of my dreams-were real. The boy was the one who persuaded me to believe in the reason. And the reason is...what the truth was...is...
Nevermind.
But as much as I hoped, and dreamed, and believed, there was... nothing afterwards.
I don't care about my dreams anymore. My memories are so dear, yet I wish I had the courage to trash them into an abyss of thick darkness...so that I will never recall those memories again. Memories of my dreams.
I feel heavy scars from my stupidity in the past. Looking at everything I wrote before, I remember as much as I did from yesterday, and the day before... Still feels like I am missing an important detail, but I can't count on finding it later on...so I might quit writing these journals soon. Even if all these dreams unremittingly revolves around my cranium, it's time to be bring a standstill to my furious, delirious, and serious thoughts.
And I always thought that I could figure it all out myself, but more mysteries would clutter my mind in such tremendous manner, it's too late to vacuum out the ambiguities. Therefore, I don't remember the truth.
And you know what that boy told me long ago? "Time will pass as secrets will reveal."
If what he is saying is true, then I'll keep waiting. Who knows what might happen? This boy made so many promises. His name is Rafael, by the way. Still, he needs to learn how to "keep" promises. And the only way he is going to prove himself trustworthy is to show up at my doorstep. And once he does, then I guess it's one way of telling mankind that...
There is another world out there. That's not the important thing, you see.
There is an unnamed, potent force out there. A force abounded with one word we do not wish to hear: Malevolence. Oh, it's not a big deal, you would think...but what's even more important that the threshold of this everlasting journey has taught me many things. And someday, I hope to apply the same virtues, or even encompass more. What do I mean by virtues-oh crap, my pen is dying. Whatever...
All you can do is wait while forging ahead.

END OF ENTRY