The Parallel Paths

Prologue

Snow— so beautiful yet, so deadly. I remember always asking mother to take me up high into the mountains, above the clouds where soft flakes gently stick against my face accompanied by a gentle breeze. Where coldness of the soft white snow beneath my feet would be a thrill. From my snowy throne— I would look down at the dystopian world of Lemuria.

It was any dream an eight-year-old would've had. Now that I was twenty two, it was then I was faced with such harsh reality trying to fulfill a stupid childhood dream.

I wish I would have listened to mother, not leaving the house to embark on such a bizarre journey. I wish I was still a little kid, lying in the warmth of her arms back home beside the warm embers in the fireplace.

The only warmth I felt now was the warmth of my wound. A thrusted dagger in my side just barely hitting my lungs. Each breath was a sharp stab. I lay there, unable to move for I didn't have a choice.

My blood slowly fading into the white snow, painting the beautiful canvas of death. The last nerves active in my system remained trembling as my life slipped.

I was going to die alone.

I never imagined my first time in the snow to be so plain nor ephemeral— none of this have I imagined honestly. I dreamed of being surrounded by my mother, us gliding through the snow or building snowmen—

then again— one can only dream.

The thought of such laughter and joy brought a small tear into my eye, almost instantly freezing once running down my freezing rosy cheek.

I softly pressed my hand deeper into my wounded side, my strength slipping. The wind howled such as a lone wolf deep within a dark green sylvan. The snowflakes whirling around me.

Just up ahead, a tall dark edifice which only seemed as a block of large concrete up ahead. I knew it was where I needed to be, my final destination.

I tried desperately to move forward, I was unrelenting you could say. The cold seeped into my bones sucking away at any remaining strength I had. My vision was growing more distorted. I could feel myself fading from this reality and onto the afterlife— if there even was one. I remember always being scared of what would happen after death but now, the thought of resting peacefully wherever I liked didn't seem all so bad.

I would like to say I died without regrets, though I had one that ached a wistful feeling inside my being. I regretted being so harsh with mother. I knew she was always so stringent, though it was only to keep me safe. Mother knew the snow wasn't a safe place yet I still neglected her words and embarked on such a journey—

which fate resigned in my death.

in my last moments of life I lay there struggling in unbearable pain, crying salty tears I did the day I was born.

The last feeling I felt, where the dagger couldn't reach my own guilt could, the guilt I felt for my mother.

The woman who loved me, birthed me, now worried sick of where I was or when I was coming home.

I'm sorry mother, I won't be returning.

When stars align and darkness takes flight, three hero's emerge, ready to fight.
With a star as a beacon, so pure and bright,
in the depths of the shadows, they'll shine through the night.
With waters embrace, their power will swell,
A force of nature, they'll weave a new spell.
Through fire and anger , they'll rise and rebel, against all the evil, their story to tell.

Fear not the danger, let the courage ignite, For justice will triumph, restoring the light.
With vengeance as fuel, they'll take up the fight,
In a world filled with darkness, they'll make things right.