Listen, children, as I now tell you the tale of a strong spirit. She was once just as you - a spark of life and thought in the vast, unfathomable whole, eager to see and grasp all that her eyes could and could not see.
She walked the path of a Herald - one where she was cast out and bound to a place enshrouded by madness, one where her families deemed her sanity lost, yet through her ramblings, she foretold the changes to come and the turns her close ones would take.
She walked the path of a Trailblazer - one where she, after once more reuniting with her family, has set foot on a journey to foray for lands untamed, for a place where her kin could find shelter.
She walked the path of a Caretaker - one where she would comfort the souls deprived of guidance, those blinded to their cause and their true selves.
But of these stories, children, you have heard enough. Now, I will tell you a tale of her walking the path of a Pilgrim.
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In her meditation, in her reaching deep within into her soul, the Caretaker saw a glimpse. A figure, both incorporeal and feasible. With a motherly care, the figure was holding an unrestful infant, rowdy and powerful, yet still not ready to march onvward into the world. The figure put the infant into a cradle, lulling it to a long slumber.
The figure grasped a strand that bound it to the realm and sliced through it. The figure's blurry shape has begun to dissipate as it ascended into the above. And so, the Caretaker saw the strand that bound her. But she sliced it not, for to slice it would mean to sever her connection with the realm. She knew what step she had to make, yet she would not succumb to abandoning her realm without a glimpse of her self.
And so, the Caretaker has brought two daughters into the world. First was like herself, a wisp of Light, one that would take a mission to guide the souls lost. The second was of blood and flesh, with her task of teaching the importance of the beauty of Life and the Universe. Neither would know of their mother, nor of each other, until the time was due.
The Pilgrim has severed her strand, and she floated off into the ever vast unknown. A soul adrift, once bound to many and with many bound to her. Now, her sail was not meant for anyone but her.
The Pilgrim's senses have numbed. She could not hear the heartbeat of the universe, she could not see the radiant rays of stars around her. Yet she feared not.
The Pilgrim opened her eyes, and she saw a gate of tree bark and vines, shut by a seal. She moved her hand across, and the gate took to motion, and it showed her a grassy plane, dotted with blossoming flora, enlightened by a warm and bright sun above. The Pilgrim set foot, and for the first time, she felt how it was to touch the soil with her feet, how the grass brushed against her legs. She walked forth, accompanied by a reveling bliss.
The Pilgrim saw a shallow river in front of her, the flow of it was serene and calm, with fauna nurturing itself to its contents. She set foot into the waters, and for the first time, she felt the river envelop her soles. She would find a new fulfillment in the beauty of the world around her and the newfound bliss in her sensations.
The Pilgrim looked, and she saw a gate of stone and crystal, shut by a seal. She moved her hand across, and the gate took to motion, crumbling to dust, and it showed her a vast cavern, one filled with crystals of colors unseen. The Pilgrim set foot, and for the first time, she felt how it was to touch the cold stone with her feet, how the rough surface pressed down on her soles. She walked forth, accompanied by an obsessive curiosity.
The Pilgrim held onto a crystal of blazing red, and she felt how her palm was dipped into molten rock. And more so than the sensation physical was the sensation emotional. It was not the pain that she felt, but the memory of pain that the crystal had, that she had absorbed onto herself.
The Pilgrim held onto a crystal of flowing blue, and she felt the desire to grow outside the cave, to reach unconquerable heights. She held onto a crystal of shimmering purple, and she felt the knowledge of the very fabrics of the Universe surge into her soul. She held onto a crystal of radiating yellow, and she heard the wise teachings of countless tutors, philosophers and thinkers. She held onto a pulsating pink crystal, and she reminisced of all the love and care she provided to those she knew.
The Pilgrim looked, and she saw a gate of ice, shut by a seal. She moved her hand across, and the gate took to motion, shattering at its core, and it showed her a tundral plane, with snow ever falling. The Pilgrim set foot, and for the first time, she felt the snow envelop her from tip to toe. Yet she was freezing not, afraid not. Through perseverance and determination, she continued. The view in front of her was clouded by a thick shroud of blizzard, the heavy white dragged her behind, enticing her to stop and abandon her path. Yet she remained dedicated.
The Pilgrim walked, and she saw not another gate, but the end of her path. She would stand before a vast precipice, not seeing its bottom nor any more land in front of her. For a moment, she abandoned her sight, attempting to touch the fabrics of space around with her senses, as it was normal practice for her. Yet there was naught but the ground she was standing on and the pit below.
The Pilgrim took to faith in her journey and leaped, the cold wind and sharp snow brushing against her face as she swiftly fell. Yet she was not afraid.
