Elysium was the most beautiful and grandest city on Earth; be it day or night, it was the safest abode. The city was so big that it could be seen from outer space, and the tallest buildings pierced the sky itself.
It was made for the rarest of metals, adorned by the brightest jewels, housed by the most driven humans. Each day, numerous wise and intellectual minds came together, and either a new device was invented or improved.
The roads were clean symmetrical for most parts, and stepping into the city was the same as stepping into the heavens. No disease couldn't be cured in this city, no ailment that could not be removed.
The shops were filled with delicacies and ornaments from all over the world; beautiful men and women were on the road that elevated the city's mood. And in this city, the one building that was the grandest of all, a family lived at the highest of the floor.
It was just a family of three, the mother, the father, and the child that was just born.
"She isn't crying," A gorgeous woman lay on the bed, doctors surrounded her, but her eyes passed through them, gazing at the two solid arms holding a child, newborn in their arms. The child had few hairs, akin to the same color as the mother who just spoke, ashen.
Even though the child she gave birth to wasn't crying, it didn't sadden her or worry her; on the contrary, her face was covered in the happiest smile possible for a mother who had just given birth.
As deep as the oceans, her blue eyes raised to look at the man holding the child she gave birth to. He had long golden hair, longer than one would expect, and a neat beard. The man's tall and robust figure protected the baby that wasn't crying, his baby, gazing into her striking blue eyes with his brown ones.
The baby looked back at him, raising its hand, giggling, trying to touch his beard. He smiled at her, "My child, my daughter, you will be the future ruler of Elysium. The liberator of this dying world."
"Stop it," The woman, the mother lying on the bed, gently said, raising her hand to hold her child.
The man hastily walked up to her, putting the child in her arms, "Why? That is the truth?"
"I just…wish for her to be safe," The mother kissed the forehead on the child, the daughter showered by the blessed light of the sun, nearer to in than all beings on Earth, "Emilija."
Emilija L. Elysium, the child, born with the destiny to free the world of its misery, the one who shouldered the destiny of freeing Gods, Monsters, and Demons alike. She was not alone to born on that day, in the stars that reflected the fate of the mortal realm, that day, they shined on two.
Far from the grandest, most fantastic city of Earth, from Elysium, on the other side of the globe, there was a farm, the simplest one, shining with golden light under the dark sky. This Earth, where heaven and hell were on, changing with the day and night, this land was protected by the terrors of the night by the light of the sun, blessed by the Goddess who made the star of the solar system her home. Even at night, the light didn't dissipate, protecting this patch of land like many others.
In such farm, one where the wheat, the crops shined golden in the Goddess's light, where the trees were awake even in the night, where the thunder crackled in the dark, clouded sky, rain poured, and the wind roared, and yet, the happy giggle of a child echoed louder than all.
The child lay in her mother's arm, in a wooden hut, made from the wood of the toughest trees, protected by the glass inscribed by the priests. Her father, an average man, and her mother still a beauty, the child's eyes turquoise, like a distant galaxy, enriched with wisdom and thought, wandered around the room.
She saw her mother, wondering if that smile on her mother's face was the most beautiful ever, and her father, who was as goofy as her grandfather. She had heard it all, her mother's words before she was born, her father and grandfather, and the other grandparents who went to the nearest city.
Her eyes saddened for a moment, but only for that much, she laughed and giggled at the antics of her father and grandfather. Her mother wrapped her arm around her protectively, and even a newborn could tell that they were so happy.
The child tilted her head, hearing them talking about her not crying, her grandfather said, it was a legend in the city. Those born with higher aptitude were learned before they were even born; even the most outstanding teachers of all treasured such children.
Her mother got angry when her grandfather talked of sending her away to study, to give her to the priests and priestess, and let the temple raise her. She turned over, hugging her mother as tightly as her newborn arms could, and her mother, in turn, held her in a warm embrace.
The warmest it could be, her mother's voice reassured her, listening to her unsaid words, "Don't worry, my love… no one can separate you from me. I will be beside you, forever and ever. Amara…my child, my most precious treasure."
The two children, brighter than any other, live far apart. One in the grandest of the city, surrounded by millions, who all blessed her, didn't speak.
She read books before she learned to walk, turned pages, one after the other. She learned to write before she even spoke, and soon one book became two, and two became three; from there, the numbers reached many. Piles and piles, seasons passed four and a few more, and the room of hers, filled with towering books.
Servants came, day and night, and so did her mother, who sat beside her, answering thousands of questions she wrote. There wasn't any that she could have thought, and her mother couldn't answer. Her father made sure to visit her but not to disturb her. He would sit near the door, watch her through the stacks of books, smile, and then leave.
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While she read books, she learned more about the world she was born in and learned more about man and machines. The other child, just as brilliant, spoke in the sweetest voice; the birds of thousand types flapped their wings, circled the simple farm to hear her voice.
They became the guiding light, day or night, visitors from afar, the lost and the bright, followed the birds to the land that shined day and night.
The child ran to them to welcome two huts from two families, became three, and then three became many.
As some more seasons passed, both reached the age of three, one celebrated with the highest honors, having read more than the scholars and sages, having achieved more than the scientists, at the innocent age, and yet, she refused to say a word.
Her mother wondered, worried about her little girl; her father visited the sages, the priests, the scholars, and doctors to ask for their insight, to hear his little girl's voice.
The girl stood, looking over hundreds of thousands of people, filling the roads of the Elysium, the balloons, banners, party hats, and streamers; the city was filled with so much more. Each stood there to celebrate this occasion, the day of her success, and she received this honor, and yet, not a smile came across those lips of her own. Her eyes wandered afar, to the city's edges, wondering what could be.
She was oblivious to the fact of the other one, the girl who thought of the same question, wondering what was beyond her village. She sneaked out at night, having heard the numerous stories; there were warnings and incidents, each more scary.
Yet, the curiosity got better of her, made her escape from her house at night, reach the boundaries and near the darkness that started where ended the golden light.
She stopped, looking out, worried? No, excited, she took a step forward and ventured into the night. The roads much traveled now, etched in the ground, the steps of those who traveled in the day.
Amara, the child, breathed in the darkness, the dead air surrounding her, yet the death escaped from the air, worried to even touch her. She stepped on the white sand, grass under the sun, gazed at the barren picture, usually invisible from her eyes.
She walked further, coming across fallen pillars, cars of the old, burned, twisted metals, and the towers, buildings, fallen to the ground. Each tilted or broken, the ones that reached the sky now in ruins. The land spoke to her; the empty cars, overturned, made her listen. The destruction and ruin spoke a story of their own.
They cried out to her, as clearly as the voice of the villagers, of her mother, they all said.
"WE WERE HERE!!! WE LIVED!! WE CRIED!! WE FOUGHT TILL THE VERY END!"
So many of them, overwhelming her, the voices, the ghosts, each made her step back. She ran and ran, back to the warm light of the sun, protection of land, to the familiar ground, and the familiar house, until she was in a warm embrace. She breathed in, having startled her beloved mother, who hugged her even late at night.
Her black hair, black as the darkness of the light, combed by her mother's fingers. She panted, and sweat dripped on her cheek; she hoped this embrace would continue with her heart and soul, another day or week.
"Amara…my dearest," Amara's mother warmly said, caressing her cheek, "Did you get too curious and peaked at the darkness outside?"
The child wasn't surprised that her mother knew, who else knew her better than her, and she didn't deny it even though it would get her in trouble. She nodded honestly, looking for her mother's embrace.
"Oh, my. To see that darkness, the truth, and lies."
Her mother's gaze saddened, and the arms holding her tightened, but it didn't last for long. The child who bravely ventured into the night cowered; the cheeks still chubby were pulled from both sides. The kind mother became a demon from hell, punishing her with an angered glare.
"You are becoming more and more naughty! How often have I warned you not to go out of the village at night? It's dangerous!"
"Uhh," The child, her daughter, cried out in pain; her beautiful innocent eyes fell on the man she called her father. He had woken up from the noise, but it didn't take long before he figured it out. Eyes filled with worry and fear, he jumped up on his feet, and it didn't long before his voice woke the others.
At night, all came out, the children, the men, the women, surrounding her, angered and worried, protective of the others.
They all decided to protect the children. There would be guards and night to keep the ones like her inside. And so began her days of sneaking and boredom; with nothing to do, she picked another book.
Life was simple, but not so simple; the villagers disappeared one after the other on her side. The land that was blessed was now said to be cursed.
On the other side of the world, the ashen-haired child, who shouldered the Fate of the World, gazed at the afternoon sun with unchanging eyes and emotions.
When she was most celebrated, the day for the world to praise her for her achievements was just another day for her. Inconvenienced, she stood there for her parents, the approvals, acclaims, and tributes, which mattered little, and made her mother and father happier.
She was a troubled child, the child that hadn't spoken in years she was born; her achievements shadowed the minor flaw. Still, it pricked her mother and father, who worried for her, and yet, it was hard for her to understand.
Still, she stood as long as she needed as she desired for their happiness, waiting until they got tired. The celebration continued for days and nights, and she longed to find out what was outside.
Using the crowd who celebrated her yet didn't know what she looked like, she hastened through, hid, and sneaked and covered. As many as the festival continued, it took days, and her mother slyly followed her to make sure her little girl didn't fall and bruise.
The ashen one took cars, trains, and rides to reach closer to her destination, the innocent child didn't realize who was the one who paid. Not looking back, she ran and ran, jumping and fell, but stood up again without shedding a tear; her every action made the mother's heart palpitate in fear.
It was a long journey, but the girl reached the end, only to see the sun shine brightly on everything. She desired to see what was out there at night, so she took shelter, observing, waiting for the sun to die.
Her eyes, bright, striking, blue, gazed at the sky, watching the clouds drift, and she enjoyed this peace. She waited and waited to forgo food and sleep, and the mother, too, waited for the child to sleep.
The child pushed through, and then it was evening, but she didn't get to see even after all that hard work. The land under her feet trembled, the gears turned, the walls rose, surrounding Elysium. The blessing from the sun covered the land and sky; Elysium, even at night, was still bright.
The child widened her eyes; they started to fill with tears, but mother's arms enveloped her before even one of them left her eyes. The warm embrace of her mother protected her from the first disappointment and the futility of hard work.
And so, she wiped her tears, glaring up the wall, and the child vowed to surmount it for sure. There were better ways, uncomplicated. Indeed, she knew, but this was her failure, shame, and what she must do for her.
Since then, passed another four seasons for both the children; one ran up against the wall, the other realized something was wrong.
The village that she loved, and the people old or new, loved her, but she didn't see a few. They were lost; others said they left, yet she knew she was being lied to.
The child got on her feet, sneaking out of the sight of others, but the only ones she was worried about were her father and mother. She hid past them and, crossing the river, to the houses that were jubilant before but now much lonelier.
She jumped past the steps and crossed the porch; the door that should have been locked was open for her to walk. The inside was fresh, hiding the underlying smell of the flesh.