INTRO

We all know the saying, "nothing in the world is free." It is indeed true. The air we breathe—what has it cost to reach this point, and what have you sacrificed, and was it worth it? The world is not what it once was. Everything has a price, but are you willing to pay that price, and how much? With great power comes great responsibility, a phrase we write in our minds before we crawl into bed. Otherwise, God will come and take us.

PROLOGUE

At the gate of God's Garden, an enormous and intricate stone structure stood as a hidden message of dedication and hard work. Two children stood before it: two girls, dressed in clothes that had experienced the mercilessness of war. Their faces bore the marks of suffering, and their hair was so tangled that even a rat would feel proud.

The shorter girl, Anya, with a face paler than a corpse, coughed. "Maila, are you sure this is the place? The gods will punish you if we are lost."

Maila, the elder of the two, sighed deeply in response but answered with a voice blurred by uncertainty. "The gods have already punished both of us. Enough is enough."

She looked at the dark gate, whose indistinct yet elegant patterns formed a large hand. Slowly, she reached her hand forward while her other hand gently enveloped Anya’s delicate hand, which was on the verge of breaking down. God's Garden lay on the other side. They had come so far. Turning back was not an option. But doubt suddenly crept into Maila, and her eyebrows furrowed slowly.

"The shaman said this was the place. Whatever we find when this door opens, we must embrace with open arms," she whispered.

Anya coughed again, this time dry, so dry that she held her stomach and curled up into a figure that looked far older than she should have been.

Maila bit her lower lip. Her hand pressed against the cold, wet stone structure, which seemed to grip her back. They waited. Their waiting lasted too long, thought Maila, who still had much to accomplish in life.

Anya coughed dryly again.

The gate creaked suddenly, so loudly that the air they breathed also felt it. The doors slammed open with a loud bang that resonated in the dark gloom that could be felt in the deepest depths. It was so dark that even the darkest place in the world would feel ashamed.

Maila withdrew her hand. They waited again. It was quiet. So quiet that even the sound of nothingness had crawled away in fear. But it was not the quiet that Maila feared. It was what lay on the other side, God's Garden. The longer they waited, the more the silence crept around them, clinging like a poisonous snake trying to bite into their deepest fears and secrets. But the two girls were not its prey today. One had one foot in the grave. The other was almost certain she had angered the gods. Both children carried shame, a shame that could not be washed away even with the finest words from the finest tongue.

"Mai..." Anya's words were choked off by a giant dark hand that shot out of the gloomy gate, squeezing harder around her neck. She was lifted into the air as if she weighed nothing and was quickly pulled into the gate. The heavy, creaking stone doors slammed shut.

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Maila was left standing, her face painted with confusion, shame, and regret that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

"Anya..." Her words were choked off in a dry cough.

It was dark. It was quiet. But Maila did not feel the veil of darkness trying to strangle her slowly. Her thoughts were elsewhere. Only Anya was in her mind, a mind that now went blank. Maila’s eyes darted around, seeing nothingness smile slyly at her, its silence a sign of its cunning collaboration with the darkness. Her gaze returned to the gate, stopping at the engraving of the hand, which looked like the work of a man. Tears, warmer than fire, broke forth, and she tasted their salty uselessness. With clenched fists, her knuckles protested the gate's heavy and merciless edges. She pounded loudly, accompanied by a sorrowful, humming melody. After several punches, Maila felt her hands give out, so she stopped, feeling the soreness in her knuckles prick like a poisonous knife now stabbing her heart. Her breathing slowed, and she only now noticed how the place tried to cling to her with its clammy, shadowy arms. As she attempted to protest, a voice suddenly spoke from the gloom, carrying a cryptic message.

"Sweet child, are you aware of the sin you have committed?"

Footsteps approached Maila. No matter where she looked, her eyes couldn't keep up. They came from all directions! The footsteps grew louder and sounded heavier until they stomped. They stopped. Where? Maila’s eyes desperately darted around again. But only the darkness laughed back at her.

"My fine man, what do you mean, if I may ask? I am merely a child of war." She replied in such a small voice that she didn't hear herself. But she knew herself all too well.

A figure dressed in a robe longer than the longest roots, yet reaching his feet, brighter than The Holy Church’s celestial powers, slimmer than the slimmest person yet still perfect, so tall that the tallest man would gaze with envy, hair so light that light would bow, its shine outshining even the sun's sharpest rays, a face that made angels bow in the dust, and a smile that suppressed a burden of the world's deepest secrets and could remove everyone's suffering, even the smallest dew on a leaf.

"A beloved child has many names. My sweet child, though you are merely a child of war, it is no excuse for the sin you have committed," the figure replied with a voice so sorrowful it could bring the dead to life.

Maila sighed deeply, so deeply she felt it all the way down to her stomach. “I am ashamed that I was too incompetent to open that gate.” With a tight smile and streaming tears that could drown lakes, she pointed to the silent gate, lurking with the darkest secrets

The figure’s unmerciful gaze now elegantly wandered to the stone door and blinked until he had seen enough. “Why do you wish to enter a foreign door that lurks with strangeness?” he asked in a tone so confused it could make even the wisest beings doubt themselves.

“Uh…” Maila’s eyes studied the gate again, this time closely, and saw no hand, which now put her sanity at stake. At first, she thought it was a dream until she saw a slender, petite girl in her mind—Anya, her existence now a mystery. Her heart crawled up into her throat, and with cheeks flushed as red as boiled eggs, she shouted, “My sister…”

“You have committed a sin!” roared the figure, his voice so resonant that even the darkness trembled.

“My sin is my birth!” cried Maila back. “My birth!” Her bubble burst, and a waterfall of tears streamed out. Her voice cracked into a loud wail. But the figure did not react; he was unaffected, yet his eyes sparkled with curiosity.

“For committing the worst sin in the world, I hereby condemn you to never sleep, never eat, never be at peace. As punishment, you shall serve the Spirits and come to each of their calls.” His right hand, larger than the largest planet, spread its fingers in such a slow motion that time seemed to freeze. Out came a snow-white wave that coiled around Maila, gently lifting her from the ground. She felt a warmth so pleasant that she wished to fall asleep, enveloping her; it swathed her in its warmth, cleansing her mind. Just a little nap, Maila thought. With a smile that could thaw the coldest snow, she closed her eyes and sank into a deep sleep, a sleep her subconscious didn’t know if she would awaken from.