'So she follows from land to land
the wizard's beckoning hand
as a leaf is blown by the gust,
till she vanishes into the night.
Oh reader, stoop down and write
with thy finger in the dust.
O town in midst of seas
with thy rafts of cedar trees
Thy merchandise and thy ships
Thou too, art become as naught.
A phantom, a shadow, a thought.
A name upon man's lips.'
-Henry Longfellow, Helen of Tyre
.......
IMAGE. The name blares in huge, bold letters, tall, dark and imposing, if one knew what they were dealing with. But most often didn't. IMAGE could be scattered across the universe meaning different things. The act of printing thousands of pixels onto a sheet of paper, until they composed a two dimensional copy of a three dimensional object. Image, the act of presenting yourself to the universe, the act that you wish others to see. IMAGE, the Gods of the known universe. That's I.M.A.G.E, but what it stands for doesn't matter as much right now; just know that they are far worse/beautiful/great/infinite than the classic, black caped, evil laughing typical villain.
Actually, scratch that last comparison. These Gods are so much worse/beautiful/great/infinite that there really isn't anything they can be compared with. They're their own class of universal creations. One would assume that the word Image came from these Gods, and they wouldn't be too far off either. These Gods have been here since the universe's humble beginning and will be here long after it's end. Why do people, and indeed, all beings, refer to the universe's beginning as humble? What could possibly be humble about a single explosion of a single second creating every known and unknown object of the universe, the stars bursting out of nebulous flame, and crackling into supernova outbursts of a thousand, million year lifespans. A blaze of glory.
Everything, all beings of the universe now, cars, and pens, and buildings, and building blocks, and parrots and otters, atoms and dwarf stars, microscopic cells and exploding stars; all of it was forged in this one tiny, huge, momentous explosion. And now, 5 billion years later, there was about to be another.
The IMAGE Gods all gathered around the infamous bridge that lead to nothing. Nothing and everything, the cold darkness of space. An odd shape it was too, as bridges were generally straight. Not this one. It veered off course, first spiraling to the left, then to the right, until it curved into the unknown. The Gods kept their hoods obscuring their faces, if they even had faces, and the hoods themselves were covered with an ancient language of numbers and symbols, circling a birthstone in the middle. These were their stories, these were their souls.
The leader of the group, a leader one could tell because his cloak was much more elaborate and his gemstone much bigger than the others, raised a hand and everything whirled into motion. With this simple movement, members of the circle raised objects that seemed to be random up to the sky, a pentagonal box, embossed with a swirl that glowed blue with magic of the universe, a dream catcher with glowing purple, blue and pink colors that dangled with beautiful feathers, an ancient scroll that seemed to be written in the languages of the God's cloak, and an ancient sea shell that glowed with it's own magic, like a heartbeat.
"The time has come," the Ancient One spoke in a voice that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. "The time of prophecy, the universe's saviors have come at last. We present the Adventurer with the Infinite Box, the Dreamer with the Loom of Imagination, The Lost Knight with The Ancient Scrolls, and The Siren with the Song of Hope. With these objects, they will heal the wounds of time, preserve imagination, and make thyself immortal. So the universe will live on, forever. So mote it be."
With a swift movement, the portal glowed brightly and the members each hurled their objects at the same time. The road to nowhere and everywhere swallowed them into the darkness, and the IMAGE Gods returned to their silent watch of the universe.
As if nothing had happened at all.
And a whole new set of stories were about to begin...
.....
15 Years Ago: 1999
An old, rickety house sat in the middle of a forest. A blue car rested in the driveway made of stones, and the lush green grass that surrounded the porch was long overdue for a trimming. Purple and blue flowers' leaves fell to the ground as a gust of wind came rustling by. Shutters were half drawn for the start of spring's wind to still grace it's way through. Various toys littered the ground, a ball, a frisbee, clearly a little kid lived here. And a happier family, no one could find elsewhere. The father worked at an important computer company and made a healthy sum of money, leaving the mother to pursue her dream job as a historical interpreter, reading mystery books by night and taking care of their little one. The child knew nothing of the harsh world, and the parents were determined to keep it that way for as long as they could. But today something was different. Today, an unsettling cold wind blew through the grass blades, each individual root seeming to signal a warning.
The swings on the rickety playground swung back and forth, pushed by the wind as an imaginary force. An ordinary day, it seemed. Although the dark and overcast clouds overhead would suggest it was anything but.
A storm was brewing.
A sudden crack caused nature to lose its rhythm, the screech of metal on the screen door following. The door swung open, bounced a few times before the lock settled in its usual position. This revealed a man with ruffled brown hair, and though his mouth was set in a very firm line, worry was written all over his face. This was James Sparrow, who sometimes had quite the chuckle over his fairytale name. It was something that one would find in a Brother's Grimm book, and often raised the eyebrow at important business meetings.
No longer in his business suit to impress the higher-ups at work, his checked shirt and casual slacks that his wife begged him to throw away as they grew more and more ragged and used. He carried a pentagonal box that glowed in the inside with its own magic, the blue swirl on top catching the soft glow of the cloud-covered sun. He walked with purpose, his figure starting to dart between the trees on the path to the forest. James Sparrow walked deeper in, wrapping his black jacket around himself, and the bottom of his jeans gathering more and more dirt, but a sharp exclamation made him stop. Suddenly, after a few tries, a little girl burst out the door and ran after him.
"Daddy!" she exclaimed, her long black hair swishing as she ran. "Daddy, wait up! Daddy!"
The girl remembered this point of view all too well from stores, malls, museums, her being barely tall enough to reach her father's knee, and him hoisting her onto his shoulders for a piggy back ride. But this time he wasn't stopping, and there were no piggy backs in the near future.
"Daddy?" she tried again, like a little duckling that had lost its father.
James didn't look at her but wiped an invisible tear from his eye as he went further into the forest, their feet crunching on dead forest leaves from last season. He quickened his pace and the girl struggled to keep up, almost slipping on the wet leaves, but soon they reached a point where one tree was falling, but was supported by two oak trees in a 'v' shape. The forest seemed to hum with an unspoken power as the moss grew deeper and the fog thicker.
"I need to bury this," James finally spoke up. "But they'll find me."
A swirl of questions clouded the little girl's head. Why was her father being so strange? Why did he look like he was about to cry? What was the box for? Who was 'they?' And most importantly...what was inside the box?
"Who, daddy?" the girl asked curiously. "What is it?"
"It's a time capsule," he replied. "It will give people in the future the knowledge they need for the hardships that they'll face. The fate of the world will one day depend on it. It belongs to you now."
The girl didn't understand most of these words as the thick mist swept over them. He handed her the box, it was beautiful, old, not meant to be touched. The blue swirl seemed to come from within the box itself, and she felt a strange, tingling feeling when she took it. As if the box was finally where it needed to be; a hum of content.
"Now, remember, you must-" whatever her father was about to say was cut off as he was suddenly snatched by a huge black creature with its wings and lifted into the sky.
"DADDY!" she cried, and flung the box into the forest as she ran to tell her mother.
A childish mistake, perhaps, for she had no idea what the box contained, but at the time, she was not ready nor prepared to take on the knowledge within. At the moment her father was taken, the tree collapsed on the other two holding it, as if blocking the little girl from the box, the forest, and her father, all at the same time. But the girl heard nothing. It was like a silent lightning bolt had come from the box, echoing through the trees and spreading the mist with it.
And so the box lay on its side among brambles and moss for many years. So long, in fact, that it was forgotten.
But what was so important about it anyway?
.......