It goes like this:

Once upon a time, there was a boy who lived with his mother in a desert. Although they tried their best, they were always unhappy.

Until, one day, strange travelers appeared from the desert, and they told the boy's mother they would take him away to give him a better life.

And they did.

Take him away, at least. But the boy's new home was strange and unfamiliar, and the boy longed for home.

But this was not allowed, because children of the Temple were special children and emotions clouded their potential, so attachment was forbidden.

They built walls of ice and stone in the children's hearts, locking them away.

But the boy resisted, because unlike the other children there, the children who had been taught to have ice around their hearts since they were young, he knew the warmth of family and the thrill of joy, of love.

Yet, this young boy was special, even more than the other children, so they impressed this rule upon him most of all.

The boy did not understand why they wished him to be without joy, and grew resentful, rebellious. They would not make him cold, he promised to the memory of his mother. He would keep warm somehow.

Time passed, and the boy became a man.

A war started to rage across the stars, and the man was a great leader in the war-fearless and powerful.

Then, they gave the man an apprentice, and he resented his Temple once again. He did not have a need for a cold heart. Here at least in the midst of a war, there were hearts that were not frozen from childhood. Hard, different hearts, but not ice ones.

The man was surprised though, when he met this Temple child, and found her heart resisting the cold, like his own. The man was torn between duty and loneliness. As a teacher, he was to keep her heart cold, to keep her talents at their strongest. But he was tired of knowing only hearts of ice and stone as his own.

So he encouraged the fire instead, and together, in the midst of battle and hearts that shared the same faces, they kept warm. To be cold was to be dead, he declared quietly, and the girl gazed up at him, eyes blazing, and he knew someone else finally understood.

But where her fire dimmed to be embers, tempered and controlled; his reached a blazing inferno, resisted all cold that came near, driving it away, and eventually, grew too great for even the girl to reach.

Because while the girl had tempered by their own, the man had been encouraged by kindling and by a blot.
This blot was not cold, but it cast shadows and gave off poison fumes and it was the man's folly to think because it was not cold, it wasn't dangerous. This blot was like oil, and the inferno blazed by fear and anger and grew so bright, so hot, it melted all the frozen hearts, burning them to ashes as they-




Too late, the man who was now more a monster than a man, realized he was alone once again. He stood amongst black fire, and willed everything to burn. He stood then, in the ruins of the Temple that had melted and crumbled, and casted the ashes into the sky.

From this, rose the need for water, to douse the flames.

The water strikes a balance, and sooths away the burns left by the inferno, and from the ashes, new life grows.

But too soon is the inferno forgotten in the wake of growth, and it is then that water becomes dangerous instead. It is unpredictable, not easily controlled.

They forget the fire, and see the water not as healing, but destroying, and so it must be tamed.



So the water turns to ice.

"History repeats itself, first as a tragedy, second as a farce."

I would like to delcare that I'm not quite sure where exactly this came from, only that it spilled out during my current writers block, and it was morbid and meaningful enough I decided someone might find it interesting.

The quote is from Karl Marx, by the way. So yeah. Drop a review if you enjoyed.