Year – “Origins”

LOCATION – AUGUST, 1984, KENSINGTON VILLAGE – REALMS OF LIGHTNING

Peter Fae stood motionless, staring into the swirling portal embedded in the floor of the Akashic Library. The stormy landscape of Long Island came alive within the frame, the flashes of lightning illuminating sheets of rain cascading down in unrelenting torrents. A boy ran through the tempest, his small frame cutting through the deluge as if chasing or fleeing something unseen. For a fleeting moment, the boy paused and looked upward, his rain-soaked face illuminated by the stark white brilliance of a lightning strike. Peter’s breath caught. His voice, though soft, carried the weight of recognition. “That… that’s me.”

Calliope stood beside him, her star-speckled dress pooling softly against the polished floor of the Library. Her dark eyes glimmered as she observed the portal, the quill in her hand poised above the open Book of Fae. “Of course, it’s you,” she said gently, her voice laced with knowing. “The Library reveals the shape of your narrative in ways most true to its essence. This storm, this running—it must have been a moment of deep resonance, so significant that it left an imprint in the Akasha itself.” Her gaze turned to Peter, studying his reaction. “Whatever you were experiencing then, it’s clear the Library considers it foundational.”

Peter’s brow furrowed as his gold cloak shifted with the subtle motion of his hand brushing against its edge. “It was chaos,” he murmured, his voice heavy with memory. “My mind was like that storm—flickering, untethered. I didn’t understand the world around me, but I felt something alive in it. The lightning… it spoke to me. I didn’t know it then, but it was grounding me, drawing me into a sense of clarity I couldn’t find anywhere else. Maybe that’s why I started taking photographs later—to capture moments like that, to anchor myself in the madness.”

Calliope tilted her head, her expression softened by curiosity and compassion. “Perhaps that’s why the Library shows you this now,” she said, her words deliberate. “The storm, the boy, the running—it wasn’t just a moment. It was the beginning of something greater. The lightning connected you to the elements, grounding you in their power. That connection shaped the path of the Mythica itself.” Her gaze lingered on Peter, but his eyes remained fixed on the boy in the storm, a distant yet familiar figure etched in time. The portal shimmered, its vivid image dissolving into mist, leaving only the echoes of the storm in Peter’s mind as the vast halls of the Library settled into stillness once more.