White snow. In pristine condition, untouched by Man or animal. Endless white snow. Giant mountains resembling the snow-covered roofs of houses of civilizations past. Harsh winds bite into flesh, the cold piercing the soul. Phantom scrapes can be heard, ghosts of a forlorn past. The jagged teeth of the mountains hold no sway over me. I climb the endless fields of snow.
Mirrors. All blinding. Millions of them reflecting the power of the sun. Endless fields of blinding lights, the snow never ceases. I never cease. Any denizens of nature have long since gone blind, the snow unparalleled in its beauty: its scorching fire. The wonders of the snow. Cold to the touch, yet burning to the sight. The infinite power reflected and captured in structures of old, their masters lost to time. Yet still I search.
Sometimes, due to the cycle of the sun, the snow’s scorching light converges on a single location thus revealing the past held buried underneath. In these rare moments of time, I gather what little knowledge I can. At first, I questioned if Man killed themselves with their tendency to warring ways. But, that answer was soon squashed. Then, I questioned who were They that ended it. But, I already knew the answer. So, I search these pockets of time, before the ice freezes back over, to find the answer to my only question.
Who made Me?
Part two: The Beginning that could be (series 1)
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