Page 1 of Palingenesis

Prologue

“Once upon a time—”

“Oh, come on.”

The crowd collectively groans before the storyteller attempts to continue around his barely contained mirth. “—there once was a—”

“Are you serious right now?”

“You can’t start a story that way, bro.”

The round of displeasures disrupts the crackling of the fire, accompanied by the reflection of the flames in their rolling eyes. Snickers follow as the storyteller lifts his brown bottle and his brow, patiently waiting for his comrades to calm enough to keep going.

Stories told around a campfire such as this are familiar to most, rooted in some form of truth and travel like the wind from ear to ear, but never really known in their entirety. Tales are told and scattered, details dismissed and written over, the truth of them fading in time.

Some are meant to disappear, while others are not.

“There was a man that made a deal with the haze of a magical morning light, unknowing that it would be his first of many to come. Too many. For hundreds of years, he would have to watch the sun rise alone, waiting until it consumed him so wholly that not even the afterlife would accept what was left. Not his soul, his being, his essence. None of it.

“Over time, morality worn down, that man became a monster. Doomed to walk this earth for eternity with a dwindling hope. His body would give in, succumbing to sickness or war, stolen by time or humanity, and each time, he would return to this plane of existence to try again. To live another life in search of one thing. Times would change, the scenery, the world. All different, but never the man beneath the monster.”

“What the hell could be worth bargaining for that?” A fellow camper asks, head shaking in disbelief, the forest looming heavily behind him. “Endless pain and suffering? No, thanks.”

“Yeah,” another chimes in as she fishes in the cooler next to her for another beer. “There’s no way there’s anything worth—what? Being reborn over and over until the end of time? Is that really what you’re saying?”

The storyteller leans back, bottle propped on his knee as the others stare at him through the light of the fire that’s begun to dwindle between them.

Faint shadows flicker across their faces, the storyteller making eye contact with each one of the campers, a knowing silence blanketing them.

The air grows heavy, thickening with the mist of the forest beyond that crawls slowly closer.

“Isn’t there, though?”

Chapter 1

Shannon

Sharp, chilly wind cuts through the open windows, rushing through the longer-than-normal curls on my head. It’s refreshing to cruise the open road with a taste of freedom, even if it’s leaving my skin pebbled and my nose a little cold.

It feels almost borrowed, the liberty, because deep down, I know that it is.

The feeling is such a contrast to what I’m used to that it’s almost unsettling, but the upcoming town is exactly what I was looking for. Something small. Expanding, but full of history and spirit.

There’s an edge to the air, a few secrets laid in the foundation, and a bustling sense of community that’s missing from big city living.

Moving from somewhere like Chicago to the middle of the nowhere mountain small town of Bearcreek, Montana—halfway across the country from the only place I’ve ever known—is going to be a feat. And it should be.

That’s the point.

A fresh start, away from it all. That’s what this is supposed to be. Somewhere far away from everything and everyone.

New walls. New streets. New stories to be told to anyone willing to listen.

The next chapter in my—our—life.

I’ve got to stop doing that.

It’s our place we’re moving to where our life can continue.