A Handful of Diamonds - Prologue

The cosmos is a vast, almost unknowable place. How it came to be is unknown, how it will end is equally so. Unless, of course, you were one of the thirty-two special youths who knew far more than they'd ever be willing to share with outsiders. They would not admit that they had once stood together, both those with the sparks of life in their eyes and those whose eyes were long since glazed over in death. They stood together on a platform emblazoned with a spirograph, before a structure much like a house that seemed made of chintzy plastic in a garish shade of crimson that made almost all of them flinch to connect with someone they had known. Together they had stood, refusing to reach for the ethereal doorknob in which another spirograph swirled, and they spoke. Spoke and plotted and schemed. Together thirty-two souls spoke of something they had never seen and barely dared to dream of in the face of the troubles they had overcome.

They spoke of the limitless beauty of the cosmos, of the stars hung in the dark void, and what it would all look like from a planet's surface. They spoke of the planet itself, not too big, not too small, and covered with more seas than land. Some spoke with longing of a great silver orb hung in the sky, others with dread of a star so bright it would sear the surface dry and dead. There was an animated discussion about the color pink on white beaches, and a yellow sun that was gentle and soothing, far enough away to be bearable temperature wise, close enough to make the planet verdant. An ideal kind of planet perfect for life making its way ever around a gentle star.

And as their words flowed three orbs formed and begun to circle the new planet. Two were rather small things of vibrant pink stone circling each other in an unending dance. They recast the light of the nearby star upon the surface of the planet, bathing the nights in pale pink light. Then there was the third and largest, further away and shining with a pure, pale silvery light. Often the planet saw silver dominating pink, but there were hints of both, bathing the night in a light not matching the day, but still beautiful to behold. And with the moons came tides, churning the depths of the seas, rising and falling like the breath of the world itself.

They spoke and as they did life truly began. Thousands of millions of years in moments as they remembered caves and islands, trees and seaweed, clouds and storms, fish and fowl and beast. Their words mingled and wove a story of something greater. Of creatures that walked on two legs, both those that rose from beast and those from bug. Together they wove a quiet history of peace, tolerance, a tense acceptance of differences. They spoke of cultures and people and a city on the shore. It wasn't too big, or too small, but it wasn't about to ache for thirty-two inhabitants. They spoke of the lives of those thirty-two and the peace they would find in each other and the world. Of lives spent together and shared even as their memories were then and there.

And at last when they could speak no more one raised his hand to the doorknob, twisted and pulled. Together thirty-two stepped from a platform and into a world in a galaxy in a universe they had created. Stepped into the lives that awaited them, on a planet named Alearus.

Lives they would live peacefully and content until the moment that the youngest of them turned thirteen by the reckoning of the cycling of the sun. Then the memories started. Not those that wove this place, but those that led to the weaving. Memories of life and death, war and victory, fear and the hunt and survival. Memories of days for some, months for others, years for too many to be happy with that. Memories of a game called Sgrub, or was it Sburb, and standing together, thirty-two strong, on a platform with a spirograph and a chintzy red house shape. Memories of agreeing to meet, living side by side with each other knowing both past and present lives.

Three years it took to come together. At last that moment when they met and talked and knew it was no dream. This was the reward, long promised and finally tendered. Finally to be enjoyed to the fullest.

But that moment was two years ago, and so much had happened. They were no longer thirty-two, but how could they be? Things had changed due to the memories, the knowledge, even the lives they had led until this point had contributed to a sense of betrayal almost impossible to forgive.

Some betrayals are too great to be brushed aside. Some harms linger long after death. Some lives and bonds can never be the same. And so it was and seemed to be.

Until, that is, there was a knock on a single door that set so much to changing.