This Story Is on the Way to Paradise

Prologue: The Map of Nowhere
The map was not a map. At least, not in the traditional sense. It had no roads, no landmarks, no compass rose pointing north. Instead, it was a tapestry of symbols: a crescent moon weeping ink, a serpent swallowing its tail, and a single word stitched in gold thread—*Paradisum*. Elara traced the embroidery with her thumb, her father’s final gift before he vanished. He had whispered, *“Follow the ache in your bones, not the stars,”* as he pressed it into her hands. That was three years ago. Now, at nineteen, she stood at the edge of the Shifting Sands, the map clutched to her chest, wondering if the stories were true.

They said the road to paradise was not a road at all but a series of choices. That it demanded a toll of memory, of fear, of the self. Elara didn’t care. Paradise was the only place her father might still be alive.


Chapter 1: The Shifting Sands
The desert was alive. Dunes rose and fell like breathing chests, and the wind carried voices Turn back, turn back, turn back. Elara tightened her scarf against the grit. Her water skin was nearly empty, her lips cracked, but she walked. The sun blazed white, bleaching the sky.

On the third day, she found the well.

It was an impossibility: a stone archway half-buried in sand, leading to a pool of black water. Above it hung a rusted bell. A figure sat cross-legged in the shadow of the arch, face hidden beneath a hood.

The first toll, the figure rasped. A woman’s voice, ancient as the dunes.

Elara frowned. Toll?

The woman gestured to the bell. To pass through the Sands, you must leave something behind. A memory. Ring the bell, drink the water, and forget.

Elara’s throat burned. She could almost taste the water. hat memory?

The one you fear to lose.

Elara hesitated. Her father’s laugh? Her mother’s lullaby? The way the sunrise turned the hills to fire the morning he disappeared? Her fingers trembled as she rang the bell.

The water was cold. She drank.

When she opened her eyes, the well was gone. The desert was still. And she could no longer recall her mother’s face.

Chapter 2: The Whispering Woods
The forest was a cathedral of shadows. Trees towered, their bark etched with faces that murmured as Elara passed. Lost girl, they sighed. Hungry girl.

She had no food, no weapon, only the map and the hollow where her mother’s memory had been. Her stomach growled.

At dusk, she stumbled into a clearing. A cottage stood there, smoke coiling from its chimney. The door creaked open.

Come in, child, called a voice. I’ve been waiting.

Inside, an old woman stirred a pot over a fire. Her eyes were milky, her hands clawed. Sit, she said. Eat.

The stew smelled of rosemary and regret. Elara hesitated.

The second toll, the woman said, smiling. To pass through the Woods, you must face a truth. Eat, and see.

Elara spooned the stew into her mouth. The world dissolved.

She was seven, hiding in the cellar as boots thundered above. Her father’s voice: Take me, but spare her! A stranger’s laugh. Then silence.

Elara gasped, tears streaming. He. he sold himself to protect me?

The woman nodded. Paradise is paved with sacrifices. Remember that.

When the vision faded, the cottage was gone. The trees parted, revealing a mountain range veiled in mist.



Chapter 3: The Mirror Peaks

The mountains were not mountains at all. They were teeth—jagged, ice-crowned fangs biting into the belly of the sky. Elara’s boots crunched over frost as she climbed, each breath a ragged gasp in the thinning air. The cold gnawed through her layers, sharpening her bones into blades. She had long since lost feeling in her fingertips, but the map pulsed against her chest like a second heartbeat, guiding her upward. *Follow the ache*, her father’s voice whispered in her mind. She wondered if the ache would kill her before the cold did.

The trail narrowed near the summit, vanishing into a labyrinth of glazed rock. Ice clung to every surface, reflecting her fractured silhouette a thousand times. Mirror Peaks, she realized. The name made sense now. Her own exhausted face stared back at her from every angle—pale, hollow-eyed, lips cracked and bleeding. A girl unraveling.

Then she saw the bridge.

It was a thread of glass, delicate as a frozen tear, spanning a chasm so deep the bottom drowned in darkness. On the far side stood a boy.

He was tall, shoulders squared beneath a tattered cloak, his face all sharp angles and defiance. A scar carved a silver river from his left brow to his cheek, pulling his mouth into a permanent half-sneer. His eyes were the color of a storm trapped under ice—gray, shifting, dangerous. A sword hung at his hip, its hilt wrapped in leather worn smooth by time.

You’re not supposed to be here, he said. His voice was low, roughened by the wind or spite—Elara couldn’t tell.

She wiped blood from her split lip. Neither are you.

He laughed, a sound like shattering glass. I’ve been following you since the Shifting Sands. You’re slower than I expected.

Elara’s grip tightened on the map. Why?

You’re holding the only compass to Paradise. And I need it. He stepped closer, boots ringing against the glass bridge. But I’ll save you the trouble of asking my name. It’s Kael.

I don’t care what your name is, she snapped, though her pulse quickened. The bridge groaned under his weight, spiderwebbing with hairline cracks.

Kael unsheathed his sword. The blade gleamed like a sliver of moonlight. The third toll isn’t a riddle or a memory. It’s a fight. Only one of us crosses.

Elara glanced at the chasm below, then back at him. Paradise isn’t a trophy to steal.

Neither is survival. He lunged.

She sidestepped, but the ice betrayed her. Her ankle twisted, and she fell hard, the impact rattling her teeth. Kael’s sword sang as it arced toward her—then stopped, quivering an inch from her throat.

Get up, he growled. I won’t kill you on your knees.

Elara surged forward, tackling him. They crashed onto the bridge, its glass shrieking as fissures spread beneath them. Kael’s elbow jammed into her ribs; her fist cracked against his jaw. They rolled, grappling like wild things, the world reduced to fists and frost and fury. His blade nicked her arm, painting the ice crimson. She clawed at his scar, and he snarled, flipping her onto her back.

Stop! she screamed, her voice raw. Why are you doing this? What’s worth this?

Kael froze, his breath clouding the air between them. For a heartbeat, his mask slipped. She saw it then—the desperation, the fear, the ghost of someone who’d stared into the same abyss she had.

My sister, he said quietly. She’s dying. The rot’s in her lungs. They say Paradise can cure any sickness. Can resurrect the dead. His knuckles whitened on the sword hilt. I don’t care about eternity. I just need her to breathe.

Elara went still. She knew that look—the wild, unyielding love that bordered on madness. She’d seen it in her father’s eyes the day the raiders came. Take me, but spare her!

The bridge shuddered, glass splintering. Kael’s gaze flickered to the void below.

Then we go together, Elara said.

He stared at her. What?

You heard me. She shoved him off, rising unsteadily. You think I’m risking my life just to hoard Paradise? My father’s there. Or his ghost is. Or… I don’t know. She met his storm-cloud eyes. But if your sister’s waiting on the other side of this bridge, then we’ll both cross, or we’ll both fall. Choose.

Kael’s jaw tightened. For a moment, she thought he’d swing his sword again. Then, slowly, he sheathed it.

You’re a fool, he muttered.

So are you.

They inched across the bridge, the glass groaning like a living thing. Elara’s blood dripped onto the ice, blooming into crimson flowers. Kael walked ahead, shoulders tense, as if waiting for a knife in his back. Halfway across, the bridge sagged, fissures racing toward the edges.

Run, Kael barked.

They sprinted, the world fracturing underfoot. Elara’s lungs burned. The far edge of the chasm loomed—three steps, two, one. They leapt as the bridge shattered, glass shards glittering like falling stars.

Elara hit solid ground, skidding onto her knees. Kael collapsed beside her, breathless. Behind them, the chasm roared, swallowing the remnants of the bridge.

Why? Kael painted, staring at her. You could’ve let me fall.

Elara touched the map, still warm against her heart. Because I’m not them, she said. The ones who took my father. The ones who think survival means leaving everyone else behind.

Kael was silent for a long moment. Then he stood, offering her a hand. The next toll’s worse, you know.

She took it. His grip was calloused, firm. They’re all worse.

Above them, the Mirror Peaks glowed, their icy faces reflecting not just the sky, but two figures—no longer alone—climbing toward the light.


Chapter 4: The Garden of Bones

Beyond the peaks lay a valley. Stone pillars jutted from the earth like ribs, and the ground was littered with skeletons. At the center stood a gate of twisted iron.

The final toll, Kael said quietly.

A figure emerged from the shadows—a child, pale and translucent. Welcome, it said. To enter Paradise, you must answer a question.

Elara’s heart raced. What question?

The child smiled. What is the price of eternity?

Kael stepped forward. Sacrifice. My life for my sister’s.

The child shook its head. Incorrect.

Elara stared at the map. Paradisum. Her father’s voice echoed: Follow the ache..

The price is nothing, she said. Because paradise isn’t a place. It’s the journey. The memories, the truths, the people you carry.

The child vanished. The gate opened.


Epilogue: The Edge of the World
Paradise was a field of stars. Not a heaven, but a threshold. Elara’s father stood there, whole and smiling.

You found me, he said.

Elara wept. Come home.

He shook his head. I can’t. But you can.

Kael touched her shoulder. Your sister

She’s here, a voice said. A girl emerged from the light, alive and radiant.

Elara turned back to the gate. The path home glittered, fragile as a spider’s web.

Go, her father said. Paradise is just a story. The real magic is the road.

Hand in hand, Elara and Kael walked back the way they’d come.