THE KEEPERS OF TIME

The warmth of the hearth embraced Chronos and Aurora as they stepped back into their family's grand hall. The air hummed with the familiar scent of pine and the soft glow of the fire danced in their eyes. Their mother, a woman whose beauty rivaled the moon, enveloped them in a tight hug, tears welling in her eyes. Their father, a towering figure with a mane of silver hair, beamed with pride.

"My son, you have returned! The first stage is complete," he boomed, his voice echoing through the hall. "But be warned, Chronos, each stage grows more perilous. Your next challenge awaits in the Ice Lands. And for this journey, you will be accompanied by your brother, Meridian."

Chronos, though tired from his travels, felt a surge of excitement. He was ready for the next challenge. Aurora, however, felt a shiver of apprehension. The Ice Lands were notorious for their harsh conditions and the creatures that dwelled within them.

Their father, sensing their unease, settled them into plush armchairs and began to spin a tale. His voice, normally booming, softened into a low, hypnotic murmur.

"The Ice Lands are ruled by the Frost King, a being of unimaginable power. He is a creature of ice and shadow, his eyes burn with a chilling blue light. He sits upon a throne of frozen tears, surrounded by his monstrous children - the Frostlings. These creatures are born from the icy winds and are as cold as the heart of winter. They are swift as the blizzard and their touch can freeze even the warmest blood."

Chronos leaned forward, captivated by the story. He imagined the Frost King, his icy throne, and the monstrous Frostlings.

"But the greatest danger," their father continued, his voice dropping to a whisper, "is the Whispering Ice. It is a strange and terrible phenomenon. The ice itself begins to whisper, to call out to those who dare to enter. Its whispers are seductive, alluring, promising power and knowledge beyond human comprehension. But those who succumb to the whispers, their minds become fractured, their bodies twisted into grotesque forms. They become the servants of the Frost King, lost to the icy embrace of the Whispering Ice."

A chill ran down Meridian's spine. He could almost feel the whispers, cold and insidious, seeping into her mind. He looked at Chronos, his face pale but determined. He, too, felt the chill, but he wouldn't show he was scared.

The tale of the Ice Lands hung heavy in the air, a stark contrast to the warmth of the hearth. Meridian, Chronos's elder brother, was already itching for the challenge. He was a warrior, a natural-born fighter, and the prospect of battling the Frostlings and facing the Frost King filled him with a thrilling anticipation. He had always been drawn to the unknown, to the dangers that lay beyond the familiar.

Meridian's eyes gleamed with excitement as he examined his prized possession – a bow unlike any other. It was crafted from a strange, luminous wood, and its string hummed with an almost imperceptible energy. This bow, a gift from his father on his seventeenth birthday, had the extraordinary ability to fire two arrows simultaneously, and its quiver held an endless supply of arrows, imbued with an ancient magic.

But even the thrill of the upcoming journey couldn't entirely overshadow the pang of sadness that tugged at Meridian's heart. He had to leave Aria, his beloved, a girl whose beauty rivaled the spring blossoms. With her emerald eyes and golden hair, she was the daughter of one of the village chiefs of their land, called "Aetheria," a name that whispered of magic and ethereal beauty.

Meridian sought Aria out, his heart heavy. He found her in the garden, tending to her favorite rose bushes. The setting sun cast a warm glow upon her, highlighting the gentle curve of her cheek and the delicate lines of her neck. He told her of his imminent departure, the words catching in his throat.

"I don't know when I'll be back," he confessed, his voice laced with a raw vulnerability. "But know this, Aria, my love for you burns brighter than the sun, and it will guide me back to you."

Aria, her eyes mirroring his sadness, reached for his hand, her fingers intertwining with his. "I will pray for your safe return, my love. And I will wait for you, no matter how long it takes."

Their love was a silent understanding, a language spoken in the depth of their gazes and the warmth of their touch. They leaned in, their lips meeting in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. It was a kiss that spoke of the depths of their love, a promise whispered on the wind, a silent vow to reunite, no matter the distance or the dangers that lay ahead.

The next morning, which was the day they will embark on the journey. Chronos was asked to pick a weapon by placing his hand on a box he liked. They were five boxes with different symbols on them,after minutes of thinking he placed his hand on the third box which he opened and saw two-handed swords.The two blades Meridian pulled from the box were unlike anything he'd ever seen. They were massive, two-handed swords, forged from a metal that seemed to shimmer with an inner light.

The blades weren't straight, but curved, almost like the fangs of a predator. Each blade had a unique shape, one with a subtle curve, the other with a more pronounced, almost serpentine twist. The hilts were adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to pulse with a faint, ethereal light. The moment Meridian touched the blades, he felt a surge of power course through him, an energy that was both invigorating and terrifying. He knew these blades weren't just weapons, they were conduits for a power he could barely comprehend. His father's words echoed in his mind: "You will learn to wield them when the time comes." Chronos knew he was about to face a battle unlike any he'd ever imagined, and these blades and his siblings would be his only allies.

During their journey, they stumbled upon a village that was called Whispering Pines, a name that seemed to fit the hushed, almost reverent atmosphere that hung in the air. The villagers were kind and welcoming, offering them a place to rest and a warm meal. It was while they were enjoying the hospitality that the little girl approached them, her eyes wide with desperation. Her story was a heartbreaking one, full of details that were both pitiful and humorous. Chronos, the embodiment of time, and Meridian, a celestial guide, with the power to pause the very flow of time, a force to be reckoned with. stood before the girl. Her eyes, swollen and red, were filled with a grief that seemed to seep into the very fabric of reality. Her voice, ragged and choked with sobs, painted a picture of despair.

"My brother, Leo," she whispered, her words barely audible, "he's sick. He caught a fever, a terrible fever, playing by the river. The doctor says it's a rare illness, one that only the most potent medicines can cure. But we have no money. Our mother, she left us, and our father, he's gone. We're all alone."

Her words, though spoken with raw emotion, held a strange undercurrent of manufactured drama. The details of Leo's illness were too specific, too intricately woven, to be a simple case of fever. The girl, in her desperation, had crafted a tale so tragic, so heartbreakingly detailed, that it seemed impossible, almost theatrical.The story of her parents, the way she described their absence, felt orchestrated, a carefully crafted narrative to evoke pity.

The girl, oblivious to their scrutiny, continued her plea, her voice rising with desperate urgency. She spoke of Leo's love for drawing, his dreams of becoming a renowned artist, his infectious laughter. Meridian and Chronos, moved by her plea, gave her the money she asked for. However, their generosity was met with an unexpected twist when the girl approached another man, repeating her story, this time claiming her mother was sick. The man, who had overheard her earlier story about her sick brother, flew into a rage, accusing her of being a liar and a thief. He began to beat her, his anger escalating with each blow. Meridian, watching in horror, felt a surge of rage course through him. He stepped forward, his hand reaching for his dagger.

Meridian, a vision of sculpted strength with long, raven hair flowing down his back, was a sight to behold. His eyes, as dark as the midnight sky, flashed with fury as he strode towards the man, his every movement exuding power. He grabbed the man's hand, his grip like a vise, and his voice, low and resonant, echoed through the air, "Leave that girl alone. Lay one more hand on her, and I will cut it off." The man, taken aback by Meridian's imposing presence and the icy chill in his voice, faltered, his anger momentarily forgotten.

Just then, a group of men, the man's friends, emerged from the shadows, their faces twisted with rage. They surrounded Meridian, their voices a chorus of threats. "Leave our friend alone, or you'll be the one who gets hurt," one of them snarled. Chronos, his hand instinctively reaching for his blades, wanted to join the fray, but Meridian, with a gesture of his hand, stopped him. "Stay back, Chronos. Enjoy the view."

The men, unaware of Meridian and Chronos' true nature, pressed their attack. But in the blink of an eye, Meridian, with a flick of his wrist, froze time. The world around them became a tableau of stillness, the men frozen mid-stride, their expressions a mixture of surprise and fear. Meridian, with a smirk, stripped the men of their clothes, leaving them in their underwear. He held their clothes in his hand, a small mountain of fabric. He then unfroze time. The men, suddenly finding themselves naked and exposed, were in a state of utter shock. They begged for mercy, their voices trembling with fear. They didn't know he was a Keeper of time.

"I could have killed you all," Meridian said, his voice devoid of emotion. "But I have no time to waste my strength on already dead men." He tossed their clothes back to them, and they, grateful for their lives, scurried away, their faces pale with fear. Chronos, still chuckling at the absurdity of the situation, shook his head. "You're a real piece of work, Meridian." "you see, that's why I told you to stay back an enjoy". Meridian said,with a smirk on his face.

The next day dawned bright and clear, the sun painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Chronos and Meridian, their backpacks filled with provisions, continued their journey, the path ahead winding through rolling hills and verdant meadows. They encountered a few fellow travelers along the way, a group of merchants hawking their wares, a lone shepherd tending his flock, and a band of wandering minstrels whose music filled the air with lively tunes. They stopped for a midday meal at a quaint village inn, enjoying a hearty stew and freshly baked bread, their laughter echoing through the cozy space.

As they ventured deeper into the heart of the forest, the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the path. The air grew thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. It was then that they encountered a man, his face etched with worry and despair. His clothes were tattered, his hair unkempt, and his eyes held a glint of desperation.

"Please, kind travelers," he pleaded, his voice hoarse, "I beg for your help. My house was destroyed by fire, my wife is gravely ill, and I am in dire need of 500 gold coins."

Chronos and Meridian exchanged a concerned look. They had heard stories of bandits lurking in the forest, but this man seemed genuine.

"Tell us your story," Chronos said kindly, "Perhaps we can help in some way."

The man hesitated for a moment, then began to speak, his voice trembling with emotion.

"It all started with a mischievous squirrel," he began, "a creature of unparalleled audacity. He had taken a liking to my wife's beautiful hair, which she adorned with a delicate garland of wildflowers. You see, the squirrel was a notorious nut thief, and he believed that my wife's hair held a treasure trove of hidden acorns. He was determined to steal them, no matter the cost."

"One evening, as my wife was preparing dinner, the squirrel made its move. It crept up behind her, its tiny claws poised to snatch the coveted acorns. But in its haste, it knocked over a lit candle, setting the table ablaze. The flames quickly spread, engulfing the entire house in a fiery inferno."

"The squirrel, panicked and bewildered, decided to make matters worse. It grabbed a handful of matches from the hearth and, in a fit of madness, ignited the entire forest around my house. The fire raged for hours, consuming everything". "After I built us a little woods house for us to manage until I get some money but started getting terrible affliction by cold" .

"what's your name, take us to your wife maybe we can help her by riding her on our horse to the village near by", Meridian said knowing the man was lying .

"Bartholomew", said the with a face which was as red as a ripe tomato,his voice trembling with manufactured grief. "My wife, Penelope," he wailed, "she's been struck by a terrible affliction! It's a rare disease, you see, called 'The Sniffles of Sneezing Sickness'. It's so contagious, it's best to avoid contact altogether!"

Chronos,raised an eyebrow. "The Sniffles of Sneezing Sickness?" he echoed, his voice laced with amusement. "An intriguing ailment. Tell me, Bartholomew, how did Penelope contract this... unique condition?"

Bartholomew, his eyes darting nervously, cleared his throat. "Well, it started with a sneeze, a sneeze so powerful it shook the very foundations of our humble abode I made with woods! Then, the sniffles came, followed by an insatiable craving for pickled onions!"

Meridian, ever the pragmatist, cut in, "Pickled onions? Is that a symptom of this... Sniffles of Sneezing Sickness?"

"Indeed!" Bartholomew exclaimed, his voice rising with feigned desperation. "She's been eating them by the barrelful! And the worst part? It's all because of a cursed onion, one that was given to her by a rogue peddler, who, I suspect, is a member of the Onion Mafia!"

Chronos, his eyes twinkling with mirth, leaned forward, "The Onion Mafia? Now, that's a story for the ages."

"Yes, yes!" Bartholomew cried, his voice breaking with faux emotion. "I need 500 gold coins to buy a special antidote, a potion made from the tears of a weeping willow, grown only in the Valley of Whispering Willows!"

Meridian, his patience wearing thin, said, "Bartholomew, I'm afraid we're not convinced. We've heard tales of The Sniffles of Sneezing Sickness, and they don't involve pickled onions or a weeping willow."

Bartholomew, realizing his charade was unraveling, tried to bolt. "My wife! She needs me! She's in danger!" he shouted, his voice cracking with panic.

But Meridian, with a flick of his wrist, stopped time. Bartholomew froze mid-stride, his mouth agape in a silent. Bartholomew, frozen in time, watched in horror as Chronos and Meridian, their faces etched with amusement, rode off on their magnificent steeds. His pleas for mercy were lost in the stillness, his desperate cries for help echoing only in his own frozen mind. He hung there, a captive of time, bound to the tree trunk, his pathetic charade exposed for all to see. The only sound in the world was the rustling of leaves, a cruel mockery of his predicament.