Prologue

PROLOGUE

In the heart of the storm, where the shadows creep,

Four forces are waiting, their secrets to keep.

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

Water’s gentle flow, a soothing embrace,

Brings life to the barren, a cleansing we’ll trace.

Four elements rising, together we stand,

Fire, Water, Earth, and Air, hand in hand.

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

With the clash of our powers, we break through the night,

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

*

Four hearts entwined, we’ll rewrite our fate,

*

CHAPTER ONE

Winter

If a name could reflect the essence of a person's spirit, mine might as well be a snowflake—beautiful, fragile, and bound to melt into the warmth of obscurity. Winter. It's a name that rolls off the tongues of those who say it, each syllable a reminder that beauty can sometimes be deceiving. People think it's poetic, but for me, it's more like a cold gust that cuts through my heart, an echo of loneliness that lingers longer than any cheerful jingle I hear from the children outside. 

Every morning, the sun slips into my small, wood-paneled room, filtering through the frosted window and casting light patterns that briefly distract me from the heaviness I feel. Outside, the world is wrapped in a blanket of shimmering snow that glitters like diamonds, transforming our cozy backyard into a peaceful wonderland. Pines stand as steady guardians, their branches heavy with winter's weight, while the air is filled with muffled laughter—sounds that seem to come from a distant place where happiness thrives and loneliness fades. I, however, remain an outsider looking through the frosted glass, yearning to jump into the joyful chaos.

"Winter, do you want to join us?" my mother called from the living room, a faint echo of hope mixed with concern. She and my father are on the verge of creating something monumental, their voices bubbling with enthusiasm as they work in the basement. Whenever I pass by their makeshift study, the door slightly open, I overhear snippets of their plans—grand projects that occupy their time like a new puppy, all-consuming and passionate. Yet, all I can think about is the weight of silence that blankets our house, heavier than the snow outside.

"Maybe later," I replied, though a small part of me hopes they can see beyond the feigned nonchalance to the heart that beats beneath the worry. I'm almost eighteen, yet I feel the years slipping by like grains of sand, each one serving as a reminder that I'm becoming a memory in my parents' minds rather than the central figure of their lives. My upcoming birthday looms over me like a storm cloud, darkening the edges of what should be a joyful milestone. What if they forget? What if my special day vanishes into oblivion, overshadowed by their "big project," whatever that might be?

As I sat at the kitchen table, a bowl of cheerfully patterned cereal before me, I caught sight of my reflection in the window. The girl staring back looks like a palette of muted colors against the vivid winter backdrop—sometimes I wonder if the universe mixed me poorly. Beneath the surface, there's a pulse of vibrant longing, a desire to step into the roles I see others play effortlessly. But instead, I wear my feelings like a heavy cloak, a constant reminder that fitting in feels like trying to jam a square peg into a round hole.

With the last spoonful of cereal eaten and my spirits somewhat dampened, I wrap myself in an oversized hoodie—my shield against the world—and head toward the door. Outside, the crisp air settled around me, and despite my hesitations, I couldn't ignore the magic of the season. Snowflakes swirl recklessly, each one unique, each one a fleeting moment of beauty. The world around me is captivating, but I often feel like an uninvited guest at the enchanting celebration of life.