As soon as there is life...

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

"Initiation ceremony." He ran the phrase over his tongue a few times. "Initiation. Ceremony. Initiationceremony." That had been initiation? O...kay. Er. What was real adventuring, then? Running through caves in the jungles of South America with a boulder nipping at your heel? Discovering a secret cult and having them chase you through the town in the dead of night?

He noticed that his examples involved way to much running, and he stopped that train of thought.

Pierre tossed his gear and flippers on the pile the girl had made, wishing that she had somehow smuggled his runners down here, in her bag or something. Whatever. As long as there wasn't any running involved, he would be fine, probably.

They walked down the cavern in silence for a while, torchlight and flashlight flickering in a visual dissonance along the stone walls. Lower and lower and lower they went- thirty feet now. Did the depth thing still apply, now that they weren't under water? He didn't know.

She broke the silence, startling him. "Says the little girl who's name I still do not know," he teases, avoiding the question momentarily. But Pierre is caught off-guard- he knew that the question was coming. You could only go by a name that isn't the one on your passport for so long before you were caught out.

"Mmmm... It's to start over, I guess. Going by my second name- it's just a way of beginning again. New country, new name."

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“I will follow my logic, no matter where it goes, after it has consulted with my heart. If you ever come to a conclusion without calling the heart in, you will come to a bad conclusion.”

:::::::::::::::::

Wondering absently how cold it had to be for the water to freeze up on them, Robin bounded forward a few steps, spinning around to face her exploration companion, grin on her face. Avoiding the topic of her own name completely, the girl retorted, "Little? Who are you talking about? I'm not little!" Then, she moved back into her some-what serious mode, falling back into step with the older boy.

Starting over, hmm? Robin guessed that there was more to Antoine that she had first assumed, but this was new. The girl nodded solemnly, with a tilt to her head. "New Idenity....?" She echoed, voice small in the wide expanse of stone cave. "That I can understand."

After all, who was she to judge? Robin called herself by a different name, for her own reasons.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

He laughs, tossing his head back a moment. "Of course you aren't little, Miss No Name. You are absolutely enormous!" It's stupid, it's juvenile, but he can't help himself. It's friendly sarcasm, for laughter for both of them. It last a moment, a beautiful moment, then fades. He goes back to his half serious, half frightened manner, and they walk again.

So she doesn't want to know the details. He breathes a sigh of relief. "Details for details, kid," he says in response, glacning at her. "What's your identity?"

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“Love your enemies, for they tell you your faults.”

:::::::::::::::::

Details for details? Robin mentally added that to her list of quotes she'd add it in her journal later. Then came the backstory question and Robin sighed inwardly. Backstory, backstory, why must everyone know my backstory?

There was silence for a moment or so, while Robin thought-- questions that didn't require wit or thought were easy and impulsive, at least ever since she'd moved to the boarding school here. Deeper questions, however, "Well," Robin began slowly. "My name is Christina Ann Robins. I am fourteen years old, yet somehow I've managed to land myself in the sophomore year. Like you, I go by a different name: Robin. So, my idenity is many things. I am a child, I am a teenager. I am a sophmore, I am fourteen. I'm Robin the life-force bender, I am Robin the empath. I am Robin the small, I am Robin the," A smile flickered onto her lips, "enormous. I am, my identity, is many things."

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

Christina Ann Robins. Also known as Robin. Skipped the freshman year, or something else earlier in the line. An empath. It was more information than he really wanted -just her name, at last- but it was fair. It covered everything that she knew about him, more or less.

Enormous. He chuckled again.

"Everyone's identity is everything," he mused, bouncing this suddenly thought off from the girl's last statement. "Everything and nothing, all at the same time- everything you could be and will be and have been, everything you've ever thought or ever did, everything that leads up to you and goes beyond your horizon, everything you've ever dreamed- that's a identity."

Er. He was turning into a quote machine. He waved the flashlight around nervously. "Where do you think we are going?"

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.”

:::::::::::::::::

"...alright," Robin said finally, after his quite enlightening response, dipping her head. "I get that." At his next question, Robin swung her flashlight around in a circle, letting the beam of light catch on the walls and small pools of water scattered about. Huh. They had come further than she thought.

Nearly walking into a very shallow puddle, and leaping back like an annoyed cat-- Robin muttered something about shoes and their benefits, before her the flash-light caught on something, well, shiny, from across the room. Like shiny-things were her total homing device, Robin scampered over to the stone wall, and around several towering stalagmites, which revealed a copper brass plate hammered into the wall by some unknown force.

Oh, god. It wasn't. No one could be this cheesy.

But it was.

A riddle.

Waiting until Antonie caught up, Robin stared a the puzzle with disbelief: One repeating loop of words going through her head--This is so cliche.

"If you want to proceed, you must first believe, for three things are needed to succeed.

To get beyond this first stone door, you must first give what is more. Some may be reluctant, and I understand, but it is a sacrifice that most can stand. Press your hand to the door, when you know what is more-- and watch as the next one appears.

More: Solve this riddle to me, and you may find-- that to move on, the secret lays inside."

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

Oh.

Good.

Lord.

You have to be kidding me.

Pierre stared at the writing on the wall in disbelief. He felt like somebody had plunked him into a young adult adventure novel out of nowhere, complete with poorly constructed rhyme and confusing message. Who the hell dropped him into the cliche box?

He stared at the riddle a minute, murmuring the words under his breath. "What is more..." He shook his head. "Either this person had a bad taste in adventure novels, or is rather annoying." As an after though, he added, "Or, probably, both." He ran his hand over door, expecting the familiar tingle of a lock to run through his arms. Nothing. "I guess we can't skip the cheese, then," he sighed. "Thinking time."

[Christina Ann Robins]

(You can solve it if you want. ^-^ I don't want to spend too long on this door-- the next ones are when it really gets fun. :3)

:::::::::::::::::

“Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage.”

:::::::::::::::::

Well, puzzles are always fun-- aren't they? Not that Robin was any good at them, save that for the cross-word-puzzle geeks. Well, a common strategy was to start at the beginning of the riddle, or was it the end of the puzzle...?

Shaking her head, Robin closed her eyes for a moment, restating the riddle in her head-- hands pressed against the stone wall firmly. "Three things..." She echoed, mind feeling quite heavy and useless at the moment. "Like... three objects? Three words? Three trials?" The girl paused, brow furrowed slightly from thought. "...or three doors?" She asked, feeling quite certain of that guess-- turning to Antonie with light eyes. "Since it only gives us one object here, more, then it would make sense that beyond this--" Robin knocked on the copper-plaque hanging from the wall, "--door. Wouldn't it make sense that there are two more doors beyond here...?"

Sacrifice...

You Most can stand...

Most won't like...

Lays inside?

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

"If you want to proceed, you must first believe, for three things are needed to succeed.

To get beyond this first stone door, you must first give what is more. Some may be reluctant, and I understand, but it is a sacrifice that most can stand. Press your hand to the door, when you know what is more-- and watch as the next one appears.

More: Solve this riddle to me, and you may find-- that to move on, the secret lays inside."

He stared. Well. Riddles. Great. Um. Pierre traced the words with one finger, lightly lingering on the word 'more'. It was repeated several times throughout the riddle, so it had to be important, right? Right.

"What is more..." he mumbled. "More than what?" That was the key question- what was more that they had to have? HE put his hand against the 'door' again- nothing. No lock, no turning of gears, no simple opening. HE opened everything, what was stopping him now?

Then it made sense.

"Christina," he said softly, "put your hand against the door and tell me what my emotion is."

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“There's no dearth of kindness In the world of ours; Only in our blindness We gather thorns for flowers.”

:::::::::::::::::

Being called by her first name irritated Robin slightly, but not enough to miss the solemn seriousness in Pierre's words. She glanced at him, eyes wide-- wondering what had made him so serious all of a sudden. She didn't hesitate, though, trusting him enough to listen-- and the girl felt her hands moving to press firmly against the stone.

A candle went out.

Robin slowly turned to stare at her hands, just in time to see a flash of gold running up her arm and into the wall. In her mind, it was like a little bit of the light of the world had gone out-- like the half the room's torches had just been snuffed out. She couldn't feel Pierre, she couldn't see the room around her, and what lay beyond this wall--

"Oh, god," She whispered, voice sounding small in the expanse of the room, turning to face Antonie with wide eyes. "I can't see you." She wasn't talking in the physical sense, of course. But still, it still chilled her to not be able to see around her in the dark of the room. It scared her to not be able to heal Antonie or others around her if something went wrong. It scared her that if they were plunged into blackness at the precise moment, she'd be as blind as everyone else.

And at that moment, Robin realized what that meant to her.

No time to think though. After a full ten seconds of dead silence, while the news sunk in, a physic lock clicked within the doors, causing the rocks to separate in half, revealing a new passage, long spindly passageway up ahead.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

Pierre had been holding his hands to his face- there was a sudden ache in his fingertips, one that he hadn't noticed before when his mind was working on the riddle, but it was there now- the absence inside himself, a lack of himself, really- for wasn't his power part of him as much as his history, his hair, his voice? And with that bit gone, he was a little more hollow.

"Oh, god, I can't see you."

She was looking straight at him, though- her ability must be even more important to her than his was to him. He stared back at her, not knowing what to say, until he heard the grate of the rocks behind him.

"Let's keep moving."

Gently, he took hold of her left hand and started walking into the long passage, unarmed for the first time since he could remember.

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“If there is one thing that destroys man, it is not pain, it is not suffering, it is not despair, it is not torture, but fear. Fear that eats away at your insides still you can't stand it anymore.”

:::::::::::::::::

This… this is all some sort of trick. There’s no way… that someone, something can take away what’s inside you. Robin shivered, trying to concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other on the cold stone floor. Step. Step. Step. Keep moving forward. Or… or… or this was all part of some elaborate scheme—a scheme to leave them vulnerable to attack of somesort. A scheme to leave them feeling defenseless or… or…

It came quite suddenly; they had approached a new wall—a new plaque nailed to the wall in front of them. Robin stopped, afraid to know what is said, afraid to know what might be behind this next door—and turned her head away from the direction of the wall—her hand tightening in Antoine’s.

Somehow, this adventure had lost it’s sheen.

Up against the wall lay two plain doors. Wood, with black copper handles, they stood about five feet apart—separated by wall. In between the two wood doors, lay the newest plaque, framed by two torches, which lit the small new cavern. The floor here was sand, a pure white sand, and for a good reason unknown. The plaque, glinting in the dim light of the torches, read,

”You are now unarmed, yet you proceed yet so. Now begins the trails of woe.

Beyond these doors, lay each of your greatest fears. You must enter alone, and for your greatest fear, you must have no one near. Choose a door, and enter alone—for you have lost, what is more. But beware, young travelers, and do not despair—for it is only fair, that whatever lies behind me, is as terribly deadly as you believe it to be. A sword through the heart with still it, and a spear in your stomach with spill it. The injuries you gain here, will follow you home, and no one will be able to come here.

You’re not as strong as you used to be—enter only if you are willing, to face me.”

-FEAR

[/right][/b]

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

So.

First this madman- or madwoman, possibly, don't be sexist, Pierre- creates a bomb that leads people to a mysterious cave, where their powers are taken away, theoretically leaving anyone who passed in defenseless. Then then psyche them out by threatening them with their greatest fears, which is all the more frightening because by the time you get there you know that the creator of this terrifying web has extraordinary abilities even by what you know, and is more than likely capable of killing you with a single word.

Pierre took a deep breath. Likelihood of getting their powers back just by returning to the rock- less than not likely. Likelihood of getting out of here alive by swimming- considerably higher.

But then, what would he be, then? Not Pierre Antoine Giroux, anymore. Someone else. Less than him.

He squeezed Robin's hand. "To get back our powers," he said, trying to hide the waver in his voice. "It's just trying to psyche us out. Don't worry." What a lie. "I'll take the door on the left."

He squeezes her hand one more time, then lets go and walks toward the door. He needs to do this now, before he looses his nerve. Then again, maybe it's already gone. One, two, three steps across the sand, that's all he needs to do, and then the unknown will be known.

Oh God.

Oh God.

His legs are shaking, no, his whole body is shaking, the sand beneath his toes shifting around his quavering weight. He reaches the door in what feels like forever and no time at all at the same time, grabs the doorknob, and looks back at Christina Robins one more time.

"See you on the other side."

He opened the door and walked inside.

*****


"Honey?"

He rolls over onto his side, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Hm?"

"Are you alright? You were talking in your sleep again."

"Who are you?"

"It's Lizbeth, hon."

Or course. He knew that. Lizbeth, his wife. They had three children, all in primary school. How did he forget?

"I'm fine. Just bad dreams."

[Christina Ann Robins]

:::::::::::::::::

“Fear is within all of us, but it is only unlocked inside yourself.”

:::::::::::::::::

What was her greatest fear? Robin had guesses, ideas, thought... Horrifying thoughts-- but no answer-- and she hated herself for it. Staring expressionlessly at the sand beneath her feet, Robin remained perfectly still as Antonie's hand slipped from hers and he drew toward the left of the room.

There was the brief sound of a door opening, a scuffing of sand and feet, then a resounding bang as his door slid shut. Robin flinched at the sound, head still bowed, but made no move toward the other door-- the only sound caused by the faint rise and fall of her shoulders.

"For our powers."

Click.

The sound of the door creaking open.

Robin stared beadily in the room that lay before her. It was totally dark, although Robin could feel the strength and warmth of sunlight on her face, and a slight whipping of a breeze on her face. Heart pounding, Robin slid her feet, one in front of the other, into the doorway. Instantly, the sand on her feet evaporated into the cool blades of grass that hugged her feet.

Jumping at the sound of a resounding bang that followed, Robin whirled around-- groping widly for the door-- hoping she could keep it propped open after she did... whatever she had to do here... so she could escape in a hurry. She spent at least a full minutes widly searching for the door-- and the girl was 100% positive she wasn't ust blindly walking past it.

The door was gone.

Robin exhaled slowly, trying to calm down-- at least this place wasn't so bad, as it could have been! This... This didn't seem like something out of her nightmares, despite the chilling black. Brids singing, a river rushing nearby, she was in a forest-- and unknown to her the door to escape was only a mile away on the other side of the large forest. Was that what she was most afraid of? The dark? The girl laughed, despite herself, voice ringing into the black. She continued to move forward, slowly as if not to trip over the quickly changing terrain from rolling hills to flat plain. If she could just find her way out of here, or find her fear and get the heck out of here--

...it was then the rumbling began.

[Pierre Antoine Giroux]

I’m told that people like to call us dreamers
Because we won’t ever stop until we’ve done all we can do
There are so many things I haven’t seen
So I’ll look ’till I just can’t look no more

He walks down the stairs, just like he does every morning, a blue bathrobe tied around his midsection and slippers dragging on the floor. "Morning," he says to his family, seated at the kitchen table, eating waffles drenched with maple syrup. He takes his place, were a cup of coffee is waiting for him, mug filled to the brim with black liquid. "What time is it?"

"Eight, dad," his oldest son says, glancing at the digital clock above his father's head. "The girls have already left for school."

"Again?" He sighs. "Honey, can you wake me up earlier?"

Lizbeth is at the stove, cooking some bacon for herself. "Sure, dear."

Pierre leans back, letting the scene surround him. This is what he had always dreamed of- a happy family, a comfortable home on in the suburbs of his home, a easy job, a loving wife (or husband, come to think of it- but this worked just as well), everything he was currently living-

Yet, why did it still feel like a dream?

"Dad?"

"Hmm?" His son's voice has shaken him out of his reverie. "What is it?" He glances up, tilting his head quizzically at his son. Then he sees the boy's horrified face, and slowly, fearfully, follows his gaze.

Lizbeth has frozen, the bacon she was frying burning in the pan. Her eyes are wide open, staring straight ahead, her mouth open in a O shape, one hand out as if to deflect a blow to the face.

She also a wooden statue, flamings licking at her body, burning her to ashes.

"No. NonononononononoNO!"

He dashes out from behind the table, running toward her as fast as he can, yet not fast enough- the faster he runs the faster she burns, and when he has stretched out his hand to hold her, save her, she is gone, leaving behind only a pile of ashes.

His son has gotten up, standing behind his father. "What do we do now?" There is a tremor in his voice, whether from grief or fear or both is of no importance now. Pierre stands up, tears falling from his eyes, yet never hitting the ground. The flame is still there, consuming the ashes and moving out into the wooden floor slower than any flame should. He grabbed his son's hand.

"We run."