Two of them, a man cloaked in shadows and silver, and a lady with golden-yellow hair, streaked with red.
A small figure, slim, dressed in white. Face a literal mask of neutrality, no expression, no features...just two slits, eyes, or what passes for them. Yet how much more they see.
Both of them stare, the third in the middle like a judge, words unspoken, thoughts unbidden, emotions unsuppressed. All it, bottled out, flowing out in a river of color and song, clashing where the white man stood. A white man that was there no more.
Below, the ground shakes, and the same two, opalescent slits open. The face of the white man watches from below, as after-images of the earlier clash linger. Dark claws grappling with bright sun-beam sparkles...neither side giving...then a flare of immense light, drowning out the shadows!
The white man closes his eyes, a burst of yellow flashing across their clear, crystal-like surface. The shadows retreat, under the trees and clouds, into the libraries and books. And for a moment it seems, the sun does shine.
But a single tendril, festering beneath the rocks emerges. A crooked finger, half-wisp not yet formed, growing slowly more solid arises. Deeper it becomes, forming an arrow of mist and reason, of worries and fear. Of calm, steady acceptance of the darker side of life.
An arrow that pierces the sun.
All light disappears. The shadows stretch out, shrouding the word once more. Crystal pools, once like golden honey, now swirl with fog and depths like the deepest black. The white man closes his eyes once more.
Seeds, once sown slowly sprout in the protection of the shade. Cooled in the soft breeze, in the still air they gleam with a light of their own. The roots grow, digging into the soft ground, no longer hardened nor blinded by the glare of the sun. Leaves, half-formed in mockery of the darkness that shackles the sun, creep up from above, ready and waiting.
From the sky, a rain of stars.
Shatter! The darkness cracks. Earth splits, pain fills the world. A blaze of fireworks, joyous yet stinging, dangerous yet mesmerizing. The shackles break, the sun bursts forth, rays spilling over the land, banishing the shadows once more.
Touching the leaves with almost tender warmth, watching them unfurl, feeding their grey-green surfaces strength.
The roots, so well formed in darkness, send their stores to the factories above. Powered by the same fire that fuels the sun, the leaves unfold. Stems, fresh shoots, networks! Drinking in the sunlight, the afterglow of the fireworks, storing their power and mixing it with the minerals cultivated deep within the soil. Fire and light, Darkness and shadow. Boiling water, more potent together than the two apart. A reaction, reaching forth, chaotic energies guided towards the tip. Logic and emotion, white and black horses, pulling the chariot in the same direction...
A whisper across the wind:
Bloom, my flower, bloom.