Destiny-Altos- Now with indents!

One day, far into the future, our descendants have grandchildren. The grandchildren have offspring of their own, and one of these offspring, one in the billions and billions, grows up to be a father and scholar, a thinker and tinkerer. He himself is a grandchild of a grandchild of a grandchild of one of those that called themselves Guardians. He sits down one night on his back porch, bathed in moonlight like a soft white bath of immaterial water. The two moons almost completely overlapped this time of year, a ruddy glow peeking out behind a gem of milk in the sky. Grandchildren clamor around him, asking questions on all of those small, nonessential things of life that the young will inevitably see as very important, perhaps which won at a favorite game, or who the shoes look prettiest on. But the infinite, murmuring sea of language, humanity’s greatest achievement, that drifts around, swirls through, and fills us, can serve a greater purpose. The man leans back in his rickety old chair, letting the rise and lull of the children’s babble take him away on the tides of the evening sky. The children are next. They will take over for us, once our bodies are dead and gone; taking with them not our bodies or physical mementos, but inside their minds will harbor the knowledge we taught them, and the stories we told. They will carry this knowledge with them, and when their days of learning and adventure are over, they will teach their children their stories and ours, carrying on the nature, the very essence of our race in the cumulative knowledge of thousands of generations. Yes, much will be lost in the passing of time, and story fades to myth and then legend, but the legend remains. So young, and innocent, but our children are our greatest hope. Our trump card, that sets us apart. We teach them wonders of the past that they think they have no need for, that they do not understand, but these seeds of wonder and imagination will grow, and be nurtured by the lives of hundreds of generations, and blossom until they evolve into things more wonderful than we ourselves could ever imagine. And now, despite the childrens’ ignorance and innocence, they were about to be immersed in a new world, a world passed down by generations of storytellers since time immemorial. He knew it would be hard for them. It would be everything inappropriate, everything sexual and everything gruesome and horrendous, but also everything wondrous and amazing, breathtaking and powerful, everything humbling and prideful. He would relate to them the story of another man, another time, and as his story grew on, his children saw him transform into the individual he was talking about, and actually doing these acts of heroism and valor, but also of pettiness and greed; he would transform into this man they knew nothing about, never knew existed, and teach them of the time period after our greatest fall, and the hero known only as the Traveler, who made the ultimate sacrifice, and whose final resting place had defenders known as Guardians. It was time for their first Life Telling. As the man began his Telling, conversations and squabbles slowly slid to a stop as the flow of his words took the small children and flew them on the wings of adventure, held them in the tight embrace of strife, and gently moved them on the tides of emotion. The story begun.