The Path of Destiny

It had no stones, no footprints, or maps.

Only a soft whisper that echoed in the bones of those brave enough to hear it.

They said it was all part of fate, the poets, the silence, the doomed hope. On top of a jelly hill for centuries, lived a faceless guardian.

He mentioned that destiny isn't only at the end of the road, but in the lost steps, the choices we didn't make, and the hearts that still mysteriously burn at night.

A traveler arrived with questions. He was full of doubts, truly scared, and the only thing he had with him was a mirror that gave him nothing back.

"¿What's the best way to do it?" he wondered.

One illuminated the past, but blinded the present. Another showed what lies ahead, but left out the heart and soul.

And the third thing was super hot, with no light at all. The traveler took the third,
although he never saw the path, he felt it.

Every move he made was like a memory he didn't own, every division was like a poem he hadn't written, every dark point a truth that wouldn't let him go.

Then he understood that destiny isn't a goal, nor a divine line.

It's like walking a path that has been shaped by your own hopes, worries, and passions.

And even though no one noticed him coming or caught his name, he became a beacon of hope for the skeptics.

Some things only appear when you actually do them.