This fanfic attempts to explain the beginnings of the silver millenium, while tying in some of the mythological references from Sailor Moon. While I'm sure I'll stumble into some blatant inaccuracies, please forgive me! I'm a devout moonie, but sometimes DIC, the anime and the manga are a little tough to keep straight! I'm open to comments and suggestions. This is my first fanfic, so please keep the criticism light! I know it's not the best, but if you really hate it, remember I'm not putting a gun to your head and making you read this! Just e-mail me at firefly9@glaive.zzn.com By the way, the story starts out in the first person, because it's more personal, but shifts to third person. It should stay at third person, but we'll see! Also, Sailor Moon doesn't belong to me, etc. etc. Chapter One Someone told me once that the forces of destiny guide everything. All our choices, the seeming randomness of chance, are merely the toys of some higher power pushing us own to our inexorable purpose. Who we are, we cannot change. Everything we become, preordained and controlled. I couldn't quite believe it. After all, what's the point in living something that must happen? There is no meaning in that, no depth. But nor do I believe in the precarious vagaries of chance. There are those that believe that life is inherently without any purpose or fixed meaning. I can't believe in that either. I think that who we love, who we befriend, and who we become are destiny, but only the possibilities of destiny. We have choice to make our lives what we will, to meet who we will, to love who we will. The higher power only gives us the chance for destiny, we make the choice. ~*~ The first time I saw him truly, the sun was flooding my vision, but though the light was radiant, he shone even brighter, somehow, more golden and alive. The flame that lit his existence delineated his form, his every movement from the distance. I might have been a mile away, but somehow he looked stronger, less fire eaten, less mortal. My brother was as incandescent as the sun. My forehead was pressed tightly against the frigid panes of my window. Ever since my golden brother joined the leaders of the imperial army, I began to lurk near windows overlooking the courtyard. As an impressionable and lonely younger sister, it was quite natural that I should worship my brother. Almost everyone did. He exuded a heat that made him a little less human, a little more unapproachable than ordinary people. I never saw anyone touch him, but someone must have sometime. Even his closest companion always stayed two paces behind him. I followed at a distance. It was why I could see him in the midst of the huge milling army. There was always an empty circle around him, though the courtyard was crowded. The grey clad soldiers jostled and crowded my snowy bearded father, but Apollo, my brother, was always given a wide and respectful berth. The army was to leave in only two days for Jupiter. I pushed myself away from the window, my bare feet slapped the floor with a shock. I hastily pulled on my shoes to ward against the icy tiles. Standing in my room with cold source-less breezes edging around me, I began to feel very nervous. I rubbed my palms against my skirt. How was it that heroes were never afflicted with sweaty palms? I suddenly had a sneaking suspicion that all the epics I had assiduously studied might have skipped a few details. Then again, if it was so terrifically easy to be a hero, we would most likely have more of them. I moved before my mirror and scrutinized my still reflection. The sight of my hair brought my contemplations back to my brother. My hair trailed softly to my feet and was a shimmery pale silver. The weight of it's length smoothed out most of the curls, except as tendrils around my face and at the ends. Apollo's hair was warmer, more golden. Though my hair was lustrous and shone in the light, his hair radiated with its own inner brightness. My hands were soft, slender and white. Completely useless for hard work. Though hands of that sort were much admired, at that moment I wished they were sturdier, strong and capable. I quickly categorized the rest of my features: large, violet eyes, thick dark lashes, arching eyebrows, tiny nose, pale skin and perfectly curved pink lips. They were as they always were. And I wished I looked like more than a picture. I was a vision of the sort of girl whose whole purpose was to pose silently and serenely for others. No movement should I make, nor personality should I possess. I frowned, wrinkling my nose. The perfection of my reflection, suddenly spoiled, seemed less intimidating. Suddenly resolved, I squared my tiny shoulders and strode from the room. The hallway was long, cold, and bare, though the stone was relieved somewhat by periodic tapestries. Clutching my full skirts, I began impulsively to run. My breath caught in my throat and pumped into my lungs. I raced all the way to the weapon's yard, down stairs, and through halls, dodging servants and nobles alike. As my shoes clattered on the cobbles of the yard, a young man with dark brown hair glanced at me impatiently. My chest heaved from the exercise and my breath frosted the empty air. The weapon's yard was deserted but for Orion. All the other soldiers waited in the courtyard with my brother. Orion stared at me impassively, his eyebrows raised slightly. He didn't speak, but his mouth quirked up wryly. "I want to come... with the army. And fight," my voice was husky from running. Orion's eyebrows raised farther and his brown eyes- almost black- widened. His voice was deep and rich, but he sounded almost bitter, "You are that loath to part from your brother?" He laughed harshly, "I can't even feign surprise. But you know very well we can't take unarmed women into battle. You shouldn't even be asking." he turned away. I stared for a moment at the barely visible curve of his chin, trying to forget the weight of his eyes on me. I always forgot that he was handsome and the surprise of it caused a queer lurch in my chest. Almost more my brother's shadow than I was, Orion was constantly outshone by Apollo. And as his closest companion, Orion didn't seem to mind. Apollo had always inspired such loyalty from people, but especially from Orion and myself. I shook my head, dislodging my thoughts. I clenched my fist, my nails dug into the soft flesh of my palm and reminded me not to give up. "I could learn to fight, Orion." He turned back, I thought for an instant that he had expected this response. He picked up one of the swords he had been tying into a bundle for the army. Long and silver, it shone dully. His fingers gripped the hilt closely. Orion was the best swordsman on the moon, even better than Apollo. But he never won against Apollo, it was just that way with them. I paused before grasping the hilt from him. My blood ran cold and my hands shook. Orion released his grip, leaving the sword in my hands. It gleamed, standing tall for an instant, then the point dropped swiftly to the cobbles, metal clinking on the hard surface. It was so heavy. I bit my lip. "You can't even hold a sword, Selene. Go back inside," his eyes were soft, but his voice hurt. My eyes blurred as he took the weighted blade from me. I ran from the yard, my step was heavier than before, bound down by despair. I had never felt more useless.