The Jade Monkey Zhen Wu

Vanara
2-Level Monk (Spheres Street Fighter)

Sun 13th Apr 2025 05:26

The Journal Entry’s title

by The Jade Monkey Zhen Wu

The morning sun filtered through the willow branches, casting golden flecks across the village square where Theresa Aleksandros stood, her heart a tangle of resolve and ache. Her ivory robes, embroidered with Serenae’s crescent moons, fluttered in the breeze, and her shield rested against her side, its polished surface reflecting the faces of those she loved most. Patrokolos, her six-year-old son, clutched her hand, his emerald eyes—so like her own—wide with questions he didn’t yet know how to ask. Pyrrha, barely four, nestled against Theresa’s leg, her tiny fingers twisting the hem of her mother’s sash, golden curls bouncing as she hummed a half-forgotten lullaby.
 
Theresa knelt, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders as she drew her children close. “My darlings,” she murmured, her voice soft as a prayer, “Mama must go where Serenae calls, to help those who need her light.” Patrokolos’s lip trembled, but he nodded, trying to be brave, his small hand gripping the flower pendant at her neck. Pyrrha, less understanding, buried her face in Theresa’s shoulder, mumbling, “Stay, Mama.” The words pierced sharper than any blade, and Theresa’s emerald eyes shimmered, though her smile held steady, warm as ever.
 
Behind them, the village bustled quietly—neighbors offering woven baskets of bread and herbs, elders whispering blessings, and her parents, faces lined with pride and worry, watching from their cottage door. Theresa had always been their anchor, tending scraped knees and fevered brows, her divine magic a gift that bound the community. But last night, under a sky streaked with stars, Serenae’s voice had stirred in her dreams—a gentle summons to journey beyond the valley, to lands where hope flickered thin. She’d woken with a certainty she couldn’t ignore, though it meant leaving her heart behind.
 
She rose, lifting Pyrrha into her arms and guiding Patrokolos to her side, and walked them to her parents. “Keep them safe,” she said, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat, pressing a kiss to each child’s forehead. Patrokolos clutched a lily she’d tucked into his hand, promising to “guard Pyrrha till you’re back.” Pyrrha, still clinging, left a damp spot on Theresa’s robe, and Theresa laughed softly, brushing away her daughter’s tears. “I’ll return with stories,” she promised, “and we’ll sing by the fire again.”
 
Her satchel, heavy with healing salves and prayer beads, felt light compared to the weight of parting. She adjusted her mace at her hip, its presence a reminder that her path might not be gentle, and lifted her shield, its moon sigil gleaming like a vow. The villagers parted as she stepped toward the road, their murmurs a chorus of faith in her return. She glanced back once—Patrokolos waving, Pyrrha held aloft by her grandfather, the willow tree swaying like a sentinel—and felt Serenae’s warmth pulse in her chest, urging her forward.
 
The path stretched beyond the valley, winding into hills where shadows lingered. Theresa’s sandals whispered against the earth, her golden hair catching the dawn’s glow. She hummed a hymn, soft and steady, as if to anchor herself. The world awaited her care, and though her heart lingered with two small faces, the Gentle Flame walked on, trusting Serenae to light her way home.

The major events and journals in Zhen Wu's history, from the beginning to today.

The list of amazing people following the adventures of Zhen Wu.

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tyedietacos

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