Prologue
The evening was crisp and cool as always. A green-haired man stands on top of the roof of his apartment complex as he looks up at the stars. A young white-haired man holding a box joins him.
"And what do I owe the pleasure of your company tonight, Mr. Blaze," The green-haired man asked.
"Surely it isn't uncommon for one to visit a friend from school, am I wrong," Mr. Blaze, the white-haired man, responded.
"Don't make me laugh," the first man said, "We both know that you're too busy to come all the way over here. You decided long ago that your career was more important than anything, or anyone" A tense silence hung over the two men on the rooftop for a minute that stretched every single second into an eternity. Even the plants reflected on that comment. "I can't say I blame you," Mr. Blaze managed to say. He looked down at the package in his hands. For the first time in his life, his hands trembled. "My dad told me to deliver this to you," Mr. Blaze said. He dropped the box at the other man's feet and promptly left.
He waited for a few minutes after the man left the roof, then he picked up the package. He walked to the edge of the building and held it over, ready to release it. "I'm not willing to subject myself to another one of his plots," he thought to himself, but moments before he released the box, a glimpse of light caught his eye. The box had a postage stamp sticking out of it. Not only was it a reflective stamp, but it was half a century old. Though there was no date on it, he knew the date of the FFI, which was depicted on the commemorative stamp. Reluctantly, the man opened the box. Inside of the box lay only one object: a very old soccer ball. The markings that were on it from merely its use indicated that it was likely as old as the stamp outside of the box. However important the crisp burn marks or archaic dirt stains were, there was one artificial marking that stood out. In a very faded marker, a lightning bolt was sketched on the center of the ball, staring right at the green-haired man.
Though it was a rough sketch, the symbol meant so much, even to this man. That symbol was like a royal seal, and its presence made the man tremble. It had no eyes, and yet it stared into his soul. It had no mouth, and yet it spoke to him. In the most intimate of conversation, held in the privacy of the stars, the symbol itself spoke a single word into this man's soul: "Destiny."