Prologue (Part 1): The Vulcan
A young man raced across a plain. He wore a long dark cloak with a hood that covered his eyes. His surroundings were dry and dead; no green in sight. Finally he reached the bottom of a large hill with a winding path to the top. But he didn't stop there. He continued on up, making his way through its endless curves, unnerved, as if the steepness wasn't there. The strong legs ceased only when he reached the mouth of a cave. He paused and looked around to see the temple it led into; the mass amount of rock combined to make it was quite a sight. But that's not why he was there. His head turned left and then right, as if he were stalling or gathering thoughts. The male braced himself and opened his mouth forcing himself on.
"Father!" He shouted without emotion. "Father, now is the time!" After the words spilled out he took a step back, as if he were considering running off.
I can't leave now. He thought. Leaving after beckoning my father would be illogical.
A shadow immerged from the cave and entered the light. It was an old Vulcan, with a cloak like the one his son was wearing, but darker and worn out. He had the most serious face I'd ever seen, his eyes contained all the darkness of the oceans of Earth on a cold winter night.
"Yes, my son. Continue," his old voice rasped. Although he accepted his call, his tone showed he obviously disapproved of it as well.
"Before, we once spoke of a time that matters, deep in my mind, would be brought to the surface," his son's tone was serious, yet almost informative, as if he were stating well known facts.
"Yes. I remember," the old Vulcan said, the annoyance in his tone lessening.
"We'll there is something on my mind; and I must tell you now before I end up living with a mistake for the rest of my life."
"Well, get on with it." Now he was glaring; probably half guessing what he was going to say next, but couldn't believe it.
"Father, I do not wish to be a monk!" The young male's tone gave way to nothing, but his mind was in chaos.
"Whether you wish to or not is no matter!" the old Vulcan monk spat. "I have already told the others that you were soon to be accepted into the temple. I will not go back on my word!"
"Then I must rephrase my statement." He took a breath and pulled the hood of his head, revealing the face of a young male Vulcan. He had the average Vulcan hair style, nothing particularly special there; but his face, from one cheek—across the nose—to the other cheek, was covered by a wave of freckles; in which, dare I say, complemented his dashing aquamarine eyes. "I refuse to be a monk."
"If you think you can take all my time training you and—" the old Vulcan began to protest.
"I wish to do something with my life. I want to help other people, to be used, and useful!" Now some emotion could be heard in his voice, all though there wasn't much. "I'm joining Star Fleet."
And with that he dashed off without a single look back.