Ezekiel, by Cassie York Brooke

The first snow had fallen, shrouding the small village in a freezing silence. The gray sky hung low, as if the world had paused at an eternal standstill. In the biting cold, a  young man named Ezekiel stood before the ruins of an old cathedral. He held a  piece of ancient parchment he had found in his family’s attic a week prior, tucked away among dusty boxes of old books, childhood toys, and photo albums that had yellowed with time. It was as if the parchment had been waiting to be found.   

"Destiny will find you here," it read on the ancient parchment in what appeared to be  fading ink. 

Ezekiel didn’t know why he felt drawn to the old parchment. There was no name, no clear clue, just the message and the image of a cathedral he had known since childhood. 

The old cathedral had been where he had played hide and seek with his cousins ​​during the summer, though there had always been a fear he didn’t understand. Sometimes he felt as if something unseen was watching him from behind the cracked marble pillars. His mother had often warned him not to spend too much time there, saying that it was a sacred and mysterious place. But somehow, those childhood memories tied him to this place, like invisible threads pulling him back.

He had often heard tales of the cathedral, a place where pilgrims prayed for their fortunes, where sinners sought forgiveness, and where legends of a  mysterious guardian had been passed down through generations. 

The winter wind whipped his long cloak, and within the ruins, there was only silence,  save for the whisper of falling snow outside. Yet, as he took his first steps towards  the broken altar, something strange began to happen.

"Ezekiel," a voice called. A faint sound emerged, like a  chant. Not a human voice, but something older and deeper.  

Ezekiel startled. "Who's there?" he asked, his voice trembling. 

A robed figure emerged from the shadows. Its face was hidden beneath a deep  black hood; its voice sounded like melting snow. "You have come here  to answer the call of your destiny, like those who have come before you." 

Ezekiel shook his head. "I don't believe in destiny. I choose to be here because I  choose my own path." 

"Do you?" what sounded like a gentle laugh. "Was choosing to come here also  part of your freedom or was it part of a story written long before you were born?" 

The chanting grew louder, enveloping Ezekiel like an invisible net. Within the sounds,  he saw glimpses of his past, like shadows cast on the surface of water. Every small decision he had ever made, every encounter, every moment of doubt or courage, they all flowed through his head like pages of a book being turned over one by one. It felt like a dream or a living mirage. He felt as if he were watching his life from outside his body, drifting between time and destiny.  

"Destiny does not force you, Ezekiel," the figure said. "It merely shows the way. But  the final step will always be yours." 

Ezekiel stared at the altar, now glowing softly in the moonlight. He knew that at that  moment, he could not escape what awaited him, but he also knew that how he faced his destiny was his own choice. 

Inside, Ezekiel was a young man who grew up believing that each person was the architect of his own life. He was stubborn, intelligent, and always looking for meaning in coincidences. But at that moment, for the first time, he realized that not everything had to be explained. Some things were enough to be felt. 

His hands were shaking, but not because they were cold. In his mind, he remembered one thing, the last words his father had written before he died, written in the margin of a diary now stored in the attic; “Maybe we can’t choose our destiny, but we can choose how we live it.”. Those words, which he had never understood before, now felt like a key that unlocked something deep inside his heart. 

With a determined step, he approached the altar, ready to receive whatever had  been prepared for him. The thought of destiny was no longer something he wanted to fight, but something he wanted to meet, not because he was giving up, but because he finally understood; true courage isn’t in refusing the call, but it answering it with all one’s soul. 

Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the ruins in a peaceful silence, as if  immortalizing Ezekiel’s final choice in an unforgettable winter.