Echo Soul Seekers

rage-filled, so primal, I’m surprised to find I’m the source.
    I continue to barrel into Cade, my energy repeatedly bashing into his. Though it’s not long before I realize I’m swatting at air. Left to watch in astonishment when the entire scene pixilates before me. The shattered fragments dissipating into the ether as though they never existed.
    I whirl all around, desperate to make sense of it. Until Leftfoot clamps a glowing hand on my shoulder and gestures toward the brick wall before us where a series of words scroll across it as though written by an invisible hand. Each line vanishing as soon as the next one begins. Though despite their brevity, the words remain emblazoned in my head.
    It’s the prophecy.
    I know it the instant I see it.
    It perfectly mimics the dream.
    When it’s done, when the words return to wherever they came from, Leftfoot speaks to me for the first time since this journey began. “Dace, I am truly sorry,” he says, in a voice that reveals the full measure of his sorrow. “But the prophecy is written; it cannot be undone.”
    I start to respond. A long-winded protest ready to roll off my tongue, when the rattling quickens—my essence grows heavier—and the next thing I know I’ve sunk back into my skin. My limbs feeling foreign, fleshy, and stiff, I crick my neck from side to side, stretch my arms overhead. Trying to reacquaint myself with my physical form once again.
    The sweat persists in fat droplets that race toward my eyes. Forcing me to swipe a hand across my brow as I focus on a curl of steam rising from the heap of rocks before me. Its snaking vapor beckoning like a finger, begging me to watch as it splits into two.
    One side light, illuminated—the other so dark it’s hard to perceive.
    They waver before me in offering—demanding I choose.
    I look to Leftfoot for guidance, only to find myself shocked by his invitation to soul jump.
    “It’s a one-time offer,” he says. “Better make the most of it.”
    Without hesitation, I plunge. Eager to witness the code of his soul.
    Everyone has a soul code.
    Everyone has a soul and every soul a purpose.
    Though the majority of people go about their lives completely unaware of this.
    But not Leftfoot. Now that I’m given full access to the unedited movie of his life, I can’t help but marvel at the sight. I thought I knew him well, but the scenes that are revealed go far beyond anything I ever imagined.
    It’s a life where miracles are worked almost daily. Though that’s not to say it’s without its mistakes.
    There were plenty of regrets. Plenty of situations he wished had gone differently. Though they were mostly in the younger years when he was ruled by his ego.
    It’s the cautionary part of the tale. The part I’m meant to absorb. And while I appreciate the wisdom and acknowledge it for the warning it is, I’m eager to probe deeper. Locate the place where the secrets are kept.
    “Sure you’re ready for that?” Leftfoot asks.
    Ready or not, I’m greedy to absorb all that I can.
    With a little more digging, I find it—the cache of arcane knowledge that could prove quite dangerous in the wrong hands.
    In inexperienced, overeager hands.
    Hands like mine?
    Nonetheless, it’s an irresistible storehouse of knowledge. Like panning for gold flakes and finding yourself swimming in nuggets.
    One phrase in particular standing out above all the rest. So simple on the surface—yet seeming to speak directly to me.
    Sometimes you must venture into the darkness to bring forth the light.
    The moment it’s uncovered, Leftfoot seals the vault and shuts me right out. His voice resigned, he says, “I’ve guided you to the best of my abilities. Shared with you all that I know. Now it’s up to you to decide what you’ll do with the knowledge you’ve gleaned. The path is yours to choose. But, Dace, you must always remember one of the most fundamental laws of the universe: Every action results in a reaction. It is a rule with no exceptions.”
    The water hisses—seething and whispering with impatience. Drawing my attention away from Leftfoot and back to the dueling curls of steam leaping before me.
    Leftfoot’s teachings circling my mind:
    Every man must decide the kind of path he’ll walk—now it’s my turn to choose.
    Every action has a reaction.
    The prophecy is written. It cannot be undone.
    It’s that last part I refuse.
    If the prophecy can’t be undone—what does that say for free will?
    Why even pretend I