The Jackdaw's main tracker came to a sudden stop, silently holding up a closed fist. Upon seeing the universal signal to hold, the party came to a stop and vigilantly stood guard.
The party's progress had been exceptionally slow for the past several days. Travel that should have taken only a couple of days had taken them nearly two weeks. They had taken extreme measures to avoid any more noctic abominations. No one had spoken in days since the sound might give them away as they snuck through the dark tunnel system.
One individual was extremely useful in keeping the group hidden from the monsters. He was a hired spellcrafter who charged a hefty sum to get them out of tight spots. He spent most of his time as a passive guest in the group, only getting involved when the Jackdaws found themselves in a tight situation or when he needed to defend himself.
He was a mysterious man who wore a white mask made of clay and he never divulged his true name. Instead, everyone referred to him as the Mortician. It was a peculiar alias, but a suiting one. His clients called him that because he could derive new spells from corpses.
No one really knew how it worked. It was possible he did it by peering into the mind of the deceased. Or maybe he was able to read the mana which was still dispersing from the body. Or perhaps... he was a necromancer.
Hiring the infamous and outlawed practitioners of necromancy wouldn't be unexpected of a group like the Jackdaws, but even they were reluctant to associate with such company.
In any case the Jackdaws had survived an ambush from the noctic abominations, leaving the Mortician with several new resources to work with.
After studying the abominations' corpses, he was able to craft a new spell which made the whole party nearly imperceptible. The only catch was that the spell's affect weakened with movement. In short, they had to move incredibly slow if they wanted to keep the affect active.
The masked man stood a short distance behind the Jackdaw's tracker, recasting his new spell whenever the affect grew too weak. He was an expense, but was still a valuable asset to the Jackdaws. That being said, he wasn't the only one who performed exceptionally well.
Boss had to admit that his men had displayed herculean patience while in pursuit of the demon. They had been silent for several days now and they constantly displayed the most serious vigilance. Even now, there wasn't so much as a whisper. They all watched their surroundings intently, waiting for the tracker's signal to continue.
The tracker remained on one knee. His brow furrowed as his eyes scrutinized the demon's trail. The tracks lapped over themselves several times. Also, some of them were fresh. Not only had the demon been here many times, but he had been here recently. The tracker gave the signal to advance and the group started moving again.
Before too long, the tunnels opened into a massive cavern. A cavern with blue and white lights fluttering in the air like snow.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
For the first time in this life, the machine felt fatigued and somewhat dizzy. He played through countless memories from his previous life, but he had yet to recall even a single moment where someone called him by his name. Surely he had one, but it was gone from his mind as if it had never existed.
Feeling a headache coming on, the machine stopped thinking and focused on calming himself down for a while.
After a few moments of silence to calm his nerves, the machine started to think the matter through in a relaxed, logical manner.
He had lived his previous life and encountered many other people. It was common knowledge that everyone had their own name. There must have been times where people needed to call him by name, but he had no memory of any such times.
Normally, people who were reincarnated into a new life would supposedly forget everything and start a brand new life with a brand new identity, but he still had many memories from his previous life.
Maybe something went wrong during the reincarnation process. Then again, he didn't know the process itself so he couldn't say if something went wrong or not.
Reaching up with one claw, the machine held the frame of his head, as if doing so would help him think.
...
What if having his previous life's memories was an affect of his new race?
'A haunted machine... But what am I haunted by? My own regrets?'
The machine had many memories which filled him with regret as well as the sense of loss, but not all of them were like that. In fact, there were a number of memories which brought him peace, the sensation of wonder or even the thrill of excitement.
It just didn't add up.
If he was haunted by his past life, then his memories should all be negative. Either that, or he should have retained all his memories.
Why was he missing memories?
How did he retain his current memories?
Was he still losing memories even this very moment?
Several questions flooded his mind, filling him with unease. But one question in particular floated just under the surface of his conciousness.
It wasn't something he actively thought, but the question was there all the same, not yet percieved by the very mind which formed it.
His name was lost, as well as an unknown number of his memories. He could remember some things, but it was hard to say how many memories he had lost in comparison to how many he originally had.
Memories are the records of life-changing experiences and choices. They guide your actions and perspectives. It's easy to argue that the material of the soul itself is a fabric of memories.
But without your memories, are you really the same person?
While numerous questions and theories filled the machine's active mind, this one thought infiltrated his subconscious and took root.