Gray mist clouds the horizon. Swirling fog sweeps around a single figure's feet, blown by a faint wind that sends a chill down his spine. Faint voices call out from the smoky darkness which envelops a lone man, standing in the midst of a dying world. Keeping away from them, he follows the beaten trail through an empty wasteland of dead memories. Gray, dry plains stretch in every direction. Rotting stumps and waves of gray ripple across the landscape. All that remains of the- No, no time to look upon the past. Just keep pressing on. Through the colorless remnants of an apocalypse. The man's fingers tingle with the knowledge they possess, his hand itches to grip the blade he carries by his side. His legs yearn to break into a sprint, to break into a rage-fueled dash as his eyes eyes wander the landscape. Up the hill, across the plains. It all looks the same. An empty and cold aftermath, shrouded in fog, as if the land mourns for its losses.
There's that voice again, calling him off the path to sift through the memories of this place. He has been lured by it before. He knows what will happen. He would never have been cursed to live in this ruined world if not for that voice. Off to the side, the man notices something lying in the shattered ruins of what used to be a house. A small book, engraved with faded writing. A children's story, telling of a hero who would come to defeat evil. A long sigh escapes the man's lips as they curve upwards into a slight smile. He was that hero. He is still that hero, whether he wants it or not.
A flash drew his attention. A slim break in the clouds reveals a smoky sky, a dim sun, and white tops of the mountains to his right. The last speck of color on the entire continent. He turns and stares forwards, towards what started his journey in the first place.
Slowly, as the clouds move to cover the light, a patch of black appears, just beyond the horizon. A fortress.
The book falls through the man's fingers and crashes against to the ground, scattering dust where it lands.
The world around him flickers, wavering as some strange force sweeps through the world above. What is that? A bright white light shining a little way from the path. He takes an instinctive step forwards, gradually moving forwards. A scene flashes through his mind. Standing at the edge of a beach, watching the ocean boil. The waves forming together, into a- No, stop thinking! The water drawing him off of the beach into the endless depths. Don't go back further. Why is there a whirlpool? What is going on? What is that light?
The light flashes. A cold wind begins to blow.
The dust swirls around the man's feet.
The wind strengthens.
Is it time to go?
The light flashes. His eyes focus on it. Very slowly, he draws closer to it. He casts one long glance back at the ruined landscape around him.
I couldn't save anything. I couldn't fulfill any of my promises.
The man grits his teeth in frustration.
Am I really supposed to just leave it all behind and move on?
The light is very close, not moving. There is something about this light that he had not noticed before. It has a shape. Memories come flooding back. The trip to the beach, the giant whirlpool, the portal… and the last human he ever knew before everything fell into ruin.
The man lets out a long, resigned sigh.
There is nothing left in that land. Nothing left for him to save.
Revenge is fruitless. I need to move on.
He steps into the light and feels the gentle breeze sweep the mist around his feet one last time. His eyes close.
Where will you take me this time?
-
When the man opens his eyes, he was on a small island, on a beach at the edge of a thickly wooded forest. The tree trunks were gray, and there were strangely shaped fruits and flowers hanging from a few of them. How strange, I started out here last time as well. It even looks like- Nope, no time for that, there's something in the bush.
He draws a broadsword out of its sheath and prepares to meet whatever is behind the bush. The man's mind automatically focuses, pulling power from sheer concentration. Blinding white fire engulfs the blade. Even as he stares at it in silent admiration, his mind clouds, slowly emptying of thought and memory. Thin gray mist clouds the man's thoughts, dragging his memories away. He shakes his head, trying to clear the mental fog. His vision blurs at the edges. Where did I get this? How did I get here? What is that rustling? The clouds clear. The man knows nothing except the present. His instincts are all that remain. He refocuses on the bush and cautiously edges forwards. The man's lean, battle-scarred arms move automatically, swinging the sword to slice through the bushes.
The earth is split open with an earthquake.
-
The man is led through a number of dimly lit passageways, crumbling with age, the floor cracked and missing in some places, covered with a dim red shimmer that occasionally ripples across the rough, broken surface. His guide - who resembles a huge armored panther with a number of bushes and sharp jutting rocks jumbled on top of a turtle-like shell - opens a door and leads him into a large, homely room, lit with a number of floating glowing orbs. A calming monotone sound plays from a crystal tetrahedron on the mantle, so gentle and lilting that it soon fades into the background, unheard but not without effect. There are two others in the room. There is a sandy-gold, flat-faced, winged, six-legged, cat-sized hamster-like creature sitting in an armchair reading a tattered scroll, and a light greenish-blue dragon in the corner scarfing down something in a bowl. The guide introduces the sandy one as Cyil.
Cyil looks up, "Riselus? You're back?"
Riselus introduces the green-blue dragon as Qassot.
"What is it? What did you find? And why are you back so fast?" Cyil asks before Qassot could respond.
Riselus gestures for you to sit at a table across the room from Qassot. Cyil puts down his scroll and comes over. The man notices a translucent red jewel hung around his neck by a gold chain.
Riselus ignores the question and turns to the man. "Want some food? I'll only be a moment."
The man agrees. The journey had made him very hungry. He pauses and stares at the sphere on Cyil's neck. He remembers seeing a green one on a similar chain belonging to Risleus, which flashed bright and glowed as earth rose up out of the water, creating a new path across the ocean which Riselus guided the man to this castle on.
Cyil turns his confused face towards the man.
"Did you do your chores yet?" Qassot asks from across the room. "You're supposed to be fixing the walls on the top floor."
"I'll do them later."
"You can do them now."
"I can do them later. It's not like I'm going to forget."
Qassot sighs. "None of us are going to do them for you."
"I know that, I just don't need you to remind me." Qassot sighs and moves away from her spot at the table and walks over. The man notices a blue spherical gemstone around her neck on an identical gold chain.
"You won't do it if I don't remind you."
"You know what? Shut. Up. Is that too hard?" The man had to stifle a laugh; the image of a cat-sized Cyil standing up to Qassot, who towered well over him, amused the man.
"I will not shut up, you need to be more responsible."
"What's wrong?" Riselus calls from down the corridor.
Qassot yells, "EVERYTHING'S FINE!" down the hall to Riselus.
"Everything except you," Cyil grunts.
"What?"
"Nevermind."
"Well, I mind."
"Well, stop minding."
"I can't remove my brain."
"Well, guess what? I. Don't. Care." The fireplace blazes up with a blue flame.
"I can tell. Especially since you haven't done your chor-"
"SHUT UP!!!"
"Why are you so angry? I'm only telling the truth."
"I'll do them LATER! And it's not YOUR JOB to NAG ME ALL THE TIME!"
The man stifles a chuckle that threatens to burst out of his throat with a cough.
Riselus lumbers in carrying a tray of meatballs and salad in his jaws. "Stop fighting."
"But-", both of them begin.
"But nothing. Cyil, do your chores. Qassot, we have a guest, don't do that."
Cyil grumbles his acknowledgement while Qassot gives him a smug look. The man speaks up. "Where exactly-"
"You'd better tell him, Cyil," Qassot interrupted, gathering a few things off of the table. "I'm off to bed."
"We are in the Who-Knows-What-Land."
"Barren Lands," Qassot says, rolling her eyes, "The name's so easy to remember, I can't believe that you-"
"We are in Barren Lands on the I-Don't-Know-Island-"
"Falnear Island," Riselus says, beginning to lumber out of the room. "I'm also going to sleep."
"Make sure to vent all that useless energy you've got," Qassot yawns as she leaves the room.
Cyil glares at Qassot as she leaves, snickering.
"Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself," the man says. He picks up a fork and begin to eat, picking through the simply prepared food - slightly burnt meat rolled into balls. "I'm Axel, by the way."
"Axel?" Cyil asks. "Well, nice to meet you. I'm Cyil."
Axel nods.
"So, where should I begin?" Cyil asks, immediately becoming lost in thought.
"Just tell me a bit about where I am," Axel says, taking a bite of his food. He grimaces slightly. Whoever cooked the food somehow made it both overcooked and undercooked at the same time.
"Aha!" Cyil says, his squeaky voice filling the room after an awkward silence. "I'll just tell you our entire story!"
"Huh?"
"Yes, that's it! We've got time! The night is young, or so the wizards say," Cyil says happily as he jumps onto the table in front of Axel.
"I don't need to hear-"
"Now, where should I begin?" Cyil asks thoughtfully, to nobody in particular.
"I just wanted to know-"
"Got it!" Cyil says, still completely ignoring Axel. "I'll start from before we grouped up back at Qade Valley. How about that?"
Axel pauses, speechless at the small cat-sized creature's talent at completely ignoring the other party while holding a conversation, before sighing in resignation.
Well, it's not like I'm in a rush or anything.
"Sure," Axel says, taking another bite of the badly prepared meatballs and frowning at the odd taste. If he was given the chance, he would have to see how they made this. He isn't sure how, but he is confident that he can at least cook better than whatever this nonsense is.
"Go ahead and start now," Axel says.
"Sure!" Cyil says. "So as Qassot was saying, we live in the Barren Lands on Falnear Island. Five of us went on a recent adventure to recover some magic gems that can control the elements. Dracoa and Aavern are out foraging. They'll be back in a couple of days. Dracoa is a wyvern, a giant black snake with great black wings and a spiked tail. She's four and a half gyts long. Aavern looks about like me, but a bit thinner and with larger wings."
Axel pauses in confusion.
What even is a gyt?
"Sorry, was my explaining bad?" Cyil asks, noticing Axel's confusion. "I can try again."
"What's a gyt?" Axel asks.
"Oh." Cyil blinks in confusion. "Uhh, well, I'm one and a half gyts long…" He looks around, seemingly looking for examples.
Axel looks carefully at him. He's about a meter long.
"So that," he says, pointing at a scroll about two thirds of a meter wide, "Would be one gyt wide."
Cyil looks at the scroll. "Yep. Oh! Right!" His eyes suddenly widens, as if he realizes something. Cyil darted around the room suddenly, picking up a few scrolls placed in the most random spots possible.
"That's fifth, where's the fourth?" he mutters. He raises his squeaky voice, explaining, "These are for the story, we've been writing it over the past few weeks."
"Story?" Axel asks.
"Yep!" Cyil says proudly, rummaging around under the table. "We were bored, so we wanted to try our hand at writing!"
"Did you write that?" Axel asks.
"Mostly. Riselus and Dracoa helped me with the wording and whatnot-"
"ALL OF THE WORDING!" Riselus bellows from another room, shaking the castle with his voice alone.
"That's not true!" Cyil responds indignantly.
"THE FIRST VERSION WAS FILLED WITH RANDOM NOTES ABOUT MEATBALLS AND HOW MUCH YOU LIKE WRITING AND READING!"
"-but it's all from my perspective," Cyil continues as if he heard and said nothing.
Axel winces at the sudden noise and presses a hand to his side. He cautiously lifts up the faded black shirt that had been tucked into his dark, weathered pants. The sharp ache came from a cluster of coiling black tendrils that seems to be steadily creeping up his torso. Axel struggles to remember how this happened, but soon gives up. He senses that his past is filled with pain and darkness, not something to recall in the warm safety of this room. Axel looks back at Cyil, struggling to carry the scrolls with his short, stubby legs. He flies up with an effort and dumps them down on the table, picking up the few that fall off and opening the first scroll, his little furry face lighting up with happiness. Axel smiles slightly and lets out a long, nostalgic sigh, reflecting on the fragmented mess that is his memories before arriving on that island north of Falnear. He involuntarily lets out a light chuckle.
At least his memories are worth remembering.