The sky... it's blue...
I feel something against my back... Oh, it's grass...
The wind... the smell...
Ah, it's that day, huh?
I lift myself from the ground and sit on the soft earth. Sunlight filters through the leaves, warming my face. This scene, this sensation—how could I ever forget?
It's that day, the day that changed my life. The day I found myself.
The boy... oh, there he is.
I watch solemnly as the boy runs into the depths of the forest.
His shoulders slump with an invisible weight, and his steps are heavy, almost dragging. Every movement seems burdened by sorrow.
The boy's face is streaked with tears, glistening in the patches of sunlight that filter through the canopy. His eyes, usually bright and full of wonder, are now dimmed by sadness. He clutches a small, tattered purse close to his chest, as if it is the last fragment of a shattered world.
His breath comes in ragged gasps, a mixture of exhaustion and heartache. The forest seems to echo his grief, the whispering leaves and rustling branches creating a somber symphony. Each step he takes is hesitant, as if unsure whether to continue or collapse under the weight of his despair.
The boy pauses, glancing back with a look of longing and regret, before pressing onward. His path through the forest is aimless, driven more by a need to escape than by any destination.
He clasps his hands together, attempting to conjure fire from his palm. A brief spark flickers into existence but soon vanishes.
With tears streaming down his face, the boy tries again and again, but each time, only a small spark appears briefly before dwindling away.
His heart is heavy with frustration and grief. Every failed attempt intensifies his sense of helplessness. With each step, the trees seem to close in around him, their branches reaching out like accusing fingers.
The boy runs deeper into the forest, his heart pounding in sync with his footsteps. Branches snag at his clothes, leaves whisper underfoot, and the air grows colder as he ventures deeper into the woods. Yet, he pushes forward, driven by a need to find solace or perhaps redemption.
As he pushes through a thicket of bushes, he stumbles upon an unexpected sight—a clearing in the forest, ancient ruins hidden amidst the dense foliage.
The crumbling stone structures rise like ghostly remnants of a forgotten time, draped in moss and veiled in shadows cast by towering trees.
Gasping for breath, the boy approaches cautiously, his earlier sorrow momentarily forgotten in the face of this mysterious discovery. The air around the ruins seems to hum with an otherworldly energy, drawing him closer despite the warning whispers of doubt in his mind.
Stepping through the overgrown entrance, he enters a world frozen in time. Vines snake across weathered pillars, and intricate carvings adorn the walls. Shafts of sunlight pierce through cracks in the ceiling, illuminating dust motes dancing in the still air.
With a deep breath, he steps over the threshold and into the heart of the ruins. The interior is dimly lit. Shadows dance along the walls, casting strange shapes and patterns that seem to come alive in the flickering light.
The boy's footsteps echo softly as he explores the chambers and corridors, each corner revealing more of the ruins' mysterious past. He traces his fingers along the ancient symbols etched into the stone. The air feels charged with a kind of energy he can't quite explain, as if the ruins themselves are talking.
As he turns a corner, a faint glimmer catches his eye—a soft, ethereal light filtering through a crack in the stone ceiling, illuminating a secluded alcove. Intrigued, he approaches cautiously, brushing aside vines and cobwebs that veil the entrance.
There, amidst the shadows and debris, lies a skeleton. It rests against a crumbling wall, its weathered bones arranged in a pose of eternal repose.
The boy finds himself standing before a skeleton, its bony fingers wrapped around an ancient grimoire. The sight sends a chill down his spine, yet he can't tear his gaze away from the eerie scene. The skeleton lies sprawled amidst the ruins, as if guarding its precious possession for centuries. The grimoire appears weathered but remarkably intact, its leather cover embossed with intricate symbols that shimmer faintly in the subdued light.
Face to face with the skeleton, little does he know, he is actually looking at himself. This is the encounter between Lam Hoffman and his own remains—Damien Bolverkr, an encounter between me and myself.
Curiosity mingles with caution as the boy approaches, his hand trembling slightly as he reaches out to touch the book.
Carefully prying it from the skeleton's grasp, as his hand makes contact with the book's spine, he feels a surge of memories coursing through his mind, vivid and intense—memories that aren't his own.
He sees glimpses of another life—a life intertwined with magic and mystery, battles fought in realms beyond mortal understanding, and a relentless pursuit of forbidden knowledge. Faces unfamiliar yet strangely recognizable flash before his eyes, each scene unfolding like fragments of a dream.
Among these memories, Lam senses Damien's presence as a part of himself. The lines between their identities blur momentarily, as if their souls share a connection that transcends time and death.
Shaken by the revelation, Lam staggers back, clutching the grimoire close to his chest. He struggles to reconcile the memories flooding his mind with his own reality.
In that moment, I become conscious of myself. I am Lam Hoffman, yet at the same time, I am also Damien Bolverkr.
The grimoire is none other than a legacy written by myself in my previous life. Finally, in this life as Lam Hoffman, I had found it.
Unfortunately, even in this life, I have failed once more. I failed as Damien Bolverkr, and now as Lam Hoffman.
"You thought so?"
Amidst my reflection of regret, suddenly, a voice out of nowhere calls out to my mind. Instinctively, I look around, searching for its source.
"Here, behind you," the voice says, prompting me to turn around.
As I turn, my breath catches in my throat. Standing before me is Damien Bolverkr, or rather, his spectral form—a translucent silhouette shimmering with an otherworldly glow. His eyes, a piercing shade of amber, bore into mine with a mixture of familiarity and intensity that sends a chill down my spine.
"Huh, it's you—or rather, it's me."
"Well, yeah, hello me."
"So, why are you here?" I ask, curious about the presence of my spectral counterpart.
"I could ask the same of you. What are you doing here?"
"Just visiting this place one last time, reminiscing, I guess," I reply.
"And why do you think this will be the last?"
"Because I've failed again, and this time I see no way to continue our legacy. Our journey ends here, my journey ends here."
I lament as I gaze towards the little boy in front of me, watching his eyes glitter as he reads through the grimoire in his hand.
"Well, you're completely mistaken."
"Huh? Mistaken about what? Don't you understand? I've failed, and I have nothing left to pass on."
"Sigh...come, let me show you something." With a gesture, Damien summons a door out of thin air and gestures for me to follow him.
Intrigued and unsure of what to expect, I hesitate for a moment before stepping closer to the door. Taking a deep breath, I cross the threshold. As soon as I do, the world around us shifts.
Damien leads me to the library of my mind, the same place I had visited before, but this time something is different. Amidst the towering shelves of books and tomes, a huge round table stands in the center. Each seat is occupied by someone clad in a hood, obscuring their faces from view.
"Why have you brought me here, and who are they?" I ask confusedly.
"You'll find out soon. Please, take a seat," Damien replies, gesturing to an empty chair across the table before sitting down himself.
As I cautiously take my seat, the figures seated around the table remain shrouded in mystery, their hoods obscuring their faces. The atmosphere in the library of minds is thick with an almost tangible anticipation. I glance at Damien, who sits calmly, his eyes fixed on me.
"So, what's all this about?"
As soon as I ask, suddenly one of the mysterious figures lifts their hood, revealing their face to me.
The face that emerges is weathered yet wise, with eyes that seem to hold centuries of knowledge.
"Welcome, Lam Hoffman," the figure greets in a voice that echoes with a resonance that seems to come from beyond the realms of ordinary existence. "We have been expecting you."
I glance around the table, noticing the others still obscured by their hoods, their presence imposing yet strangely comforting. Damien's expression remains unreadable, observing my reaction with a quiet intensity.
"You have come to us at a pivotal moment," the figure continues, his gaze piercing through me.
"Who are you? I don't remember seeing any of you here before." I inquire.
"Well, my name is Julian Duncan, and I am you, Lam Hoffman."