I'm in my mind, in a realm that is a mere void.
Darkness above, darkness to my left and right. Darkness ahead, and darkness behind.
But below, an aerial view of an autumn afternoon at a midwestern park splays out in all directions. An unseen sun shines down onto grass fields, on concrete walkways, and onto the woodchip turf of playground equipment. Sparse trees colored in red and orange leaves dot the scene, though they are few and far between. A small breeze runs through, it's barely noticeable.
The edge of a parking lot can be seen in the top left corner; I spot my parent's old car. Never knew it's make or model, such things didn't matter to me at the time. All I know is that it was a minivan, in an ugly silver color. Good memories riding around in that thing. Whether it be road trips to the Atlantic beaches or being dropped off for soccer practice. Falling asleep in the back seats when my parents traveled late through Springfield's downtown, or sat in the trunk of to hide from my mother when I was supposed to be in timeout.
Good memories, from back when I was still in my single digits.
I feel a sense of nostalgia seeing that ugly minivan again, though it also comes with a bitter sense of homesickness. I miss my parents, I wonder how they're doing. I wonder if they're looking for me, I wonder if they're praying for my safety. Despite my bleak situation, I know that my family, just the three of us, had a strong bond. No doubt in my mind; I know they're praying for me. I just hope they're well.
We visited this park often; it was a five-minute drive from home.
Just as I remembered it, it was pretty rundown, and just as I remembered it, there's a lot of people around.
People sitting on benches, people resting together in the fields. People walking their dogs on the walkways, people hanging around in the parking lot. People playing on the playground; I'm one of them.
Is that you?
Melina's voice echoes out from all directions; she's standing next to me. Her thin finger points toward a spunky little kid, who's pouting at a group of kids near the rightmost part of the playground equipment. He's in an olive-green shirt and navy-blue jeans, with scruffy brown hair and deep blue eyes.
He's me, at a mere eight years old.
Yes.
I think out loud, smiling wryly at the scene beneath me. I never thought I'd be able to see this park at such a strange angle. More so, never thought I'd be able to see myself. It's like an existence in the 3rd person.
Melina gives a small smile.
What a darling little thing, so full of energy.
That's embarrassing to say the least, but I don't ruin the moment.
You're right about one thing, I sure was energetic.
My young self starts jumping up and down, shouting something. Screams at a playground are nothing uncommon, none of the parents sitting on the benches pay any heed to my outburst.
The same can't be said about the group of kids I face, six children ranging to my past age to a few years older. They're visibly perturbed.
I was also very stubborn, more so than now.
Is that why we are here?
If I remember this day correctly, yeah, We're here for a reason.
We're here to figure out how to strengthen me, "level up" if you will. Melina put it as "Sharing my thoughts and ambitions, the principles in which I will follow". From what I've pieced together, it means I need to look at my past, and see where I failed. In doing so, a part of me is strengthened, so that a failure like it never happens again. The same can be said about what I plan to do in the future. In my case, it's taking on an entire garrison at an outpost not too far from where we are in the real world.
This day at the park, is a day that frustrated the younger me without end. It was this moment, that made a stubborn child like me seethe.
Yes. This is why we're here.
The next moment, my younger self lunges for the closest kid of the group, one that holds a small teal colored soccer ball. It was a present from my father on my last birthday; I loved that ball.
Looking back on it, those kids probably needed something to play with, and I was carrying the ball around more like a stuffed animal than something I was actively playing with. In the eyes of self-centered children, it's an obvious solution to the problem. If I wasn't using it, surely, they could.
The kid holding the ball throws it away from me, one of the others runs to kick it along. Melina and I watch as my young self let's out a little scream, running for the ball, reaching down to try and snatch it away. I never wanted to sully the ball, never tried kicking it about or throwing it. In a way I was attached to that ball, I treated it like a friend, or a sibling I never had.
Seeing it being kicked around; I about lost my soul.
Tears spill from my pudgy face, my mouth missing a canine tooth contorted into a wailing frown. The group of kids kicked the ball to one another, trying to keep it away from me. It's obvious from up here that they saw it as a sort of game, but I thought no such thing at the time.
I walk along in the void above the memory, Melina silently follows. I move over the top of the playground equipment, as I watch this event unfold. A stressfully long time passes as I try in vain to recover my ball; things take a sharp turn when I got close, but so did a ten year-old's foot.
I'm kicked in the side of the head as I'm leaned over.
My eight-year-old self drops like a tossed trash bag; the edges of the memory physically shake. I start kicking wildly, sending woodchips flying. I'm clutching my head, crying with an intense ferocity. It's enough to make a handful of parents rise from the benches, bystanders with their dogs take a glance. It was nothing dangerous, it just hurt a lot.
But I screamed like I just got my back sliced open.
Like lighting fire to a wasp nest, those kids scattered, leaving my ball and me writhing on the turf.
I can't remember where my mom was; my dad was at work. But looking back on this, I feel a little sour. It's a painful memory, but that pain extended past the growing welt next to my right eye.
It was frustration, frustration of feeling helpless.
It was guilt, guilt of letting the ball my dad gave me get taken, get sullied.
And it was regret, a complex kind of regret.
Stemming from being the target of a crowd, being a lone force against a greater one. I regretted not taking initiative, or not handling the situation better; that regret clings to me still.
The memory phases out, and it's just Melina and I in the dark.
Pathetic, right?
Melina stays silent, I stare out into the void. It's hard to tell which way is which, it feels like I'm not even looking around.
Let me try something.
I don't know what Melina's thinking, shouldn't be anything bad. She's already seen the worst of me, and that was only a couple of weeks ago.
I'm sure the actions of a child can be excused.
I take in a deep breath-though it doesn't feel like I am-, and I try and envision my home.
Just like how the memories work, but I'm not thinking of any one specific event. Just home, the home I've lived in for as long as I can remember.
Light flashes beneath us, just like when a memory starts. But I try and envision myself in my home, not just the building itself. Don't know if this'll work, but I'm sick of looking at darkness.
Soon, the light of the memory wavers, before it rises, going up and around us. Melina starts, looking about as the light takes form. She disregards what she was thinking.
Soft carpet, plain couches, marble countertop. White walls, design-void windows, strait laced ceiling. Front door, tv, kitchen appliances. Stair to upstairs, bedrooms and bathrooms. That silly Mayan clock, my family's shoes at the doorway.
I open my eyes, and I'm home.
How did you do that?
I'm not sure.
I try walking; I move about without a hitch.
I haven't been gone for long, but it feels good to be back in a familiar place. The windows are dark, like it's night. Clock and the timer on the oven are spinning about and counting up or down without any rhyme or reason, like we're stuck in time. This memory's no day in particular, it's just my memory of home.
I thought I'd fall through, but I hit something as I plop down on the couch; I let out a silent sigh.
The couch feels soft, it has some give to it. A nostalgic feeling. It's like all my experiences sitting here have coalesced, and it feels almost real.
I was wondering if something like this would work, seems like it was a success.
This is your home, correct?
Melina walks about the place, trying and failing to keep the curiosity out of her expression. She saw this place when we first discovered that a spell was over my memories, though she only looked over it all. She now gets a sense of scale.
Looks weird, seeing a maiden in a dark cloak and leather boots, walking about a modern manufactured home. Sticks out like a sore thumb. What's more, her one open eye. An iris like a dormant flame, no eye is that color.
She runs a burn scarred hand along the smooth white walls, taking a questioning glance at the kitchen and pantry. I'm not sure if she'd be able to physically walk up the stairs, but she only gives it a passing glance.
Torches, in the ceiling?
I follow her eye.
Something like that, they're called lights.
Is it a form of magic?
Close enough.
She asks more questions, like what the refrigerator is, or why lights are flashing on the screen of the oven. What the oven is in general. Normal questions a child from a farm way out in the sticks may ask; I answer to the best of my abilities while trying to keep things simple.
I'm glad there's not much strange things in the living room. If we were in my room, then I'd have to- nope, nevermind, I don't want to accidentally send us there by thinking about it.
Eventually, Melina gets her fill of my peculiar home, finishing it with closing thought as she joins me by sitting on the adjacent couch.
Such a peaceful place, I find it hard to fathom. *Plop* And from what I have seen from your memories, your world is far more advanced than mine.
She strokes the cushions to her right, playing with the synthetic fibers that gives it a fuzzy texture.
I can see why you want to return here.
I scratch the back of my head.
Yeah, well, that's a ways down the road, I'll need to do a lot of things before then.
I don't even want to think about never being able to return here, I'll keep the hope that becoming Elden Lord will give me the power to come back.
Melina grimaces. At what, I don't know.
Yes, a long way.
Though I think I may know how to take the next step.
You do?
She nods, retracting her scarred hand back into the darkness of her cloak. She's sitting on the couch like it's a stool, though she seems comfortable this way.
Yes. I may understand why you wanted to show me that memory.
I nod.
Do tell.
Hope that didn't sound rude. She doesn't seem to take offense.
You are frustrated, and you have been so for some time now. You feel like you are not fast enough.
The same conclusion I came to back near the end of my Senior Year in Highschool.
Yeah. I interject. One of the main reasons I decided to be a runner, was because I felt like I wasn't fast enough. Fencing too.
I wasn't 100% sure why I decided to join track and cross country, it would be easy to say it's because of how I'm built. Didn't have friends in the team, never liked competitions, I often questioned why I was a part of it in the first place.
Though, in the end, I only had good stamina.
I look down at my hands, opening and clenching the thin fingers.
In terms of abrupt speed, I'm not a good sprinter.
Yes. Dexterity can be trained, but unlike endurance and vigor, it is more a virtue than most other attributes.
I scoff, no noise exits my lips.
Yep. I'm clumsy, awkward with things, and inflexible. I wouldn't be able to juggle to save my life.
I'm not fast, not with my arms or my legs. I have good reaction time, but that means squat if I can't move to answer.
Melina considers the carpet beneath us for a moment. She sees something I don't, and eventually she leans down, placing a flat hand down. She raises her hand, and with it, thousands of fireflies escape from the carpet.
Not fireflies, runes.
She draws runes from an unseen place, but I know where they came from. Wanderers, a massive horse, and the Sentinel. These runes take to the air, they fly about in such a number; it feels like we're in the middle of a giant beehive.
Tarnished are gifted as much as they are cursed.
While you have a borrowed life, fueled by Grace, you are also directly linked to the Erdtree.
Huh?
What's this? I thought we were talking about my running ability. I choose not to say anything.
It is the Greater Will that has animated you yet again, and amongst other Tarnished, your link is ever stronger. If life perishes nearby, and their runes escape their body, those runes will draw to you like an unending well.
You did not slay the Sentinel, yet his runes came to you. Wanderers you have slain succumbed to their own injuries, yet their runes came to you. Runes are your strength; they can give you power. The way I see it, you were blessed by the Erdtree.
Not only were you spared of the Sentinel, you were gifted his power.
The room is illuminated from too many runes to count. I watch it all, sitting up on my couch. Melina stands, walking over to me. The runes coalesce to her hand, forming into a bright ball of light.
With that power, through a guiding maiden, you can become strengthened.
That is one of the gifts of the tarnished.
She places her hand on my chest, and that glowing orb bursts like a popped water balloon. It doesn't splash to the ground, it clings to me, enshrouding me in golden light. It won't be the first time I've been through this; I think this is the third time. But this will be the first time there's so much of it. It would be a ripple over my skin before, nothing but a small splatter of gold. But this gold covers my entirety.
Even after the gold begins to dissipate, and the shining lights reflecting off everything dies out, Melina's hand still lingers.
She hesitates.
With this, when we leave this place, you will be stronger…
She trails off.
But?
…But it is still not enough to challenge Roard and his garrison.
Your desire for an ambush, it is still a dangerous prospect.
She retreats her hand.
I have tried my best to coach you, and you have improved considerably. Now I have asked the Erdtree for a blessing to fall over you; through your runes your flame has grown. You have been blessed with dexterity; you will find that your speed has increased by a measure.
But Lance, you are my lifeline. If I send you to your death; I will be submitting myself to fate as well.
I yearn not to say it, but you are not yet ready.
I mull over her words; the last of the golden light disappears under my skin.
It feels like she's talking about more than just the garrison by the gate. She means more.
…
Yeah, she's talking about more than just Roard and company. Maybe after seeing how useless I was against the Sentinel, she got a dose of reality. She talks about more than just the next hurdle on the trail, she's talking about the entire climb to the top of the mountain.
No, she isn't that shallow. It might be a combination of things. The run-in with the Sentinel, my actions, my words, my memories. Seeing me at such a young age, knowing I come from a land of peace. She might feel guilty, might be second guessing her choices. To top it off, I decided to persevere. I plan to throw myself into the embodiment of a meat grinder, and she might feel responsible for setting me on this path in the first place.
I understand her concerns, I really do.
They reflect my own worries.
I don't feel ready, I might never feel ready.
I feel guilty too.
All I've done since arriving here, is being captured, fighting slow zombies, and running from forces larger than me. I whined and cried and sulked.
I did kill a soldier; I don't think I'll ever get over those last moments, as I saw him suffer. Watched his life leave him from his failing twitches, watched his warm blood filling in the cracks between the cobblestone floor.
Thinking back on it makes me feel sick, and I was lucky, I was a mere few inches from his face when I began my desperate attack.
I was fighting so I could spare myself, fighting to remove myself from danger.
Now, I want to march right into that danger, and danger not yet seen in this land, while the thoughts lingering in the back of my mind convince me that I can just hide away, stay safe that way.
Move locations, change my appearance and hide Melina's aura. Settle down and live my years as a hermit.
There's many options, so why don't I just leave this desire of mine. Let me heed Melina's words, there's no dishonor in running away…
No. I'm done running.
No matter how many times I consider giving up, I will not lie down and wait to die again.
If I die, I will not die as I waste away.
I will die with a blade in my hand, waging war in this land.
I won't run.
I appreciate your concern.
I don't know what I should do, so I stand up. Melina watches me go, as I circle around the room. I pluck the tv remote off the table the large black rectangle rests on; it doesn't work.
Believe me, I know I'm not ready; I probably won't be even years down the line.
I want you to know that I don't want to die.
I set the remote down.
But at this rate, I'll never be Elden Lord.
I know how Souls-like games work. I could be max level with the best armor and buffs, and I could still die easily from the first boss.
I will never be ready.
Melina looks troubled; she probably knows this too.
A mortal. What could a mere mortal ever do against a god?
She's torn. If she didn't depend on me, she would probably tell me that I should give up.
It's a fool's errand.
What should she say? How can she resolve this? Tell me I'll never be ready? Ask that I wait a little longer? Give up? Damn it all and dive in? What should she do?
I resolve it for her.
Three days.
Melina furrows her brow.
Three days?
I cross my arms, leaning against the wall next to the tv. At this angle, Melina and I face each other.
Teach me what you can in three days, then I will attack the outpost.
Silence.
Night preferably.
Melina bites her lip; will she stop me? Will she say something? I almost want her to.
Almost.
I won't be ready in time, not by a long shot. But I'll go anyways.
She can't stop me; she can only persuade me not to go.
If I never take the plunge, I'll be stuck here, fearing when a kingdom sends another thing to hunt us down.
Melina looks like she agrees with me, she tries to argue anyways.
It is impossible. A weak counter.
I need to learn to run before I can walk. A saying from my world.
Melina raises her eyebrow.
Take the leap, get out of my comfort zone. Do something difficult before I'm sure I can do something simple. If I back out here, how can ever hope to challenge a Demigod? A kingdom?
When she says nothing else, I drive the last nail into my own coffin.
Three days. Please teach me what you can.
Why are Melina and I always at odds? It gets tiring. We're still trying to figure out our working relationship, or maybe I make it hard for her. I'm not exactly a team player.
I hope things can smooth out eventually, though they may be getting there already.
Melina gives a small smile, a true smile.
She doesn't look at me as she does it, and by the time she looks at me, it's gone.
Very well, I will teach you what I can.
I have watched many warriors throughout the years; I will make sure that you are ready.
Then we're in agreement.
It's a pipe dream.
Yes, it is.
We share a grin, as we both submit ourselves to our self-inflicted fate.