Upon the nameless world...
On a plane of existence that had never once been truly ordered, it fractured, never finding an end, beyond the reach of utterance. No one, nor any being, had ever succeeded even once, and so there remained no seeker of truth amidst the shards of broken glass that replaced the distant stars and the glittering constellations above the wide sky. This world was like the tiny crack born when a greater world shatters—a crack that, after countless lifetimes, burst into a thousand pieces. The map had never changed this much; it had never been so volatile. It was morphing, almost with every fraction of the passing second. None were aware, or if they were, they could do nothing but wait and watch. There was no one left who dared to act.
"Father, I only wish you'd look at me one more time. At least that much." The daughter spoke to the stone slab carved with her deceased father's name. She wept inconsolably, wiping tears in the solitary cemetery. But it was strangely peculiar. All this time, she had never known who her father was, yet why did she weep so? The past image of a family that had never existed was now supplanted by the tears for a father she had never seen. This was how the world had always been.
"My Lady! Please…" The maid's voice pleaded with her volatile mistress. A long knife was clutched in the mistress's hand. The maid trembled with fear, one arm shielding the young daughter and son.
"Please, My Lady. We are truly sorry. We didn't even know what happened. We truly did not steal anything, I swear it for all of us. Ple—" The servant begged, only to have her throat slashed by the blade. It wasn't her fault, yet the mother, the pillar of the home, had to die because of this disintegration wrought by a spirit... or something far worse. The shared consciousness that once existed had been ground to dust. Now, only the blood that stained the worsted yarn remained to be consumed.
A war without truthful inscription. A dying forgotten by all, even the slightest remnants of memory. My body... your body. Our body. Your body, or even mine—it was never ours to begin with. We never even knew why we existed. This world... it worsens every time the sound of a spell is found, chanting spirits, chanting bodies, reading the world's ancient pronouncements from a source of exquisite beauty. Innocent spirits... inscribed and shattered, dying and returning. It is the only thing that never changes. It is the remnant left by the primordial age. It is the only thing the gods have abandoned. It is the only thing the knowers can do but wait for.
Save for the King of the Realm of Sant'tayanakron, a distant, unforgotten kingdom. Many people, many entities, many races, spoke of this enigmatic realm. Some said it lay to the Northeast; others whispered it was in the Southeast. Still others claimed it was deep underground, too far to descend and search for. But who else would know, save for their regiment of stag-horned warriors? Save for those enlightened by the legends that were spoken? Save for those victimized, who became forgetful of their own past? Or even save for the dead who had returned once more...
In the Kingdom of Sniffort, amidst the Valley and the Bewildering Great Forest
"Drinking beer while traveling like this, now, Helm? Only a drunkard like you would. If an Orc pops up, I swear I'll let it stab your arse until there's a gaping hole big enough for a squirrel to walk through, you just watch." Vionneer sneered, prodding his waist with the scabbard. Helm offered no retort. He merely let out a soft chuckle, tilted his head back, and took another drink of the intoxicant to fortify his spirit. The silver-blooded woman scowled. She kicked him in the back before walking past all three of them, as if she were afraid. He, the solitary, unclothed one, followed obediently.
Since passing through the gate of the rear outskirts, everything beneath their every step was invisible to all but them. It was filled with a strange, oppressive silence, yet one teeming with the reason of the spirit. It had been silent for a long time before this, and He continued to follow without question. Only Vionneer and Willefs spoke of various things, leaving the other two to walk alongside Him...
They spoke of many things, from questioning the area that visibly changed more rapidly than usual... to asking what their reason was for doing this... Where were they returning to? Had the path of their past life ever truly existed? Yet, with every conversation, something in their minds surfaced, making them realize they had forgotten something, and they would then speak of a new matter... It was as if everyone on this world, in this land, in this universe, understood it well and had grown too accustomed to it to wish for a fix.
"I've lost faith in certain things. All that remains is the need for blood in battle. I can't even recall when the last battle of my life was, or if it was one fought at sea. Are all of us on this soil truly the same, just as the legends say?" Vionneer spoke in a cold voice. She continued walking straight ahead, her heart full of questions, yet not seeking many answers. Willefs said nothing. He simply rose into the air above the others, surveying the lay of the land from on high. Trees in the distance trembled.
"In the heart of the woods, among the hills, the sound of wood striking the grass beneath the dry leaves is so melodious, master... But why is it so perilous?" Porson asked as the conversation's silence deepened. The priest looked at the stone slabs along the path that jutted out between the dry leaf-covered boulders. Some were embedded in the cliff face, others sprouted up amidst the thick, massive vine roots, looking like octopus tentacles.
"They are whispers from the past, inscribed to remind us when we lose our way. Many of my apprentices used to get lost in this forest. Many would come to practice with me after hours to touch the mana, to touch the innocent spirit... Most common folk, if they walk out of the outskirts to travel to the main kingdom, wouldn't see the many strange things in this forest. Thus, it often becomes merely a tale among small groups of people, especially travelers and itinerant merchants." The wind whipped back, sending leaves scattering. The root beneath his foot pulled back into his body once more. The snickering of the short-tailed monkeys squealed, calling for predators, as if deliberately.
"I reckon we ought to ready our weapons. Those cheeky monkeys are definitely summoning some kind of crazy thing. And I'm telling you, my nose is better than a dog's."
Helm spoke up, though one hand still gripped the bottle of strong-brew red straw-grass beer beside his hip beneath his leather cloak. He drank it more readily than water, as if his entire life were meant for intoxication and obsession, yet his other hand could still effortlessly reach for a great bow. "Drunk, are you, Helm? I think you've had too much, you bloody archer. Thinking of comparing yourself to a dog now... How low have you sunk! A lookout archer, yet drunk all day and night. I can't believe I have a friend like you! You bloody archer!" Vionneer all but screamed at him. The priest laughed. The archer looked straight at her, swaying lightly as he pointed.
"We're not in the middle of the woods near the Asura Mountains, friend. Have faith. There's nothing out there. Even if there were, the Sage Master would have already told us." Porson the priest added, his face framed by a smile and wrinkles.
"I truly hate that old geezer smile of yours, you wretch! Think you can see the future or something? You're not a Sage anymore, get that through your thick skull, you ancient turtle!! And you! If you didn't have mana bonded to your body, you wouldn't be able to turn into a flying bird." Helm spoke in a slurring voice from the liquor's effect, mixed with a yell, like a son disgruntled by a visiting relative. Beneath the large, broad skull helmet, his eyes were bruised, not from pain, but from the past that followed. He watched countless tiny spirits fly past above the deep blue expanse, gradually fading away.
But instantly, as everything vanished into silence, as if standing on an open field in the cemetery of the dead from a battlefield, a clamorous noise erupted—like a collapsing castle—and the old Sage disappeared. How could they not have noticed...? They began to look left and right. Their minds were fully intact, as if this had always been normal. They stood still for a moment. The Sage was nowhere to be found.
"Was that a spirit flying over your head, friend...? I think it's strange now. This time, the spirits are clearer than before." Porson spoke distinctly, one hand splayed under his navel. A blue light shone, like music for the dead to hear. He closed his eyes. Everything was silent. There was only the tinkling sound, like a bell.
"You old fool! I know this must be your doing! I knew it! Don't play tricks! Even drunk, I have more brains than a monkey, I'll have you know!" Willefs offered a cold smile, high up on the mountain slope with his waiting apprentice. But Helm, the hunter, the archer, or the sole watcher, instantly realized that what the old Sage was doing was crossing the howling ground, the sound of miserable, wretched lament. The voices of countless soldiers on the battlefield who only wanted to tear them away. It hated them. It wanted substitutes to die beneath the rotten debris of the false land formed from their corpses.
"…" He took a long stride.
Though Vionneer was closer to the elderly Sage than anyone, the warrior who once had faith and lost it would never seek those who had faith in the spirit. She turned to look at the two, who were looking left and right, not noticing that He was drawing near. Then, in a near-instant, Helm powerfully drew his bow, spun toward Him, and shot through His body. A reactive force occurred. It was the force of the arrow, when it encountered the vengeful spirit's force, that would send only the faithless to vanish. To vanish to a place further than this. Porson barely registered anything. He chanted countless prayers, but found no one...
"Sage Master, what are you doing...? I don't understand." Porson asked with confusion, yet couldn't help but feel that the three had gone to a place beyond reach... too far to question.
Why did Helm do it? Why did Vionneer lose feeling for her surroundings for a moment? And He... for whom was He screaming from within? No one could know anymore.