65th Evening of Winter 217
In the void a lone figure stalks forward at a brisk pace. The path he trudges along is unclear; there is nothing to light his way and he can hardly make out his hands in front of him. There is only the endless ambling of a man, tired and scared.
“My name is Kein, don’t forget that! My name is Kein! Don’t forget it…Kein! My name is Kein, don’t forget that!”
He continues on and on. Because he knows he’s forgotten other facts of himself. His home, his family. Was he married? Or at least in a relationship? Who could say, certainly not him. But he knows that once his name is gone, it’s all over. If he were ever to escape this place, would there be a point to it if he forgot himself along the way?
He stumbles, tripping over his own feet, but quickly regains his footing. The trip had broken his concentration however, and he yells in frustration. “Don’t forget, your name is…m-my name…my name is…”
The man tightly grips his hair in anger, numb to the pain as blood trickles down the sides of his face. He falters, falling to his knees as heavy tears begin falling from his eyes. How could he be so stupid, so absolutely foolish as to allow his own irritation to break his focus. Between heavy gasps of weeping he mumbles to himself, “M-my n-name…is…my-my name is…”
“Kein! Kein, my name is Kein!” A moment of eureka. He jumps back to his feet and continues walking the path that could not be seen.
“My name is Kein, don’t forget that. Kein, that’s my name. Don’t forget it…” He drones on and on, disappearing into the inky blackness where his whimpers can be caught at a distance as he whispers, “My name…my name is…”
Tamae opens her eyes and sees nothing. Woken by the feeling of drops of water splashing her face, she turns over on to her back and is startled silent…
She wants to scream but is unable to find her voice. She wants to move, to run, but her body refuses to listen. Tamae can only stare up at the assortment of bodies, of her fellow soldiers, stuck to the ceiling with swords and nails. Her eyes peer over and she can see that she had been awoken by the blood dripping from her brother Otto.
This sight alarms her and she is finally able to force herself to sit up and begin shuffling backwards. She quickly stands and turns to run, but is caught by her neck. Fingers tighten around her throat as she gasps for air and tears begin to fall. It was the prisoner they had been keeping, but he was different now. Tamae took note of his eyes, now completely turned the color of blood, and how impossible his strength was as he lifted her from the ground with one arm.
She cries and kicks at the prisoner, but his grip only tightens as his fingernails begin to cut into her flesh. He sneers and chuckles before his arm flexes, pulling back and throwing Tamae up, anchoring her to the ceiling.
She gasps in pain but is unable to cry out. Peering down to her chest she sees numerous spiked or broken swords have pierced her and are now holding her in place. As tears fall, the prisoner elates and cries out with laughter. Tamae can only turn her head away to try and find her brother through blurring eyes. Eventually her heads droops, having lost too much blood, and all goes black.
Tamae opens her eyes and sees nothing. Woken by the feeling of drops of water splashing her face, she turns over on to her back and is startled silent…
A door cracks swings open, and a tall half elf steps into a small room, dimly lit by the setting sun, dust floating through several small beams of light breaking through the dirtied window. As Ezell enters, they close the door behind them to find a woman eating quietly at a small table.
Ezell pauses for a moment, taking a mental image of their wife. Of the woman who married not out of love, but of familial obligations. She does not lift her eyes from her plate as Ezell enters, nor does she greet them. She continues to eat, her posture sharp and table manners eloquent.
Another moment passes before Ezell steps forward to pull a chair from the table, the screeching of the legs louder than they’d anticipated. Ezell winces at the loud scratch, slowly stealing a glance at their wife only to find her already staring back with absolute disdain. She returns to her plate as Ezell let’s out a light sigh, sitting in their chair and quietly scooting forward to reach their food.
They pick up their utensils to cut into the plate of meat and vegetables before them. The food is bland and dried, featuring little seasoning. Ezell chokes down a bite, rinsing down the what can’t be swallowed with water that tastes too strongly of mildew.
In an attempt to break the silence, Ezell speaks up, clearing their throat of loose particles, taking another sip of musty water. “So how was your day at the sho—”
Ezell is cut short by their wife slamming her hands onto the table. She lifts her head up and glares at them with an abhorrent look in her eyes. She quickly stands, throwing her chair backwards as her eyes remain locked on Ezell. Without a word she turns away and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
They sit and watch the door listlessly, exasperated at the exchange. Ezell proceeds to eat the meal with muted flavor, sitting in the quiet room swarmed by a cloud of apathy. After finishing their meal, they stare where their wife had sat, wondering where they went wrong, thinking of ways to make their wife happy again.
After cleaning the dishes Ezell moves to the doorway to leave. They sigh once more, looking over the dinner table, and turn to push through the door. On the other side their wife sits at a table alone, eating a meal in quiet contemplation. They sigh quietly and push the door shut.
Pained pleas and cries echo across an expansive void, sourceless and unceasing. The boy who cannot remember his name is left alone, at the center of it all. He sits with his knees pulled to his chest and hands over his ears in a failed attempt to block out all noise. So many people crying for help, begging for release, and he can only listen on, too frightened to join the cacophony of misery. He doesn’t understand why they are all here or where they came from.
He instead shrinks, wishing to vanish and hide from all the noise. If only he could silence them all, then maybe he could take a moment and sort out who all these new voices are. Sort out who they all are and banish them from this place.
He can feel their very existence pressing in on him, smothering him with their own fear. It’s unbearable.
“Why is this happening…” he whimpers, as the voices suddenly rise in volume. And he tightens his legs to his chest, shutting himself off from the void as much as he can.
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