~Sirius~

I thought about running. Running like I did yesterday. But Korlin is likely following me anyway. I shouldn't trouble him too much.

So, I walk. Walk through these foreign streets.

I don't have a particular goal in mind. I just need to get away. So, I trudge on with purposeless steps.

Everyone I pass seems so happy. Is that true? Probably not. Everyone has their own troubles. I'm sure they all have bigger problems than mine.

Memory loss.

I never thought something like that would ever affect me. Especially at this age.

It's strange. I've always wanted my life to change. Every day for the past few years I've wanted nothing but for something to happen. Something to change.

Regrettably, I've never strived to obtain that change myself. I follow in line. I play by others' expectations. I don't become a burden due to my meaningless wants.

I mean... why should I change? Why would I want to? My life is great, right? Minimal drama, a roof over my head, a family...

Who am I to change?

Be grateful.

Be happy.

And now... everything has changed. Drastically so. It's what I've wanted for so long. Meeting people, exploring, experiencing new things, learning things that actually interest me...

Gone are the wasted days. Gone are all the expectations placed upon me. Gone is the everlasting feeling of boredom. Gone is the family that I haven't cared about for years. Gone are the people I pretended to call friends.

Gone is that meaningless life.

Here, I can change myself. I can grow. I can make real friends, get into a relationship, and maybe even start a family of my own. Sure, it might be tricky being a "Witch Spawn" but I'm sure I'll overcome that with ease.

I should want to leave my old life behind. I should want those memories to crumble up and burn.

I do want that.

...

So why?

Why am I so hung up on forgetting something? Am I scared to forget?

I hate my past life. I hate the choices I made and continued to make. I hated everyone.

So why?

...

Man, I contradict myself more than anyone.

I can never choose what I want. I'm beyond indecisive.

It's not like I'm alone in this. Korlin is also having his memories taken away. He doesn't show it, but I'm certain he's scared. Scared of forgetting something. Or someone.

I shouldn't feel alone in this. This isn't a problem only put onto me.

You're not special, me.

So then... why do I feel so alone?

Don't get me wrong, I like being alone. Off with my thoughts, like right now. While it's typically negative, I can think. I don't need to worry about distractions or interruptions. I can think by myself away from the eyes of others.

I've always been alone. Not in a physical sense, mentally. I don't talk to others about my problems, or about anything relating to myself. It's not like anyone would want to hear me blather. I can deal with my thoughts on my own.

I suppose I should call it loneliness. Maybe that's what I don't like. Maybe.

I like to think that I can read people. I can watch their eye movements, their hands, and in turn know what they're thinking. Is that true? I'm not so sure.

But it's funny, no matter how kind someone is to me... I always see the opposite. No one is actually interested in me. Their eyes, their hands, their body language always tells me that they don't won't to be talking to me. They're pitying me.

And I hate it.

But I never show it.

I put on a mask and smile for people. I'm sure they see right through it...

When I was little, I was a star. I had tons of friends, I was the best player in every sport I played, I was popular. I was a happy little kid. Back then, I was interesting. I had talents, I could interact with people easily, I could do anything. I was someone.

Now, I can't even bring myself to cry. I can't feel anything. I'm so out of tune with my emotions, I may as well be a husk. I can't care about other people, let alone myself.

Korlin, for example, is a great guy. He's fun, funny, his sense of childlike wonder makes me jealous. While I can tell he's suppressing something, it doesn't matter, because he's himself. And he's an interesting person.

I'm sure once he learns enough to get himself up on his own feet in this world, he'll leave me behind. A depressing thought but it's true. Why would he stay? What can I possibly offer him he can't find someplace else? I keep running anyway. It's only natural for him to turn away.

Will I cry when that happens? I don't know. Probably not. But I do know... it's been fun being around him. I think I've lived more in the past couple days then in my entire past life. I'll treasure this blip of time.

...

Time...

I get so lost in my thoughts; I forget the immediate problems at hand. Like right now: My time is running out.

What am I even doing?

I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't be in this world. But I can't just go off and die... not after that witch told me to live. I shouldn't waste her efforts.

But in reality, I shouldn't even be alive. I mean... I died. I was killed by my brother. I can't say I know his real reasons, but it doesn't matter. I'll forget anyway, won't I?

I pull out the beating watch in my pocket.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

22758064 seconds remain.

A cruel reminder that I can't escape my fate. It's like the watch is laughing at me. I'll forget everything important to me.

Though... I don't even know what is. I'm sure my grandfather was...

Maybe Alzir and Timekeeper are really just messing with me. Maybe I never did have a grandfather...

No... they're not. I did, I'm sure of it. I need to stop lying to myself.

I stuff the watch back in my pocket and take in the scenery. A city full of spectacular imagery. Flying beasts and magic using people. Massive buildings and markets, stores and stalls everywhere you look. This place is rich with culture and history.

I enter a park, if you can even call it that. About a city-block-sized field of grass with a shallow pond. A short tree drapes its leaves, shading the rippling water. There are some flowers sprinkled throughout the white and green grass. Four benches, they rest in pairs on opposite sides of the area. Finally, a pathway of fragmented stones leads to a small bridge that crosses the pool.

It's peaceful here, quiet. Call me crazy, but I like to walk over bridges. Something about the change in the feel underneath my feet maybe. So, with nothing else to do, that's what I do. The bridge is on the other side of the park, so I start along the path.

The trail's stones are buried beneath the grass, barely visible. I watch my feet as I try to only stay on the stones. I guess I'm still a little childish.

...

On the bridge, a figure emerges from the other side.

A man of tall stature is robed in a draping garment. It reminds me of a Japanese kimono. A dark cloth underneath defines his large chest. The man is very built, his rolled-up silver sleeves reveal massive, veiny forearms.

I don't mean to sound arrogant, but I have some nice forearms myself. I work out every day, at least a hundred pushups, sit-ups, and squats. Or at least I used to, I've been slacking recently. Afraid it might start showing soon.

Even from this distance, I can hear his footsteps. Demanding, imposing footsteps.

Perfect posture, chest puffed as if to assert dominance. Each step has a purpose.

As if shadowing the man, the wind whips the surrounding area. The small tree rustles, leaves snap off and blow away. Distant wind chimes sing. The gale should muffle my hearing... but...

His footsteps consume my earshot.

They echo in my ears as if we're in an empty cathedral.

He slowly and methodically approaches. Almost instinctively, I slow my advance as well.

As he nears, his facial features come into focus.

A mature complexion, maybe middle-aged. A chiseled jawline and a sharp wrinkled nose. Ashen skin, like a light shade of gray. Thick, tapered eyebrows sit stern on his brow ridge.

White, silvery hair is tied into a long ponytail by a red ribbon. Loose strands hang down from his hairline and sideburns. The ribbon-ends along with the hair blow violently in the gust.

I feel so small as his daunting presence approaches. I've never felt so... intimated.

Especially when I look at them.

His eyes.

Sunken, sharp and tired eyes. It makes my own eye wrinkles feel even more insignificant. This man has been through hell. And now it follows.

His irises.

Blood red. A damp, deep crimson screaming ferocity and savagery. The crimson masks the tiny, black slit pupils.

The color is unsettling, but it's the look in them that's disturbing.

A scornful, unwavering stare straight in front of him. Our eyes don't meet. I don't want them to.

My legs keep marching, I want them to stop. My footsteps pale in comparison to his. It feels like at any moment, one of his steps could split the planet in two.

My eyes divert to the ground. I don't hang my head; I don't want to offend him. Along the path we reach armlength distance. Each step he takes sounds like it could shatter my ear drums. I can't hear anything else.

I don't think he wants me to.

With a final footstep, our shoulders are practically connected. A sound similar to a shockwave explodes in my ears.

I can't move.

Skull-crushing pressure weighs down against my skin. It's as if I've entered an atmosphere with ten times the force of gravity. I can't even lift a finger.

What the hell? What is this?

Every part of my body is still. I can't even blink. I slowly bring my eyes to the man's face.

He's not even looking at me.

Louder than a whisper, softer than an average voice, the man speaks.

"Witch Spawn."

The two words reach my ears in that of distortion. The man's voice is deep, his words fluid yet ring like a haunting choir.

A frigid chill rushes through my body. The hairs on my arm spring up instantly. Goosebumps ripple up my arms, clearly visible due to my missing sleeve. The icy sensation reaches my chest and seeps into my still heart. It's like a glacial tidal wave is cascading over me. I feel sick.

I can't open my mouth. My lips are sealed tighter than particles. My tongue is heavy in my mouth.

"You don't belong here," he still looks forward. It's as if he's etching the words right into my soul. "You are a plaque upon this dying world."

Dying world? What is he talking about? Does he not feel this gravity?

Somehow his body is unaffected by this force. The grass around us, my clothes, everything in the immediate area is weighed down. Except him. His clothes, hair, and body are all unrestricted. He's keeping himself still to talk to me.

Who is this man? What is this overwhelming presence?

All I can do is look up in horror. All I can do is look into his cold, crimson eyes.

...

Until he looks right back into mine.

...

He doesn't move his head in the slightest. Only his eyes roll into place, piercing straight into my soul.

Recently, I've felt a lot of fear. An emotion I once thought I'd forgotten crept its way back into my life. When I was dying. When I was digging myself out of the ground. When I found out my memories were going to be ripped away. All frightening experiences.

But none of those compare to what I feel in this moment.

I hate when people look at me. I despise it. It always feels like they're belittling me. Pitying me.

But his eyes hold something different. I don't get the same feeling when looking into them. Not the fear of judgement. Not the fear of being seen. Not the fear of pity.

What I get is a natural, raw instinct embedded in my veins.

The fear for survival.

The fear for my life.

As our eyes meet, the sound of another shockwave shatters my eardrums. The pelting force of gravity grows even stronger. My knees buckle, I can hardly stand. I can't even shake in fear.

It's as if I'm being pinned down by that truck again. Suffocating my airways and crushing my fragile bones. I can hear loud crunching in my ears.

It's now that I realize, I'm not breathing.

I can feel the whites of my eyes bleeding red. My throat is constricting as if a python is wrapping itself around it. My head splits with sharp pain. Is my brain bleeding?

For some reason, I can't look away. Our eyes are locked in a horrific staring contest. I plead with my eyes to the demon, but he doesn't blink. Is he reading me?

"You wouldn't happen to be an Apostle of Err? Would you?"

I can't even comprehend what he's saying. There's no way I could even answer.

"No... you shoulder far too much envy."

Envy? Of what?

I don't know. Please stop it. It hurts.

Ithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurtsithurts.

"Then, do you know the location of Vitus?"

I don't know who that is. Please... stop. I can't possibly even respond.

"..."

His eyelids fold tightly together in frustrating acceptance. It feels like he's scoffing at me with his presence. A raging river is about to explode from this man, and I'm not sure if I'll be able to withstand it.

I'm powerless, helpless.

It's then that he hammers the final nail in my coffin. His eyebrows furrow and bend his face into one of unrestrained loathing. The whites of his eyes enlarge as he whispers the ghastly words.

"You died for a reason. You should never have been reborn."

...

...

He's right.

My life should have ended.

Who do I think I am...?

My knees give out and I crumble to the stones. I don't break eye contact with the man. My bloodshot eyes likely fuel his disgust.

We stare at each other. The hierarchy is more than established. I'm the lowest of the low. This man sees right through me, doesn't he?

There is no pity in his eyes. No concern for my well-being. Only unrivaled rage and hatred. I've never met this man in my life, and he decides to despise me. I can't say I blame him.

The man's gaze lifts away from me and back forward. His narrow eyes open in concern, but quickly retreat back, even more furious. He un-balls his fist and with it the enormous pressure lifts off of me.

I've never felt lighter in my life. I can't help but fall completely to the dirt. I begin to breathe. I rapidly intake as many breathes as possible. I cough and vomit blood, staining the once green grass.

The man walks off, his footsteps much lighter than before. He makes his way back from where he came, across the bridge. I hardly notice, I can only focus on myself.

It hurts so much more now that the pressure is gone. Is this decompression sickness? I curl into a ball, lying sideways in my own blood.

It stings, almost as bad as being run over. Did that man use magic? He had to of. There's nothing else in the world that can cause this much pain.

I need to scream. The agony is overflowing. But I'm too scared to open my mouth.

After many minutes, I catch my breath. I sit up and slowly regain my composure. I look in the direction that man did before walking away. No one is there except a slender man with light purple hair. The man is dressed in loose armor with an intricate sword hanging from his hip. A knight, maybe?

Was that man scared of him? Surely not.

The knight is preoccupied with what appears to be a child in front of him. I could ask for his help, but it's probably best not to bother him. I need to get out of here.

My legs don't seem to respond, they are shaking. My whole body is.

I'm terrified.

I've never experienced fear like that before. That was the pinnacle of fear. The zenith of horrors.

This world is horrifying.

I can't stay here.

That man was right...

I don't belong here.