Space… Endless space surrounded the man as he floated. A countless number of stars were visible, filling the entire field of view. There was peace… tranquility.
His thoughts circled him, as if just out of reach of remembering. Remembering who he was, what he had done.
“Where am I?” Though he could move his limbs, he could not turn around. There was nothing to hold, touch, or push off. The man strained his neck to get a better look at what surrounded him.
It was all the same. Stars and nothingness. He waved his arms to turn to see what was behind, but it was a fruitless effort. “I should be cold, but I am not…” The thought brought up another. “Wait… Who am I?”
It is time…
A violent tug, as if a rope surrounded his waist, pulled him. The planet, along with its seven moons, was below.
Down he went, as it pulled him at an increasing rate. He was going to crash at a speed at which nothing could survive...
A bright flash of light startled the man awake. He bolted to a seated position on the firm mattress. Looking around the windowless room, he came to a realization. “Not again…”
The man moved, stiffly and with great difficulty, the muscles weak from lack of use. “It must have been quite some time for me to feel like this. This atrophy…” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, planting them hesitantly on the cool stone floor. He shakily rose to his feet.
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The adjacent walls were devoid of windows, but many priceless art pieces hung along evenly spaced. On the opposite side of the room were a series of bookshelves, covering the entire span of the wall. His eyes fell upon them immediately, and he made his way over cautiously. Each step was a challenge. Next time, I shall leave a cane behind, he mused. His legs nearly gave out with each step. He put his arms out to utilize the adjacent wall as support while he labored forward.
After what felt like the longest trek ever taken by a humanoid, he came upon the wall of books. His eyes searched for the shelf he knew would bring him the answers he sought. Up and down he looked, moving painfully along the extensive collection. Books varied in size, page count, color, and even material. There were books on history, alchemy, religion… Even mathematics. There were several fictional tales, as well. Finally, he arrived at his personal journals.
“Too many,” he stated. “Far too many this time.” His fingers tentatively ran along the spines of the journals, which took up nearly two full rows on the shelves. Picking up the most recent, he rifled through the pages to the last entry.
“Oh dear,” he exhaled, the book slipping from his grasp and dropping to the floor. “Over 800 years… Why could I not have made a new vessel? Perhaps the answers are in here somewhere…”
He stumbled over to the first entry, delicately pulling it from the shelf. His eyes sought a place to read, landing upon a wooden rocking chair a few paces away.
Collapsing unceremoniously into the chair, the man shifted to a comfortable position. He opened the old journal to the first page and began his quest to catch up to the present.
Arinelle Entry One, 15 Drawing Down, 807 T.E.
I have just finished preparing my emergency vessel...