His gaze bore into me, an unfathomable depth to his aged eyes that seemed to hold the weight of the universe. The Merrik - small, dirty, and clothed in stolen blue-white patterned robes. The very air itself seemed to crackle with energy guided by an indomitable will, yet it held an underlying tone of some darker emotion: Grief, perhaps? His brown eyes held a thousand unspoken tales, filled with crazed enlightenment and furious sorrow.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and a chill ran down my spine as I took in the sight of him. He was, impossibly, simultaneously larger than life, and the size of a child - his thin but muscular frame barely taller than my six-year-old self, yet his shadow stretched long across the floor like an omen of doom. My neck tensed involuntarily as my mind raced to comprehend what he was doing in the Citadel infirmary.

My breath hitched, and I stumbled backward, struggling to gather my wits under his eerily intense gaze. A voice in the back of my head screamed at me to run, but my feet were frozen in place, overwhelmed by his otherworldly presence. Fear bubbled inside me as I tried not to think of the possibility that if he wanted me dead, I would already be lying motionless at his feet.

I felt my mouth open and close, desperate for words to come out, yet nothing but a low rasp emerged - and then, abruptly, my whole world was a bright blur of nonsense, and I couldn’t hear anything except the screaming wind in my ears.

Next I knew, The Merrik was setting me down in the middle of a field. I looked around, dazed and confused, trying to piece together what had happened. How did we get here? And where were we, exactly? All around me, long, golden grass waved gently in the wind. The sun was low in the sky, casting a warm pre-sunset glow over the landscape. I shivered, realizing that I was still wearing the thin sleeping gown that was part of the wardrobe Lord Runax had provided for my stay in the Citadel.

The Merrik stood beside me, his robes rustling in the breeze. He looked at me with those piercing eyes, and I felt a jolt of fear run through my body. But then he spoke, and his voice was so deep and hoarse that I barely recognized the sounds for what they were - Chinese.

My fear was momentarily forgotten as a shocked thrill passed through me, having heard a language from my past life for the first time since my rebirth (discounting myself and Wolfram, of course). But what had he said, exactly? He spoke with an accent I hadn't encountered before - which was common enough in a tongue with hundreds of dialects, some distinct enough that they bordered on becoming separate languages entirely.

As he continued speaking, my certainty that he was speaking a form of Chinese grew, alongside my disappointment that I couldn't make heads-or-tails of his dialect. It reminded me a little of the difference between Mandarin and Cantonese: I had learned Mandarin to a level where I was considered fluent, yet spoken Cantonese simply came across as meaningless gibberish interspersed with random out-of-context words.

Could I be mistaken? Could it be an entirely unrelated tonal language that merely sounded like Chinese? If only there was something I could try writing on... but the fields of grass around us didn't even offer up a convenient patch of dirt.

"I... I am sorry, but I don't understand you." I said, using the parlance of my new home. I didn't see a benefit, at the moment, in exposing my knowledge of otherworldly vernacular. Luckily, the strangeness of the situation (and the fact that he still hadn't done me any harm) had caused much of my initial fear to fade.

The Merrik stared at me for a long moment with unnerving intensity. I fidgeted, feeling uncomfortable in the silence, but he seemed too caught up in his own thoughts to notice my discomfort. He reached out and took a strand of my hair between his fingers, examining it closely. I flinched as I looked up at him, trying to decipher the meaning behind his actions, but he didn't seem to care. He seemed almost curious, but I couldn't be certain.

“Why…" The Merrik croaked out in a barely comprehensible rasp, his words heavily accented and oddly drawn out, "are… youu... here... Soouul... binnd... err.”

It almost seemed like he was asking me a question, but it was hard to follow his speech patterns. Had he just called me "Soulbinder"? I couldn't tell if it was supposed to be a name or a title... but, more importantly, what the bloody beast did he mean!? I wet my lips, attempting to force myself to speak past the bundle of emotions playing havoc with my windpipe.

“Soul…" I croaked out, my voice failing. I was forced to pause and clear my throat before I could continue, "Soulbinder?”

The Merrik stared at me silently, again, and as the wind shifted I became aware of an odd scent that summoned an unbidden image to mind: Fresh plum blossoms floating in a bloody pool of rainwater, as lightning falls in the distance. I gasped as I realized that the source of the brief vision was the old man in front of me, and that he had inexplicably shared something deeply personal with me - yet I understood it not at all.

"Can... I help you?" I asked hesitantly.

I couldn’t get over how old he looked up close… he was covered in age spots, and his veins were clearly visible in the bright light of day. His back was slightly stooped, his hands looked strong yet gnarled and twisted with age, and I suspected the faint milky clouding in his right eye was a late-stage cataract.

“I... com…. plete… my… task…” he said finally, his words just a little easier to make out this time, “Soul... bind... er.”

And then the next thing I knew, he was gone.

I stood rooted to the spot, frozen in confusion and disbelief. The Merrik had simply vanished into thin air, leaving only a whisper of his strangely accented words hanging in the air. A lingering sense of melancholy brushed past my mind, along with the faintest scent of plum blossoms and rain-soaked earth. My heart pounded, adrenaline from the shock still coursing through my veins.

“Soulbinder…” I whispered to myself, the word sounding foreign and unfamiliar on my tongue. My mind raced, trying to decipher the cryptic exchange. The term felt significant, almost sacred. Was it a role? A title? A mission? The answers eluded me, wrapped in a veil of mystery I was yet to uncover.

I was snapped out of my thoughts by the gentle rustling of the tall grass, a reminder that I was not in the confines of the Citadel but in an open field, under the canopy of the setting sun. I realized I had no idea where I was.

I began to scan my surroundings, attempting to find any familiar landmarks or features. The golden waves of grass extended as far as the eye could see, occasionally interrupted by sparse, scattered trees. Far in the distance, I could make out a faint silhouette of a village - the tiled roofs of its houses, the stone walls of the granaries, and, towering above the rest, the faint outline of a gigantic fortress. A sense of relief washed over me. With any luck, that was home - North Stone Village.

As I made my way towards the village, my thoughts returned to The Merrik. He was ancient, carrying the weight of countless years on his back, yet his presence was extraordinarily powerful: Even his cryptic words echoed with supernatural authority. And despite the terror he initially inspired, he did not harm me. On the contrary, he brought me closer to my village, a place I was much happier to see than the Citadel (aside from my concern over Yulfric's welfare).

Upon reaching the outskirts of the village, I stopped, struck by the normalcy of it all. Children were chasing each other through the cobbled streets, their high-pitched laughter cutting through the crisp air as their watchful parents stood guard. Men and women returned from the fields, shoulders heavy with the day's labor and voices carrying tales of daily life. Everything was as it should be.

I ventured into the village proper, the warmth of familiarity seeping into my bones. I felt my tense shoulders relax upon seeing people I recognized, finally confirming that I hadn't been whisked away to some distant location. The villagers greeted me with smiles and nods, their eyes reflecting a mix of relief and curiosity - I suspect some had seen me in the distance and briefly mistook me for a wandering beast.

Upon reaching my home, I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The place was exactly as we had left it, with the small fireplace in the corner, the hand-carved furniture, and Mom's unfinished work scattered across the kitchen table. Despite the unusual events of the last few days, the sight of our humble dwelling grounded me, reminding me that I was home.

As night descended, I found myself sitting in the kitchen after tidying up, pondering my next move. My parents were still being held as 'guests' in North Stone Fort until Lord Runax and I finalized our agreement, while The Merrik's cryptic message continued echoing in my mind. 'Soulbinder'. The term seemed to fill me with a strange sense of unease, but I suspected it was just a natural reaction to the unknown.

As shadows deepened around me, I lit a fire to chase away the growing chill in the air. A decision solidified in my mind; I would spend the night here, and attempt to visit my parents tomorrow. It was too dangerous for me to travel alone at night, even though I was nearly large enough that most predators stealthy enough to infiltrate the village would leave me alone (anything dumb enough to target an adult would already be dead).

The secret behind The Merrik's visit would have to wait, for now.