There is no clear indication of when exactly the Four Talents were first being used, but it is generally accepted that first to use them were the woodland tribes from Asatori. These were the early days of Arcanium, when the populace was small and the world undiscovered. From Asatori, the knowledge and use of the Talents spread across Titrith. In those days, there were seven extremely gifted ones who would rule the continent for centuries to come.

Excerpt from Rise and Fall of the Seven by Maïz the Wise.

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As he opened his eyes slowly, the first thing he noticed was the concerned face of Yara hoovering above him.

“Samos? Are you awake?”

With a grunt, he pulled himself upright, his head spinning from the sudden motion. “What happened?”

“You suddenly fainted,” she answered worriedly. “You whispered something about remembering and next thing I knew your eyes roll back and you fall onto the ground unconscious.”

“Remembering…” he mouthed the word slowly. “I do remember. Everything.”

He had a family. A sister, mother and father waiting for his return of what should have been a one year journey.

He had a name.

“Wayen…” It sounded unfamiliar at first, but something tugged at him as he spoke it. Yes, that was his name.

“Wayen, Samos? What do you mean?” Yara asked.

“It’s… my name. My name is Wayen.”

Yara gasped and clasped her hands together in shock. “So it worked then? You have your memories back?” She seemed both delighted at the fact she had actually healed him and worried at his expression.

He nodded slowly, visualizing the face of his family. His ever joyful sister Evelyn, his honest and hardworking father Thommen and his loving mother Elena. They were there, firmly back where they belonged in his mind. How could he have forgotten about them?

“I can see their faces,” he said with a sad smile.

Yara moved to sit next to him on the bedside. “Tell me about them,” she asked warmly and held his hand comforting.

So he told her all he knew. His childhood in the village of Westdale, days spent helping his father, fighting with the other boys, exploring the woods, Ishida’s arrival… He thought it better to let out his short-lived romance with Lora, there was no need for Yara to know about that specific detail.

When he talked of his journey south with Ishida, Yara gasped.

“I remember now!” she cried out suddenly. “I knew I heard that name before! He came to Ilsas’ Spring about three years ago. I only remember because he insisted of learning all the names of everyone working and living in the inn.”

He nodded slowly. “There was one evening while we were docked in Ters that I was unable to find him. What a coincidence, if I had gone with him, we would probably have met.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “You think that was just coincidence, Samos? Ishida’s must somehow have known what we would become and was looking for us. But we can talk about that once your story is done.”

She urged him to continue, so he told her of the storm at Olava’s Strait and their arrival at South Harbour with the other ship tailing them. The chase out of the city and following slaughter came difficult to tell, he had loved Ishida as a friend. Reliving his death was no pleasant experience.

“He must have used a seal on you,” Yara reminisced when he finished the story. “A strong one at that, one that made you forget and be forgotten.”

“Be forgotten?”

“From what you’ve told about Ishida’s last words and moments, I suspect he not only erased your memory, but also the memories everyone else had about you. He made the world forget about you.”

“But why…”

“Didn’t you say that ship had been following you since Arcton? I think those men were after you, because just as Ishida they knew what you were, what you would become. By... removing you, he also removed their need for you. He didn’t want them to get to you.”

“What could they possibly want with me? I’m just… I don’t even know who I am this point.”

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“Samos,” Yara continued, “you should have realized by now. We’re alike, you and me.”

“What do you mean? I only have…”

She cut him off. “Remember what you told about you sister being sick and only a Healer could help her? Didn’t she heal overnight while you stayed at her bedside? You can use Healing, Samos, there’s no point in denying it.”

“Ishida must have known,” he whispered. “About the both of us.”

Yara nodded and stood up suddenly. She walked to where Samos’ sword was laying on a table, pulled it out of its sheath a tiny bit and ran her finger over the edge. She jerked back and sucked on the wound.

“What are you doing?”

“We can at least confirm whether you can heal or not,” she answered casually. She handed him the piece of taen she had been holding all this time and held out her hand. “Try healing this.”

Knowing that arguing would get him nowhere, he took her hand and closed his eyes. She had described the Healing process plenty of times for him to know how it was done. The lines of her hand appeared almost instantly and he searched for the broken ones. The cut was shallow and small, so it took him a while to locate the injury. It was one of the smallest of lines and in a matter of seconds he had reconnected the damaged ends.

“So there we have it,” Yara said as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “We both have four Talents.”

He opened his eyes and expecting as much, he saw the cut had completely disappeared. Not even a scar remained.

“Samos…”

That name. “My name is Wayen,” he whispered. He was Wayen, wasn’t he? Wayen had been a boy, eager to see the world and oblivious to the harsh reality it often held. Wayen had been innocent, the son of a thatcher who would one day take over his father’s business.

Samos on the other hand had gotten to know the world as it really was. He had seen just how cruel humanity can be and had to fight that cruelty at several occasions. Samos had become more than just a man. First an Enhancer, then Dovra’Sha and after that Son’Sha. And what was he now? Surely he wasn’t a thatcher anymore.

“My name was Wayen,” he repeated to Yara, “and Wayen will always be a part of me, but it’s a part of me that I have outgrown. When or if I return home, I will use the name again. Now though, I am Samos.”

Yara give him a comforting smile and Samos grabbed her hands.

“Thank you, Yara,” he said in earnest. “You’ve returned something to me I didn’t even knew I lost. I’ll forever be in your debt for this.”

Her cheeks reddened and she shuffled closer. There was a tremble in her voice. “There is one way you can repay that debt.”

She had moved close enough for Samos to be able to count the individual whimpers above her expecting eyes. Her scent, ever present in the room, seemed to become more intense. She squeezed his hand softly and closed her eyes. Samos let himself get lost in the moment as their lips touched for the first time.

¥

“Alright, throw me the rope!”

Evelyn picked up the bundle and expertly threw it up onto the roof. Her father just barely caught it, his hands finding grip onto the rope only barely. He was growing old, Evelyn knew. Soon she would have to take over from him. Nobody had ever seen a woman becoming a thatcher, but she did not care for it. She was proud of what she did, what her father did. Thanks to them, people could sleep under a safe and dry roof.

“You need some help up there?” she cried out.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” her father protested. “As if I can’t even fix my own roof anymore.”

With a smile, she began cleaning up the tools sprayed out around her. They were nearly done for the day, the only thing remaining was for father to tie up everything so they could continue on it tomorrow without having it all blow away. With a grumble, he eventually moved over the roof’s edge and climbed down the ladder. As he reached the lowest step, he suddenly reached for his head and stumbled down, only barely holding his balance.

Evelyn moved to help, but a sudden flash of pain burst inside her head. She supported herself on a fence and panted heavily. What was that?

She locked eyes with her father and suddenly realized something. Something she had somehow forgotten.

“I have a brother…”

“I have a son…”

From within the house, her mother started screaming.

¥

Ethel stood steady on the bow of the Breaker, his legs instinctively compensating the swaying of the deck as waves crashed against the side of the ship. Before him, the charred walls of Eresath stood silently in defiance. Nearly ten weeks had passed since he had first laid siege to the city. Two days ago he had finally captured it, only the fortress of the Order within the city still resisting. They would not last long now.

He had almost completed his task. The Order had held the different nations of the world in its grip for too long. The people were growing stale, there was no progress anymore. Peace was the enemy of progression. War was when the true nature of humanity really shone the brightest.

And war was coming. Already there were border skirmishes in Odera and Titrith that would soon turn into real battles. A satisfied smile formed on his face. He was nearly there and there was no one who would be able to stop him. The only one capable of putting up some kind of fight had been injured not long ago. His respect for Son Aëron had grown drastically once he had learned that all his Enhancers in Vorna had been killed.

In some way, he had wanted Son Aëron to come and face him. It had been a long time since he had experienced a decent fight.

“My Lord?” a voice called from behind him. “General Watin has signalled he is ready.”

Without turning, Ethel nodded. Today the Order would finally fall. The leftovers gathering at the coast to the east of them would be dealt with later.

Just as he was about to raise his hand to signal the start of the attack, a flash of pain raced through his mind and he stumbled forward, his outstretched arm catching on the railing.

Voices of concern rose from behind, but he ignored them. What was that? Had someone used a seal on him? Quickly, he turned around hand on his hilt.

No…

He remembered something… A bright pulse of power tracing across the lines that covered the city of Dadendam. He had touched the line, followed its pulse and had been witness to the birth of a boy. A boy that would become more powerful than anyone ever before him.

Three years ago he had received a message from his men they had found the boy from the description of the village he had given them. What had happened after that? How had he forgotten?

And why did he suddenly remember?

“My lord?”

“Call off the attack,” he commanded, “I need to think.”