Deeping his breath, he gasped and held it. He needed something to hold onto and his breath was the closest thing to nothing. Eventually, he hoped he could hold onto nothing. But for now, his breath would do.

Dark, fiend creatures that clung to the shadows making noses instinctively threatening, invaded his proximity fom the shadows of canopies that loomed overhead like garden scythes, they appeared as shades then became creatures. Instinctively he swung as if he held daggers, only to realize by a saddened thud, that what he held and swiped down did not gleam with the glitter of master craftsmanship, but were dull with rusted age, fragments of what were once weapons but had now been stripped down by time and the Sinister Sea. These pitiful excuses for weapons had washed to shore and now caused the fiend-like creature in front of him to squeal in a pain that any object with enough force behind it could cause another living creature.

As the creature stopped, stunned in his tracks. He leaped back and readied his stance again. Back foot tense, he studied the odd little gremlin. It swayed in ways that mimicked both man and creature. Some amalgamation of the two. An experiment gone astray, or, depending on the scientist...according to plan.

These damn things with their small frames and sharp claws would have been trash mobs to the man he once was, but that man had been lost; and now, as he tightened the rusted handles of his paltry excuse for blades- he prepared for a hard fought battle against a creature that was now his equal.

Screeching the black tattooed inscribed horror lunged at him with every tooth out and every possible amount of spittle flying towards his face.

Disgusting, he would have once thought, and at first he had, but not now. Months of harsh primal living strip those thoughts like loose skin. He wasn't the man he once was, grinning, he was also no longer burdened by that as well.

Now, he no longer worries about the struggles of men.

Now, he only struggled to survive.

Shouting back, releasing his breath, he let loose a cry that only the mad could produce.

When you're mad you have lost it all. Nothing can hurt you again, or so the man hopes.

†. †. †. †.

Crackling the small fire gave little light. Weak and washed wood brought little to ignite. A small saddened face appeared and hovered over the man, he could not earn the well rested buff in these conditions.

Holding his breath and searching deep down he focused on the flame. Turning his insides out. Swimming in his soul he went searching.

Every night was the same.

He would build a scrappy fire and soul search.

What had happened, he thought? Every trace of innate power had fled him. Not fleeing, he could still see the faint lines of power, but where they once glowed and shook with energy, now they stood severed and dull.

As if forgotten, no not forgotten, he mumbled to himself, locked away.

Above the flame was a makeshift cooking spit post. On the island that was large enough for him to not have crossed its circumference as of yet, contained wild game that kept hunger a matter of hunting. Roast boar was currently cooking.

Boars the size of men and bears the size of cabins flocked this hellscape. A bizarro world where weaker men would die and even the strongest struggle to only eventually die. This place was not meant for man, and him being the only man he had ever seen, he figured he must have been right.

Around him fiends lay dead.

In a circle as if some ritual was taking place, they may sprawled out black and swollen. But it wasn't anything as convoluted as that. The smell of the boar simply attracted the fiends like no other. Running one by one they charged in with the intent to kill anything in their way.

They died trying.

Breathing raggedly, he glanced over at the small black creatures in their ceremonial garbs, their loincloths and spiked piercings, with their crude tattoos.

Damn little devils they were.

Was this hell? He thought.

No, just an island in the middle of the deserted sea.

His common sense slapped back.

Mankind loomed thousands of miles away and he amused himself.

More than once the thought of killing himself had entered and lingered in his mind.

For what did he suffer, he thought?

For who did he want to see again?

For what?

For what?

His fists came e down into his lap and tears begin to raggedly fall down. A raging river fell.

For what, he screamed at the sea that screamed back with waves and storms of indifference.

Spittle flecked, and tears stumbling his words he yelled again, fiercer than before...

For what!

Around him the leaves of the trees shook and moved with a sudden gust of wind.

Inside something moved, a node within his soul sparked for a split second, a fraction of time that couldn't be noticed and so he didn't notice.

If he would have noticed, hope would have surged, and he wasn't supposed to have any of that.

Not here, not now, not yet.

And so he continued to cry his ragged tears. The kind that were hot and heavy. The kind that no one should ever see. The kind that marked him as human still.

He did not touch his boar that night.

He simply cried until exhausted. He fell asleep clutching at his rusted daggers. Too lonely to not cry, but human enough that he clung onto the little life he still had.

†. †. †. †

Waking up hungry he ate the boar with a primal urge. Afterwards, he turned and walked back into the forest that sprawled far and wide. Far down he could see a clearing and a river. He would make his way down to the river in search of fish.

That's it.

No other thoughts larger than food and shelter entered his mind. Slowly he was beginning to lose more and more of the man and the stories he once was.

The Path had become what he walked and not what he once lived.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Even she had left his mind.

Thinking of her only pained him, so one night, he had soul searched and found the core of his memories of her and severed the ties himself.

Raging with tears and gripping a rusted blade to his own throat, he had severed the memories then instantly fell asleep. His mind and heart had had enough. So, they had shut the man down before he did anything foolish.

The river was cold as he washed himself slowly at first. Then, with a sudden confidence, he dived in. His clothes were tattered and left on shore, resting on a rock that jutted out of the earth like a tooth. Within his teeth he held his rusted daggers as he swam down to the bottom. After many failed attempts, the sun began to move across the sky. Halfway across it rested when he made his first successful catch.

A large red scaly thing with seven eyes and a will to live was his first catch. It burned as he pulled it out, instinctively he tossed it to the shore. The fish began to squirm and then it began to burn slowly, a small flame emerged then disappeared just as quickly.

These sort of oddities no longer surprised him. These weren't normal animals, they were confused and cursed he thought. This whole place was a playground to the God of Chaos.

One giant joke this all was.

And he was the only one not laughing.

Down the river looked promising.

Grabbing his sack and loading it with his tattered clothes and the fish he just caught, he flung himself along the current and down into the unknown that was today.

Living without cause corrodes the soul, he was once told. Without aim, the arrow of life will waver. But, for so long he tried for this to be his end. He knew that to give up was the end and that everyday he gave a little more away.

Taking in a deep breath he went under and joined the school of fish that followed the same stream. Every possible color of fish not possible flowed around him. Golden trout. Fiery salmon. Frozen icicle looking creatures. Then, at the bottom, a tortoise that looked thousands of years old swam in a pace that spoke of hundreds of thousands of years.

Without a second thought, he swam down.

Upon closer inspection the tortoise didn't look old, but it's soul reasonated with wisdom. On its shell it had runes imbued in a power that could be felt. Glowing golden they refracted in the water. Creating a shimmer that sparkled and hummed with a curious power.

With a gentle hand he reached towards the shell which hummed in a warm and inviting force.

He didn't know because everything was so odd, but the man was smiling, something he hadn't done in so long.

Then, he rested his hand on the ancient creature.

Inside his mind a voice spoke.

Hello, lost boy.

Shaking around he saw no one. This was the first time a voice other than his own had been heard since arriving to his personalized hell. He felt pure bliss.

I'm not alone. He thought

The voice responded.

You've never been alone.

His thoughts were being read, he thought.

They are, and then came a laugh.

And don't worry about your breath, I've provided us with that, have a seat now.

Looking around, he realized a bubble of energy now encased him and the ancient creature, one that simulated that of a room.

Precariously, he came down to the shell, and sat alongside it, like some festive rug.

Then, a rush came, and his words came quickly. Hope had entered the fray.

How can I return? I need to return.

No, you don't. But you can if you would like. It would be difficult, extremely difficult. Most likely not worth the effort, but it's possible.

His tone was drawn out and slow.

Around them the peaceful river played out like an aquarium. Only now, on top of this mythical creature did he notice the beauty in the world that was plotting his demise every second of the day.

Power, that's what I'm missing.

Why would you think that?

Because just like now, I haven't been able to appreciate anything because I've been struggling to survive. I can't get anywhere or enjoy my life without a gap in power between me and the rest.

That's a part of it, yes, yes.

Then there came a silence, one the man did not wish to break. It did not feel like his to alter. He was simply on the shell of an ancient being, along for the ride.

To ride on a beast that rivals time, who was a born and given infinity plastered on its shell, to then be able to communicate with the epitome of wisdom, one didn't cut him off. No matter how slow or how drooling his tone was. If anything, you gave in and allowed yourself to reflect the sage of the river.

But, the man had something even the sage tortoise could never poses. For with the amplitude of time came the lack of urgency.

Urgency that burned inside the man with enough force to burn the world.

Good, you can breathe and be at ease. You'll need that. Even if it feels useless, you'll need it.

Then, came the glow which blinded the man. He thought at first that it belonged to some other secret from deep below. That at the bottom of the river there must lay an even larger truth waiting to be discovered. But it was not that. And seconds later he would come to the understanding.

That understanding being that the runes on the shell had begun to echo their true strength. That a power within had triggered within the ancient beast, and the man had triggered it.

Causes require triggers.

To grow we must push.

Push beyond.

Far beyond.

The man had become the trigger for his own growth. The ancient being was only one form that it could have taken.

After the light, there was a space in which time rested. In which the man finally caught his breath.

As if life allowed a respite, the universe decided that a pause was in place.

Time had yet become a concept man could alter. These would come with, well time.

And that wouldn't be for now or tomorrow or the foreseeable future.

White light burned the inwards of his eyes, leaving scars on his mind. Scars that would linger and be read not now, but when he could read the glyphs of the ancients and then, understand them, and with much more practice, apply them.

The man didn't remember his dreams, and good thing he didn't. For if he had, well he might have been content with the life on the island where enemies where straightforward and respectful of life and death.

Awakening he was met with a headache and a screen that clicked open, hazy and blue, his eyes slowly adjusted to the new perspective…

(Perspective swaps from third to first!)

What is that?

I had forgotten the system as it didn't seem to operate on the island, at least until now.

Before me the screen hovered with bright white letters that read,

Quest: Returning: The Lost Hero.

Requirements :

Soul of the ocean 1/1

Soul of the mountain 0/1

Soul of the flame 0/1

Soul of thyself 0/1

The soul of the ocean must have been the ancient tortoise...one down, I thought.

As I stared blankly up past the screen and resting my eyes on the lights and darkness that spread out before me.

With a deep breath, I dove into my soul.

With my expectations low, I was shocked when something old and familiar caught my eye

What the fuck, my words broke my spell.

No this can't be.

Inhaling deeply, I delved back inside.

Without anything more than being that which I wished for everyday that I had awoken on this sullen island. Each day I craved for a power that I slowly forgot. How was it to feel the wind? To control the elements. To slip off into another plane. To have access to powers beyond my control yet under it.

I had come to terms with my new state as one does. With a fury and then a gentle understanding. Nothing would change without a change. So, I gave everything to simply surviving. Some nights were easier and some, ones in which I severed my past with my own internal scalpel, those nights burned but the memories no longer scorched my heart.

Now, I see shades of blue power tha waver and darkness that pits and swells. This is my power. The good and the bad, the beautiful mixed in with the hideous. This was me.

Standing up with force.

I began to hum the songs of the past.

Their words flowed and coursed, something forgotten will one day be uncovered. Sometimes I thought, as the wind began to ripple around my arms and legs and flow over and around me…sometimes it simply takes some time.

With a motion, my hand came down in the motion of a scythe.

Cutting my world in half .

Creating a new path for me to travel.