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Abraham 'Moving Memory' Ulren

At any other time, in any other place, with any other person, I'd be screaming my heart out about being carried like a child across the terrain. But... I know better.

Closing my eyes, I hone my mind, focusing on my Ether. I'm fucking beat after conjuring that last Idol of Marshall, but I don't relax yet. Me being here slows Aniwye down. And I can't be having that. Furthermore, no one on the surface likely knows what's happening here.

I need to get to Earl. Every second he has to prepare is another life he can save. So, clenching my hands into balled fists, I spread my Ether out, entering the meditative place I use for my thoughts.

Once upon a time, my Ether flowed best while I was unconscious. It must have been something to do with my subconscious. I was... both afraid and relieved by sleeping. It was frightening because it brought the nightmares of living in the Frozen Wastes, but it was eased because of what it used to mean.

Back then... the only way out of the contests, the competition, and the fights against the other Nahullo, who always looked down on a halfling like me, was to sleep.

Now, though... I have a new place.

Inside my mind, a large palace is quickly constructed, with a long table situated in the center of it. Chandeliers hang above while I walk along the table, running my hand across the dark gray wood of the furniture. Eventually, finding myself at the head of the roundtable, I pull the chair out, lowering my body into it.

The seat is cool and comfortable, as if it were made only for me. Why is this where my thoughts flow best? The most significant place of horror for me? Where I always dreaded to go?

I do not know.

But... I have a few guesses. Within that prison... I wanted out. I needed power. I... had to have it. And... the only place I know that power can be readily found is within the halls of the icy capital. For the longest time, it was the only place I saw the powerful. It took years before I even saw another person who equaled one of the seats at this table. It was... when I saw Blightraven, I believe. He was the first that wasn't another Nahullo. Since then... much has changed. So much. Even my father would dread looking at me now. He'd probably be terrified to speak to me, forced to resort to his schemes.

Rapping my fingertips against the table, I exhale a long, chilling breath that leaves mist in the air of my mind. This whole place is nearly authentic. Almost every aspect. All it is missing... are the memories that come with it.

One by one, figures appear, clad in the armor, just as I remember them. Mislo with her grand bow held against her chair, Cirn with his mighty greatsword, Anodra still holding her spear, Sequester with wind wrapped around his gauntlets, Candra on the left of the table's head with dark black ice that acts as her armor, and many more that I can hardly focus upon.

The majority of my attention falls to my close right, to Irham, my father. The Viceroy of the previous generation. Candra, the Viceray doesn't react to me negatively, but my father stares at me dead on, unrelenting.

"You have ruined the Power I curated for you! An infinite army!? Soldiers at your beck and call?! How could you!?"

I suppose I was wrong. To me... I'll always just be his disappointment. Closing my eyes, I do something I have wanted to do for my whole life. I tell him no.

"That is not what I have ever wanted. It is only what you have thrust upon me."

I expect a rebuttal and a shouting match to ensure, but nothing does. Instead, I open my eyes to find him gone. In his stead is an old Nahullo I never thought I'd see again.

Somehow, someway, Ytern Yorn, the Warmaster for over two centuries, sits calmly in his chair as he greets me with a firm smile. I do not know how he manages to sense my mind, but he does, nonetheless. It is family that is meant to be closest, and yet... I'm a thousand times closer to Ytern than I am to Irham.

I don't even know what to say, but I'm no longer as scared shitless as I once was, and Ytern recognizes that. He... acknowledges me.

"I see you have grown much, child. It is as I expected. This was always meant to be yours, after all."

What?

I stare at the eldest Nahullo on the Council as he returns my gaze with the same sternness as he does all things. What? Why would he expect this from me?

"You... Why would you give me this? The Council?"

Ytern snorts, laughing slightly before lifting his head to stare at the ceiling above us. The cackle echoes across all of the open chamber, reverberating back toward me. The frost along the walls cracks and vibrates with the noise before entering my ears once more.

Heat rises from my core with frustration, but Ytern stops me. He places a hand on the dense table before sliding his palm out to me, facing upward.

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"Have you not figured it out yet? For all your cleverness and quickness of mind... family is your weakness. But better that than you die as a babe like all my other children."

My mind freezes as I come to the only conceivable conclusion. Ytern's grinning face is the only thing I can possibly see as he grabs my still hand.

This means... What does it mean? He's my... no.. that's impossible!

"I've never managed to have a proper heir. My enemies within the Council and those without would prevent it at every step. Even Leviathan was afraid of what would come if I had someone to teach the true path of us Nahullo. We are not meant to be physical warriors. We... thrive in battle, but it is the mental portion that we truly revel in. Irham was the closest, yet he was too focused on that particular path of phantoms and his schemes. He neglected the whole mind. He found the secret strength within our emotions, our rage, and our pain, but he missed the final steps."

My whole body trembles as Ytern doesn't stop talking. Everything begins to add up, from why Irham always acted like he hated me to the time when Ytern saved my life in Starkbluffs. He is my father. But... how?

"The only way I could keep you alive... is if I took a gamble. I asked my greatest enemy to raise my son. Irham did it well. He taught you the power of strife, of nightmares, of your own mind. he had hoped... that you would turn on me. It might have worked, too, if he hadn't been so cruel. With Candra's help, my dear grand-niece's Shadowfrost allowed me to hide from all others while I was with your mother. Sometimes, I wish you were purebred, but I know that was impossible. You would have been found out immediately."

Strength flows from my body as I recall my mother's death, and I scream at him with everything I have. My minor world rumbles with my fury as the ceiling cracks and blue light, that of the Frozen Wastes, peeks out.

"You bastard! What about Mother?! HOW?... how could you... did you not feel anything for her?"

Ytern Yorn shakes his head slowly, the remorse caked into each inch of movement. I can feel his melancholy from here, the regret that positively spews from his mind. But underneath, I sense the hardness of ice.

"I did feel for her, yet people were getting suspicious. The only way to be sure was to remove the last morsel of evidence. But... I am the only one of all the nations who have total control over their people. Granulen shares his territory with his vassals while Tonuyn takes little helm of his own nation, leaving it to the scholars. You humans and demons... let's not even get started. Too much rests on my shoulders to care for a single woman's death. It is a tragedy, but such is life. Build a wall within your mind to handle the trauma. It makes you stronger."

The building thunders and collapses as I can't contain it all. I came here hoping to focus, and all the worst parts of my life congregate together all at once. This is... it is... FUCK!

Everything shatters and crumbles before the two of us fall down a cavern of ice. Despite my rage, I know what is happening. My mind is pulling from Ytern to build the parts I don't know. This is...

I feel an ominous sensation of death below. Ytern explains as we careen down the abyss of frost. He falls without a care for the chills, merely talking to me all the same as if nothing has changed.

"All peoples have a fondness with Death. We try to overtake her and find ways around her. None have ever succeeded. That is until Killian Graves set out on his hellbent mission to end her. I understand you are angry with me. But only now, at your strength, can you know the truth. The world... it is collapsing."

The tone of my... biological father's voice makes me finally turn and gaze at him. It is... cynical as if he is both disappointed with himself and the world at large.

"I was not enough. I knew that, so I created you, just as others like Killian, Ed, and Tonuyn did in preparation for this time. Unfortunately, we misjudged the timeline. No... we could only do things so swiftly."

I don't know what to say as Ytern pats me on the shoulder, both of us falling to meet the dreadful steel of a Gate of Death. The eldest Councilmember sighs before bidding goodbye.

"Take time. There is not much, but come find me when you are ready. And... if you do not... then that is fine. Some things... Some things are better off without an ending. Nonetheless, I will be guarding this gate. They are... already near the entrance. Tonuyn has joined Behemoth at theirs while Granulen agreed to find himself at Onyx Gate. The surface is not as ill-prepared as you might think. Here, let me guide you a bit. I might not have my own Mentalist, but I can manage. One hundred and fifty years of practice should be plenty."

Before we hit the door placed into the ground at the bottom of the crevasse, my whole vision shifts, with a city of steel, stone, and brick surrounding me. Even better yet... a grand star looms high in the sky, providing me with warmth.

A tear flows from my eyes as I simply live in the moment. Too much has happened recently. I... I just want to sleep. But I cannot. There are things I must do.

"Abraham? What the hell? How did you get here!? Wyatt's—"

I raise a hand to Earl, getting him to stop so that I can explain.

"I know. I know. I have already met him. He's... working on coming home. For now... How are the preparations going?"

A wide grin meets mine as I realize Earl is a 6th Sigil, quite a feat for someone as young as him. Were it not for Wyatt's oddity, I'd say he's the youngest Forerunner I've ever seen. Nevertheless, the man has much more to share, waving his arm behind him.

And with his movement, I see scores of weapons being built, all aimed down into the hole built for the Gate of Death. Some of the barrels on the guns are as big as a torso.

"You really like your explosions and guns, huh?"

Earl nods, but he isn't the one who gets to respond. Instead, it is a dark-skinned man who has a complexion utterly opposite to mine. While mine is pale, his is ink-like, with tattoos of light gray that rotate in swirling patterns across his body. I bow my head as I recognize the man from the artwork in the capital. The crown of shadows on his head is a dead giveaway.

"He does indeed. I have learned much since coming here. Perhaps... if we live this war, I will leave some delegates in this distant land. It is... all so interesting. Abraham, are you? I am Granulen. King of the Umbras, though I'm sure Grayskin sounds more familiar to you."

An open palm rises upward to me as I meet the final Demigod of the surface. I take it, unafraid, as I've seen far more menacing recently.

"A pleasure."

Granulen steps forward, as I realize we are on a raised platform, specifically for the people on here to see. The king bends slightly to stare at all the weapons while he places a knuckle against his chin. Then, he calls to Earl with a question. It is just us three here, and Granulen does not seem to care much for my appearance, more focused on the weaponry below.

"And how much damage will this one cause? May I test it out with my Dominion?"

Earl responds swiftly as he tugs on my arm. He obviously wants to talk to someone else, but this Demigod is more pressing. As such, he answers every question. However, my eyes don't leave this Grayskin. Why is he here? Is this his land now? No one can match a Dominion on the surface!?

"It is enough to demolish a large-sized building. We may test it come sundown as the factories are busy producing more. I don't want to remove the only 300-pounder that we have. Should be enough to put down a Power, though, barring exceptional abilities, of course."

Granulen continues with his questions until a light footstep lands on the platform. Confused, I turn and find a familiar middle-aged man. Has he left Gravecross? Really? I thought...

My eyes meet Johnny's as I twitch in shock. He's... changed, not in his personality but... in his being. He's still only a Power, but... he's stronger than me. I'd be dead before I could even conjure one Idol if I tried him. How? What happened?

"Enough, Granulen. Let the boy reunite with his friend. Abraham has much to tell us. He has returned from Hell."

Johnny's palm slaps my shoulder in the same way that Ytern did, only the gunslinger's is reassuring and calming. I give Johnny a smile of thanks as Granulen turns to me, disbelieving.

"Truly?! How remarkable! A first! Not many of those nowadays. Tell us, boy! I wish to know more! How many demons were there? What kinds!? My ancestor is said to have died down there. Did you see any hint of him? An imprint of shadow, perhaps?"

Understanding that this is Granulen's personality, a more annoying version of Wyatt from a year ago, I don't answer him with much haste. Yet, before I can even say a word, shouts come from below... from the hole.

I move toward the edge, a hefty heat in my heart as I see deathly pale figures with eyes of flames climbing up the hole. Elation flows through the scores of Undead while Johnny immediately starts calming the soldiers and workers around the crevasse.

My eyes flash over all the people, searching for Bonfire, but I don't see him. Stubborn bastard. He's probably waiting to leave last. Dammit! At least... at least the Undead can come to the surface now with Death dead. I can hear the unadulterated joy emanate from the hundreds of Undead that swiftly turn into thousands.

I even spot a few Stoneclad, the critters just as vexing as Lennox. A sweet smile falls on my lips as I momentarily forget today and yesterday, living just in the moment. I watch a husband find his slain wife, the woman remembering just enough to embrace him back.

A happy point within all the suffering. I...

I don't think I'll go see him. I'd rather not have that ending, no matter what it might be. There is too little time. And there is too much to do.