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Death warriors. Emotionless and fearless as they loyally face death for their owners, hence the name. A rare and sought after commodity among the wealthiest of the wealthy, albeit not strictly legal in most regions. Even including those that allowed slavery, due to certain inhumane practices used in training them.

Often disguised as monasteries that take in orphans, specialized slavers would place magical restrictions on children, and then spend years training them. Afterwards, they would be sold at hidden underground auctions, or ordered directly by those wealthy shady people, for a hefty sum of gold.

These magical restrictions were rare and expensive, only usable on young undeveloped minds, suppressing their emotions, ability to feel pain and free thought, while also making them more moldable and susceptible to brainwashing. All of this contributed to making these death warriors a rare commodity, and their highly trained abilities for combat, obedience and willingness to stare death in the eye, made them highly sought after.

At one particular monastery of Eldan many decades ago, a problem arose. Just mere days after having had their mages apply the restrictions on the latest batch of children, they were raided by bandits, thinking it to be an ordinary monastery. However, this was clearly no ordinary Eldan monastery, and while caught unprepared, they managed to defeat most of the raiders.

Nevertheless, this victory came at a price. This battle had cost them several of their death warriors, those that were nearly ready for sale, costing them a large sum of money, and causing the higher ups worry about how they would explain this to the ones who had placed orders for some of them.

At the same time, a more neglectable, although still costly loss; given the restrictions that had already been placed on them, were that a few of the newly acquired children had gone missing during this time. Among which was a young elfess named Liel.

Children born in the light were never meant to breed in darkness. Nargun, however, must be the overlord of suffering for the challenges observed and endured by mortals defies our limited consciousness. Why one child is born to street harrows and another the silver spoon is a timeless philosophical question. Suffering seems as innate as the air we breathe, though the qualities and properties are more abundant than even the stars. Eli had known a great deal of suffering, destined to know the limitless potential of loving parents and noble household. Woe is he for in polar relation, his life was inhaled into the deepest depths of darkness.

He does not speak often, if ever, what lurks there or the hidden knowledge he acquired along the way. Sorrow held him in forsaken reaches, more than once. From his birthplace, Agramar- a Salkamaerian province, the chaotic aftermath of the Witch King’s demise casted devious and dastardly seeds far and wide; his influence and corruption set mages back centuries in terms of reputation. Mistrust led to persecution and rectification by the Temples. Knowledge lost, whole studies of the arcane abandoned or banned. Holy writ shines in the light and in the halls of justice, but far away in secret halls and lowly dwellings power is power, and in a world of magic- power stems from knowledge.

Had Eli, once upon a while ago, not sought and opened his mind to temptation seeking lost knowledge, walked in the valley of fallen sorcerers; he would have never been as prepared to fight in the eternal war. Though he walked and listened, shown many paths, Eli could never be fully consumed; for again, he was a child of light. Over the course of his life, taking the road less traveled bore fruit, means to aid other sufferers. Could Liel be another?

On the wings of Nargun’s chance, the young elfess and the mage crossed paths. Bits and fragments of ancient magic through observation and study, robbed her of her independence and subdued her mind. Eli had leds from the past, but would they help? With ceaseless mouthed prayers to Zhambra upon his lips, the aging man hoisted up his wand for travel- hoisted up the banner of the forlorn, the cursed, the downtrodden, yet another sufferer at the hands of mages too far gone for redemption. Eli was a crusader in his own right, freed from bondage and the fear of death, and for Liel’s sake, he hoped to be a divine instrument of the gods’ wrath.

Present day.

After so many years, the restrictions put on Liel seemed to have started to malfunction. This primarily showed itself in the form of head aches, a new sensation to one that had lived a life not understanding pain, as well as new behavioral patterns. Perhaps this was why people had started to take more note of Liel, who had for nearly six years gotten by mostly unnoticed in Galmair as she went on her hunts.

Either way, it were these very people who had lead to her being in the state she was in now, lying in a deep slumber in a hospital bed. It seemed all the stimuli from being around people, of the emotions that wanted to break forth but could not, had hastened the malfunction of the restrictions. She had gradually found herself being able to think more and more, capable of making some choices and even regaining a sense of taste, touch and smell. Towards the end, she even found herself possessing some faint traces of emotion.

Then it happened. She received so much stimuli that the restrictions on her broke down, sending agonizing pain coursing through her body, as she fell into a deep slumber. In the coming days she would wake up on occasion, groaning weakly in agony as if possessing no power. Never lucid, and never awake for long. Perhaps she would acknowledge other people's presence with some weakly spoken gibberish, her voice gradually turning hoarser for each time this would occur.

The Island ((world building- skippable))

Kontebo, like Gobaith, held no significant value to the mainland empires, dynasties, and kingdoms for centuries. Transversible in a single day, the secluded island oasis’ worth changed roughly one-hundred years ago. Nestled amongst a thousand other islands in the gulf, east of Albar, Kontebo abruptly rose to notoriety- not in Albar but the independent city state of Lor-Angur. Though a tale in itself, this footnote in history does not concern the current events as they transpire. Suffice to say, Kontebo- long ago- became a ward of the City of Magic. While Lor-Angur used the island for its own purposes and pursuits prior to the Witch King’s disappearance, afterward, it assumed a secondary purpose. As an arm of Lor-Angur, keenly positioned at sea, the small island town served as a sanctuary and asylum for persecuted arcane practitioners from the nearby Salkamaerian Empire and the Albarian Kingdom.

One particular sect of mages, known as the Order of the Ivory Rose, engendered the chain of events which sent the old man seeking answers. Once held in esteem by the royal court of Salkamar, The Order of the Ivory Rose unwittingly allowed a single ranking member to expunge their fabled legacy. Still at a time when even the flimsiest of rumors could link you to the Witch King or Dark Magic, the order was found guilty of heresy, disbanded, and the arrested members were all branded heretics by the emperor’s High Priest. The spectacle and shame incurred by the order was magnified tenfold when the chief heretic managed to elude justice with his fallen acolytes. Almeric Magrave, teacher turned cultist- also infamously coined the Ivory Shade- remains uncaptured to-date, while, his former Grandmaster and disgraced order members live out their defamed lives in secret under Lor-Angur protection. Kontebo is the home they never wanted, and Eli Travinus had never been convinced it was the home they truly deserved.

Memories ((character building - skippable))

Disembarking on Kontebo was as surreal as the lucid dreams reliving his time on Gobaith. Even it’s main port cropped up from the south, quaint and to the point- another stark similarity. A couple of weeks ago, Eli had sworn off ships after nearly drowning. Yet, the tides ever change, while somethings need always be stubborn and constant, like oak ships and old mages. The steady hand of fate and his alrightness with death gave him the rare means to help others. He’d managed to play his part to lead a city, slay a demon, and rescue a dear friend in recent memory. Yonder and similarly, a lifetime of exploits forged Zhambra’s instrument to his particular calling.

Sandy shores stretched left and right with the yawn of a newday. Idle murmurs and purpose driven men at work paired well with the placid emerald depths still covered in dusky shadows. Neither nature or mortals appeared quite ready for the dawn. Suddenly, the mage stopped. He rubbed his reddened eyes, strained by candlelit research and a lack of sleep. For one heart pounding moment, Eli truly thought he was back on Gobaith. In that same instant, he anticipated seeing Kaila emerge from atop a nearby dune path cut through the marram grass. Strong as déjà vu, certain as premonition, he waited with baited breath. Thirty years ago, lesser aberrations were a daily norm. The elfess, blessed with tender moonlit skin- waist length ebony silk hair- haunted him in still sorrow, day and night.

No one had ever confirmed her death, many rumors but not a shred of evidence. In truth, she could reappear at any moment, and only he would bear the visible signs of languished love. She would be a vision trapped in time, perfect as a fully bloomed scarlet carson. Thinking of her was painful, but being alone was outright subversion for a sane life. Without Zhambra’s purpose and calling, he knew without an ounce of doubt, he would’ve orchestrated his own death.

Kaila never appeared, but a pang of guilt for Liel adjourned his inexplicable trance. Duty beckoned, and an old acquaintance waited. Off kilter and faint, Eli ambled toward the storehouse to gather himself and find the portmaster. By the time he had a drink of water, found his contact, bartered over commission, and waited for all the necessary arrangements to be settled and organized, Eli was more than ready to make headway. The portmaster arranged for three of his men to escort Eli and two other travelers to the Lor-Angur settlement of Lor-Méur.

The trek toward the small parish quickly revealed the arrant differences between the isles of Gobaith and Kontebo. Away from the ocean breeze the air grew rapidly stale and humid, and the passage over the dunes led to a dense jungle sprawl. Déjà vu would not be a problem when his unaccustomed body required strict, careful, focus. From the onset, Eli had deep concerns: pesky swarming bugs, unrecognizable animals bantering from the thicket, unknown traveling companions, right down to his own vitality and stamina.

The travelers’ guides, a trio of indigenous island dwellers, did not speak any common. Marked by their slightly pointed ears and robust physique the natives appeared to be of human and elven descent. Each wore varied animal hides for clothing but certain keepsakes from other regions added to their diversity. While they all shared commonalities in their features and looks, skin tones and their unique outfit choices made them easily discernible. The oldest, tallest, and fairest of the three took the lead in front of Eli with a club-like-staff, the rather crude serpentine shapped device bore a rounded stone head, and around his neck layered necklaces danced and jingled. Eli had never seen an animal pattern like the hide of the elder guide. It was deep orange, the color of autumn leaves with black spots. As for his companions, the youngest with rich olive skin and a white black spotted hide danced to the middle of the caravan; while the third, stoutest with an elven short-sword twirling in hand, trailed behind wrapped in an all black hide— panther by the look.

Eli paid little attention to the other two travelers: a portly fellow in drab gray robes who kept his hood up despite the smothering heat and a furtive young woman, easy on the eyes. Had Eli’s attention not been half focused on avoiding trips and hazards on the windy, ranging, narrow trail through the jungle and half-consumed on what he would say to Cassius, the former Ivory Rose Guildmaster, he’d have tagged alongside the dark beauty. She seemed built for the terrain: rugged boots, fitted trousers, and low on frills- everything compact and light for long journeys. One look at her belt and Eli knew she was an alchemist: the sickle, various potions and stocks, and the assorted sized satchels. Only once did she try and stoop down to harvest a curious herb before the rear escort yelled and shooed her away.

Much like the work at the docks, everyone settled into a focused silence for the twisty-turvy tour. Rocky ascents and descents, rope and plank bridges, waist high creek crossings, and even a passage through a torchlit cave, eventually, brought them all to their destination, Lor-Méur. Pleasantly surprised, Eli recognized Lor-Angur’s touch upon the earth straightaway. Between the opening of a stonehenge archway a single mossy stoned watchtower cradled in the shadowy embrace of an encroaching mountain. Tall viney trees enshrined the other half of the surrounding area, helping to frame out and accentuate the town’s purposeful horseshoe bend. A well and a stage anchored the gathering area. Along the edge of the forest and butting up against the tower a crammed row of buildings formed one arc of the horseshoe. No space was left between buildings and each offered interconnected first and second floor balconies.

A chill crept up Eli’s spine when he realized the town was deserted. Before he had time to think, however, the guide leader gestured and shepherded him toward the stone gateway. Bewildered and slightly scared by the sudden action, Eli complied- all the while still trying to make sense of the situation. As he grew closer to the stone a pair of familiar runes caught his attention. They were etched into the stone, one atop the other. The one on top meant due and the one underneath, submit- protective wards perfected in Lor-Angur centuries ago. You either paid with the required token, serving as a key, or you paid in blood if you were a mage. No going back, thought the mage, and he did pay with his own blood and spoke softly the ancient word for submit.

The spell was cast. The moment Eli Travinus’ guide coaxed him through the archway, the hustle and bustle inside the town burst into life. No one paid the old mage any mind, save a few children looking like descendants of the guides and one fair skinned redhead girl. Her emerald eyes screamed of delight and curiosity, but before he could even wave a greeting- a scratchy voice rang out.

“Master Elijah Whilshire Travinus! My, my, my, if you look this old! I must be ancient!”

A Lead

Cassius Serill had been a legendary sorcerer before the scourge of the Witch King corrupted and decimated the Lightfolk lands of the Salkamaerian Empire. Once an esteemed member of the First Order of Mages, Diviner of the Seven Season’s Blight, and the twelfth Guildmaster to shepherd the Order of the Ivory Rose, history was bound to forget his name. No legacy outlives royalty or ill-fate stars, but they are not worthless. For the second time in his life, Eli Travinus needed Master Serill’s guidance. Former confidant of Eli’s grandsire, Eligus Waiberry, Master Serill could have easily admitted Eli into his order of mages once upon a time. In fact, as a child the notion was an ambition of Eli’s. Circumstances of the past, however, made the aim an impossibility.

Fourty-six years later, the black stain upon House Travinus had shifted to House Serill. For Master Serill, a pupil had been his ultimate undoing. The blind love Cassius held for his illegitimate son toppled his house and the order he was entrusted to guide. Not many or any are intimate with these details like Eli, who heard them through his grandsire- verily, not even Master Serill knew Eli was privy. Like human nature in general, nothing is ever quite as easy as we desire, but for a man like Eli, hard and difficult truths were not the excuse for ignoble indifference. If anyone in the world could help Eli find answers it was Master Serill, even if Eli had to use deception or risk entrapment. Eli had tried to forget the past, did not even consider himself a Salkamaerian anymore, but by pure happenstance, Eli had discovered a direct link between Liel and a spellcraft used by Cassius’ bastard son, Almeric.

Cassius and Eli sat in a study high atop a Lor-Angurian style elemental tower. Mosaic windows encircled the majestic room in painted light. Cassius lounged behind his oversized Eldan Oak desk with golden tracery in a wingback upholstered armchair. His desk was surprisingly clean for a mage: two unveiled golden handled scrolls off from center for a right handed person, writing utensils, a crystal ball- black as deepest night resting on a carved ivory base mimicking a bed of roses, and a piece of linen with various obsidian colored stone fragments. He puffed a pipe with no posture to speak, haphazardly, his ornate staff, reserved for the Lor-Angurian elite leaned straight as an arrow against the edge of his desk. Familiar with the design, Eli knew the thinnest alloy of merinium was used to mask the ancient wood beneath. Although the fixings were always unique, the shaft of these elder wands were always straight and polished like a spear. Eli had held one once, nearly dropping it not expecting its feather-like-weight.

The head of Cassius’ wand formed into an unbloomed rosebud, at its center a cluster of five small crystals encased each pure element. Each crystal was illuminated by the color of its given element: white, spirit; blue, water; red, fire; green, earth; and purple for wind. The more Eli took in the room, the more he realized the study he reclined in had simply changed locations and shape. Nostalgia whisked him back in time, all the shelves, lanterns, tapestries, paintings, and furniture were transplanted from Falmarha to the tiny island of Kontebo. Accentuated in ivory and crimson decor, the Ivory Rose lived on in this place. He smiled hiding his concern for such a detail and settled himself into his own cozy ivory upholstered armchair.

Between puffs of smoke Cassius stared at Eli with one eye overcome by cataracts and the other offering no delineation between iris and pupil. Pairing those eyes as round as Norodaj silver coins with his inverted triangular shaped face had always given Eli the impression that gnomish ancestry lurked in the Guildmaster’s bloodline. Suspicions were further deepened when Eli considered the characteristics of the gnomes he’d met. Master Sirell had always been viewed as an eccentric even by arcane standards. However, critics of Master Sirell were silenced the majority of his life the moment he foresaw a blight that would eclipse seven harvest seasons. A feat that earned him royal praise as the Diviner of the Seven Season’s Blight. As an added reward, Salkamar saw its rival, Albar, plagued with famine, whilst Salkamar averted the crisis by planting potatoes.

Eli would never know what royal favor felt like, the pains and strife for mages in his homeland combined with his own checked past had been too great for him to bear. As he looked at the withering mage before him, gowned in fine ivory silk robes and surrounded in his luxuries, Eli conceded there was no worth to material wealth or fame. People were all that mattered. Before Master Sirell spoke, Eli couldn’t help wondering if the mage he admired still sat before him. Eli was not disappointed, the kooky bastard of yester-year lived on.

“Elijah, in fifty-one dammit, I swore your arrival to my colleagues! Ten years off the mark, and don’t give me blither about mages and wizards and timing. I can’t see like I used to dear boy, the ebb is stubborn. I feel it slip, I am more a part of it then versa.” Cassius spoke to a friend initially before he cut to the chase. “Sadly, most unfortunately, our friendship is not what brought you to my tropical paradise. I feel the nag of the past sweeping in to haunt a dying man. Out with Elijah.”

Eli had considered the mage might foresee his arrival, and the truth about his visit could not be denied. All the same, Eli considered his words, arching to one side of the chair to groom his beard. A smile came in his retort, “And here I was thinking you would scold me for growing a predictable beard.”

Cassius grinned, the only hair remaining on his pale liver spotted skin was his bushy white eyebrows. He did not bother with a response, instead his eyes rolled into closed lids and took another drag.

Seeing his mentor given to silence, Eli still chuckled before continuing, “Right out with it then, I have reason to believe a certain restriction spell known by Almeric is still being used, Master Sirell. Quite simply, I need a led. There are parts of the runecraft without reference.” While Cassius chokes on smoke, Eli slowly pulls out a parchment from an inner pocket of his robes and slides it across the desk.

After several more convulsive coughs Cassius arches forward to stow away his pipe and find reading glasses. In his haste, his fingers fumble this way and that unsure. Eventually he settles everything into place and takes the paper in hand to read. Due to his failing eyesight he has to look at the paper from many angles with and without his copper rimmed glasses.

“Ahhmm.”
“Well…”
“Dastardly boy!”

Finally, he pitches the paper back to the table and discards his glasses. His fingertips idle over his lips briefly before he props an elbow hard upon the desk. Cassius leans forward with a weary sigh, “Haunt me indeed, I did try to aid the Inquisition, pay no mind to any rumors you might have heard! I knew by then the boy was rotten and vile, beyond redemption, but Elijah, I can’t give you answers dear boy. This magic is strictly forbidden in the Empire, the references secured by the High Temple. Only with an edict from the emperor can a First Order member be permitted to view these manuscripts. This is the way, now boy. But…”

The pause lasted too long for Eli’s comfort. When Cassius looked up, Eli felt a deep unsettling darkness swirling before the Guildmaster’s misty eye. As if, given enough effort, Eli could extract the past and the memories to fill in the blanks. Contrary to Deanna’s observations, Eli had no qualms with being patient, letting people piece together their thoughts. Cassius’ internal warring or deliberation allowed the fireplace behind him to crackle uninterrupted until he chose to continue, “I’ve done all I can here, both on this island and in this life; therefore, I am trusting you with a choice Elijah. The answers you seek can be found in two distinct places: restricted reliquaries in Lor-Angur or…” -his words faltered against his conscience momentarily- “well of course with my godsdamn son!”

Eli blinked, alarm welling in his chest.

“Not what you think, Elijah!” The elder mage cut-off his visitor’s suspicion. “He is not here, by all sane gods we have not seen each other since that infernal child of my reign calamity on the Rose. With that said, before your dear grandsire met his unfortunate end, he unearthed my son’s whereabouts. You will or won’t forgive an old man’s sins, but I’ve kept tabs and told no one. I don’t want to be alive when the Inquisition or Lor-Angurians capture or kill him.”

Cassius’ shame filled eyes went to the bottom drawer of his desk and soon his hands followed to obtain a map and bound parchments. With only a nod he slid them to Eli, fire of distant memories burning in the background, searing a withering mage’s mind.

Eli accepted the offer with a respectful nod, storing his new leds away. When he could bear the silence no longer he spoke, “Thank you, Master Serill.”

Cassius nodded, then puffed his chest for a long sigh, “Before I die we will see each other again Master Travinus, you owe me this little. I want to hear the tales of you and your grandsire particularly.”

At the second mention of his grandsire, Eli smiled beneath closed eyes, and reserved himself to nod obediently. Tales worth telling but equally pained memories. He’d meant a hundred times to come see Master Serill afore this day, but promised himself, silently, to visit Cassius with Kyre and Caswir next time.

Soon to Return

Eli could not linger long, took a night and a meal at his host’s request. They spoke about Kontebo, avoiding ill-suited and cumbersome discussions. The next morning, Eli was guided back to the port and set sail, once more, for Runewick. He’d lied through his teeth to Kyre about how long the voyage would take. Even with windward good luck, he’d noted being abroad for a fortnight. She’d have his head, no doubt. He’d have no solid answers for her, Liel, or Aswe- only a lead and a prayer.

Amelia was sitting next to Liel’s bed for what felt like an eternity, only leaving for a few minutes, when it could not be avoided. Despite Aswe telling her to take shifts to watch over Liel, she refused to leave her side.

She felt guilty for what happened somehow since her friendship and care for Liel seemed to cause both of her seizures. So she stayed, talking to Liel just to let her know she was there, telling her about her home, the farm, her elder brother Peter and Matt, the farmer’s son who was chasing after her and if Liel would wake up, she would love to show her everything. Sometimes she sang lowly to her, songs of happiness, trying to swallow the bitter taste lingering in her voice.
Every time, Liel woke up for short, she was trying to make her at least drink some water or very thin soup carefully. After the third time, she started to document everything for Aswe.

Amelia seemed to care less about herself these days. She was pale and obviously didn’t sleep much, her cloths were creased and filthy and her hair did not see a comb for several days. She did not care.

“Oh Zhambra, keep watch over her!
Guide her with your warm light
back to us.
I promise, I’ll do everything,
to help her!
Oh Cherga, please have mercy on her!
Don’t call for her, yet!
Give her another chance to live a life
in peace and freedom, I beg you!”

She prayed with a lowered voice, her hand reaching for Liel’s again, before she falls asleep on the brim of the bed like she did often, these days.

A broken mind, ravaged by an ocean of emotions yet somehow remaining afloat. Every time Liel woke up was like another wave, threatening to bring her down with it, into the dark abyss of pain. Bits and pieces of her memory were resurfacing one by one, some lingering while others fading away, as if discarded. Slowly, her mind appeared to be rebuilding itself after breaking down again and again.

Liel felt herself drowning in negative emotions, in dark memories. There were good ones mixed in, but for the first few days of her slumber, it was overwhelmingly dark. Memories of her time as a slave, with a whole new understanding of what had taken place. Memories of all she had to endure through-out the years. At one point, even a tiny glimpse of where she came from, before she was made into a slave.

Then surfaced memories of her more recent time, time spent in Galmair. Among friends. Amelia, Fergro, Kraex, Aswe and more. Her desire to keep them safe, to make them happy. Of course her memories of Galmair were not all good. Bidukan's lies had hurt her deeply, among other things. However her desire to protect Amelia, to go hunting with Kraex again and to be with her friends… It by far outshadowed the bad.

Eventually, Liel broke out of this surreal slumber, finding herself in an unfamiliar bed. She felt weaker than she ever had before, as she quietly laid there, her throat feeling hoarse and itchy. Her memories were hazy at best, and had a tinge of an odd feeling, like they were someone else's. She discovered her mind seemed to work differently, now. Almost like she was no longer Liel.

Was she still Liel? The thought crossed her mind as she enjoyed the never before felt softness of the bed she was in, although she had no choice but to do so, being powerless to move for the time being. Nevertheless, Liel would never have enjoyed such a thing… Then, who was she, if not Liel? The question had no immediate answer. Her mind felt freer than ever before, yet somehow, she was still unable to answer something seemingly so simple.

Her mind then started to wander. Recollecting bits of her past, of Liel's past. Various emotions flashing across her face as she did, emotions that had been unfamiliar to her throughout her whole life, now flowing as naturally as if they had never been gone. She felt grief, but not the kind of grief one would expect. More akin to pity, as if these things she was recollecting had not really happened to her, but someone else. At one point she even found herself laughing, as she thought of some of the moments she had shared together with Amelia recently.

She was finally starting to understand Amelia's words from back then. Feelings, they were powerful. They could hurt one deeply. She did not entirely disagree with that statement. All these emotions she now felt… They hurt. But at the same time, Amelia had failed to mention all the colour and flavour they brought to one's life. Recollecting Liel's past few days, they seemed so much different when viewed through the lens of emotions. Viewed with a freely thinking mind.

It did make her think, though. All those strange looks, directed at her. The whispers, just out of reach, as they glanced her way. There were even those, who had discussed her, as if she were not even there. Thinking back on all this, she felt her cheeks burning with a blush, another new sensation for her. She felt… embarrassed? Yes, that was the word. All those things Liel had done, and all those looks she had received… It was embarrassing!

However, more than embarrassment, she felt something far more stronger. A form of… happiness. Happiness that what was once lost, had now been recovered. The ability to feel. To freely think. Happiness that she had against all odds survived all these strange things that had been happening to her over the years, and a surge of happiness when she thought of how she…

No wait, that was wrong… not her… How Liel had so many friends, that seemed to care so much about her. Wasn't she still Liel, though? Or was Liel gone, forever? She felt like she remembered Aswe having said something about it. But when did she? She could not remember. How in breaking these restrictions, she stood the risk of losing all her memories. The risk of no longer being Liel. Then… Was it up to her, whether she wanted to be Liel or not? Maybe.

She had been granted a form of rebirth, been reborn by the will of the gods. Yet, rebirth did not necessarily mean giving up on all she had before, did it? Thinking of all the people Liel had cared for, in her own way, she decided. She would still be Liel, whether the memories felt like hers or not.

Abruptly, she felt a whole lot lighter, as if a weight had been removed from her shoulders. Her mind felt even clearer than before, as she looked around the dark hospital room. She was barely able to move her eyes in her current state, but she still managed to spot a shadowy figure at the brim of the bed. If it was not dark, she may have recognized the figure to be Amelia, whom had fallen asleep while watching over her.

Nevertheless, it was too dark to recognize anything, and she had grown too tired once more to put any more though into it. Closing her eyes to rest once more, she awaited dawn in anticipation. She anticipated the moment her strength would return and she would be able to walk around once more. There were many things she did not understand, things she had never learned due to her former identity as a slave, that she was now dying to learn about. But even more importantly, she was excited to find those she considered friends, and finally be able to admit that they were so.