There was wind, rain, thunder, and lightning spread all across the hills, ripping the grass and beating down on us like bullets. We didn’t stop running, though we slowed our pace to catch our breaths every now and again. The storm fell ever harder, to the point that our skin was turning red from the sharpened rain. Halfway to Rïdeneer, we were put to a halt by a face we were quite happy to see, despite the blood dripping down his beard, along with the rain.
“Forefather, it’s you!”
The lightning struck utterly close to us and sent shockwaves through our bodies. After this happened, my forefather gave George a bloody punch in the face, with an impact that rang as loud as the thunder. Surprised by his action, I gasped with shock and snatched the hilt of my blade, prepared to defend myself, as this was likely to be an ally of Jobik in disguise. Before I could take the blade out from the strap behind my back, I found his wrinkled fist knocking me to the ground as well. My vision blurred like the rainwater layering on my eyes as I swiftly fell asleep.
All of a sudden, I felt like I was transported into another reality for a few seconds to see a lifetime of a youngster. That youngster was me. I remembered everything and forgot the false events that never transpired before the brainwashing. Everything from my life before I was convinced to be a farmhand suddenly reemerged into my perception, and every bit of information I had from seventeen and under was restored. I realized I had been training as a mage since I was three years of age, and nowhere between that time and the time I had accidentally summoned Asteroth was lived without hard work and determination to become the chosen one.
I remembered the perilous journeys I had been on throughout the Fancore, the many people I had met in my youth, and the wide range of magick abilities I had acquired. My mother and father held me in high esteem. Many of our neighbors coveted my abilities and some even hated me for them. I was trained by Äbaka for years, and with the assistance of my parents, who were much stronger in magecraft than I realized before. From age three to four, I suffered from cases of demonic possession. My family had to exercise foul beasts from my soul many times. My little sister was born when I was five and a half, distracting my family from my training. It was only when she was kidnapped that my first true calling began. My forefather and I spent months in the Jungles of Matta Shimbib trying to get her back, and we eventually did. We rescued a great number of victims from cruel experiments in a laboratory that was running tests to resurrect Jobik. It was the same facility where I found the holographic file upon returning years later. When I was seven, my family and I had a long break and decided to relax, and, well, let’s just save my backstory for another journal, shall we? There were countless other stories in my life. Enlightenment folded over me like a quilt of billions and trillions of pictures that made up the events in my life from birth, all the way to the recent tragedy I caused soon before I was eighteen and smitten with George.
Hours later, I awoke safely in my bedroom at home, wearing a soft pair of white linen trousers and a silken white, baggy shirt. I still held the pyro leaf amulet around my neck, and it was still pouring down rain and hail with the thunder and lightning. I got out of bed and realized what that wizard had done to me; it was my forefather who punched George and me in Crosscc! He was snapping us back into reality, so to speak. He absorbed the energy of the lightning bolt and used it to unbind the chains that had been restraining our true memories. I couldn’t see George anywhere in my room, so I opened the door and walked through the hallway, noticing a huge swollen bruise of black and red on my right cheek when I passed the bathroom mirror.
I grunted at the sight of the hideous mark on my face and moved on into the living room, where there were no candles lit, no lamps turned on, and no noise from any of the people who were sitting on the couch in a melancholy state. My mother sat beside my father, both looking blank at the floor, with skin as pale as the infinite moon. My sister, Molli Su, sat in the reclining chair facing the television, which was turned off, black as the sky outside. She too was simply staring at nothing without expression. The final person I saw was my forefather. He was sitting on the other couch across from my parents, sharing the same miserable state as the rest of them. His beard sprawled on the floor before him as he stared down at it without the least bit of spirit.
I decided to interrupt the silence, “Where is George?”
None of them made a sound, but my mother and father looked up at me with tears rolling down their faces; with grief spilling out from their hearts. The wizard stood up from the couch and slowly limped toward me with his arms open for a hug. My sister turned her head away from me and began to cry in silence. I didn’t have any clue what was going on or why they were acting so strange. My heart pounded at the thought of what might have happened to him, but I didn’t allow myself to go into depth with the possibility.
“Sui,” my forefather said, as he wrapped his arms around me, “George is gone…”
The Spark Page 34