2/12/2025, 1:01 AM
![[Image: dc3xn9o-0100383c-a4f1-4493-bd60-0d7219762838.gif]](https://imgdepot.net/images/dc3xn9o-0100383c-a4f1-4493-bd60-0d7219762838.gif)
He remembers sitting on dirt fields tainted with blackened ichor, shreds of forgotten clothing, and shards of forged metal. His knees dug into soft soil that would’ve been great farming land, that’s where he was from. His father was a farmer, a humble farmer whose wife had passed and was doing his best to raise three children on his own. He remembers dirt caked beneath his nails, the ashy rub of rubbing his fingers together after tending to the meager garden beneath the windowsill, and grass smears on his face after a day of playing with the other village children. A warm soup at night, the warmth of family’s arms around him when the fire dwindled a little too low, the last thought before dreams came that his life was simple yet fulfilling.
He remembers the party of horsemen, pinning notices on houses, a demand for attendance. He remembers leaving with his father, with other boys and men of the village. Being handed a helmet and a sword, told to stand in line and march. Questions brushed off, look ahead not behind, do what you are told. Why are we doing this? Why are we here? Why did you kill that man? Father? Wake up, we’re supposed to be leaving now. Wake up, please, it’s getting dark and I can’t pick you up. He remembers staring at the wavering flaps at the front of his sent until the moon fell and the sun rose. His palms smell like iron, there’s something red beneath his nails. He doesn’t fight, he just tries to help it not hurt so much for those who fall in the field.
He remembers the resistance of skin against metal, the amount of force it takes to press a blade through organ. Staring at eyes no older than himself, look shocked and scared. He thinks for a moment that in another life he would’ve played knights and bandits with this boy in grassy fields from a life long ago, they would’ve fought over roles, got over it by the end of the day, and parted ways with a promise of the same thing tomorrow. He regrets, apologizes, he holds a body long since gone cold.
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Elegy wakes, and he does not remember sitting on dirt fields tainted with blackened ichor, shreds of forgotten clothing, shards of forged metal, holding the body of a friend he never got to meet. There are tears in his eyes, but he doesn’t know why. The night sky looks like it doesn’t belong to him, the soil is soft and it reminds him of a memory he can’t recall. Elegy lifts his heavy head, ears twitch because he thinks he hears a familiar voice but there’s no one around. His body feels heavy and the skin wraps onto his bones just too loose. Something is wrong, this body does not feel like his, but he doesn’t know what body would belong to him otherwise.Elegy staggers to his feet, his paws, his breath heavy from a nightmare he’ll never recall. Surrounded by swampland, he hears the gentle jingle of calm waters and it lures him like a siren call. Stumbling thick legs and large paws over to the edge of the clearest lake he’s ever seen. He ever remembers seeing, Elegy looks down at his reflection and it feels like the face looking back is not his own. But if it wasn’t his, then why was it looking back?