Memento

Althur's youth was filled with happiness and wonder as he spent his days in a small house, listening to his mother's enchanting tales. She was a fountain of joy, and each night she filled his dreams with tales of wonder and heroism. Until a terrible event shattered his peaceful painting and sent Althur into wandering.

After that, he was apprehensive about falling asleep since his dreams turned into terrifying scenes of violence and death. He had been wandering for a long time, looking for a safe place to live, but no one wanted a homeless child.

He found himself in a cemetery, hoping for some peace and quiet. He snuggled up next to some crackling firewood he had lit with a fire in a lantern he had borrowed from a nearby grave.

Lying next to tramontane stale graves or because it was so long ago that people had forgotten. At least he knew the names of the people whose names were still on the grave, but now anonymous.

He wondered if anyone in the world would know of him or if he would just be a forgotten corpse to be found when spring came. He feared the coldness, the loneliness that gnawed at his mind, as if he were alone in this world.

He was the hero, holding a broken sword, silently letting go, waiting for the last light to fade. But at that moment, something had changed. Those footsteps, in the cold air that froze his breath in his chest, stirred his already dull senses.

The middle-aged man appeared under the faint light of the lamp. His eyes were like the eyes of a dead person. He stared at the two faded gravestones covered by a thin layer of snow. Althur looked into those eyes. He knew them because they were so like his own, as if the most precious things in the world were gone.

Under the dying fire, the only thing that Althur's pale eyes could see was a stern shadow, devoid of any emotion. At least, that was what Althur remembered.

When the dull flame flickered and was no longer bright enough for Althur to see the light, the oil lamp seemed to be burning again. The man turned and stood before him.

"What is your name?"

"Althur." He replied weakly:

"Arthur." The man muttered.

"No sir, Al-thur." Discrete syllables repeated again.

"Still the same, same as my son's name," the man's lips dropped as he said it. "Same age." The man muttered, but Althur's debility senses didn't notice.

"Where is your son, sir?" Something told Althur he should not ask. But the cold numbed almost everything, including his small will.

"There." The man looked at the small grave.

"Why are you here?" The man turned as the faint flame slowly grew brighter. It allowed the man to see the child's face. Pale, dusty and desperate.

"Where could I be, sir?" Althur whispered.

"How can you have lived so long?"

"I do not know. I don't think I'm alive. But I don't want to be forgotten, sir. I don't want to forget my mother either."

"Follow me." The man's voice was deep and hoarse. He wore a black suit and a pair of black gloves, though the light on the man's arm allowed Althur to see some of the light.

"Perhaps you will find a way to live your life. Come and tell me about your family. At least someone will remember you and the person you love." The man said in a soft but quiet voice.

It was a mystery when someone dressed like that showed up in a cemetery in the middle of the night. Althur remembered that night.

Unable to understand what he was doing, Althur only knew that he was not alone. He was not the only one in the world. He quietly followed the man, not knowing what the future held.

Memories began to fade from his mind. Althur examined his mind carefully. Something was wrong, something in that nostalgic memory had been erased. Even his power, almost the best at tracing traces of the past, can't be found.

Althur sighed in front of the tomb.

"Three people from the academy came to cleanse and separate the supernatural elements from your body. But they received nothing. They assumed that was the master's plan."

"At first they wanted to cremate him and take his ashes back to the Academy. But Robert disagreed. The captain said it was his will. So, they agreed to bury him here. At least Robert was here, and they didn't want to be on his bad side. But he seemed to be quite busy these days, so he could not visit the teacher often. The supervision probably made him uncomfortable."

"He wished someone would listen to his complaints in silence. But maybe you were the only one willing to do that."

He murmured in front of the grave. "But now there is no one left." He stood there like a statue. His eyes glazed over the gravestone. A bit of anger stirred in his gut as what was on his mind swirled even deeper. He gritted his teeth and continued.

"They think he has some strange curse. They have many speculations."

"They know that your soul disappeared, but no one knows what happened. Only Robert felt discord. But the captain cannot be doubted much."

"I can't tell them, but I hope things will be different in the future. This power is too arbitrary and strange. It clouds the minds of others and slowly and silently changes one's existence. Until that person's existence is wiped out, do not live. It is as if that person never existed. That's what I deduce from what happened. Some of his memories will be lost. However, it does not affect my cognitive abilities.

"But don't worry too much, I don't think I can make you disappear as well." Having said that, he put the slightly wilted carnations on the ground.

Althur still stood there. He stood like a statue in the graveyard garden. The sun shone in those gray eyes, reflecting a little emptiness from the pale irises.