Visions of an Unrecognizable Past

"Move!" The doctor yelled as he rushed through the hallways with Prince Aeric in tow. The metal cart seemed weightless as it floated above the people moving aside.

It didn't take long to bring the prince to the medical wing. King Haryon followed the doctor hurriedly as he abandoned the council.

Many of the others attempted to follow but King Haryon commanded them to stay. He alone would oversee the matters regarding his son for the time being.

King Haryon ordered the doctor to use every machine within their possession, run every test they possibly could. However, the longer the doctor worked, the further he felt from understanding the matter.

Everything seemed ordinary. Better than just that, the prince's health was exemplary.

The more that the doctor tried to explain that, the angrier King Haryon grew. Finally, he snapped, ordering the doctor to leave.

Irritated, the king dropped himself into a chair at his son's bedside before rubbing his face wearily. The doctor had spent the last two hours trying everything he could to diagnose Prince Aeric, all to no avail. It was still dark outside; however the sun would be rising within a matter of minutes.

The king closed his eyes as he laid back in his chair. He thought about everything that had happened tonight. The invasion of Balkan and his son's situation. Both matters were nothing but annoyances, things that made his life unnecessarily more difficult.

He sighed as he ran a hand through his greying blond hair.

In his youth, he was a proactive man. King Haryon was the only heir to the throne as none of his siblings lived past childhood. He did everything he could to live up to the name of royalty, to accept the weight and responsibility that his life carried. After his father succumbed to illness, he became the king of Anglest alongside King Nurakheal who had already been reigning for nearly forty years.

Compared to the dwarven king, Haryon was still like a child… a child that never grew up. Instead of trying to learn from those around him, he met every conflict with brute force. If something didn't work the way he wanted, he'd break it instead of trying to fix it. However, most of his rule as king doesn't reflect that. In the beginning, he was angry that he couldn't get his way. He was forced to accept the fact that he wasn't the "be all, end all" of Anglest. If King Nurakheal disagreed with Haryon, as he often did, then nothing happened within the kingdom. This angered him to no end, but he relented to that fact.

He surrounded himself with a council of knowledgeable men and women and essentially let them run the kingdom for him. All he did was listen and take the advised route.

In a sense, that's probably why he's regarded as a great king.

It's the impudent rulers that the books of history disparage, after all.

For a man as childish as King Haryon however, his irritation grew larger the longer he reigned as king. He needed an outlet for his anger.

Unfortunately… he chose his wife.

He had married a daughter of the Krimm family, the sitting general's late sister.

King Haryon treated her terribly. If she aggravated him, he would beat her senseless. He needed to feel powerful again… He felt like he had to degrade himself every time he wore the mantle of king, and he longed for what it felt like to be in control. And then, his wife had their first son.

Alaric Anglest.

A blond-haired, brown-eyed boy who looked everything like his father, and nothing like his mother. He was another thing Haryon could control.

The queen tried to keep Alaric away from him, to protect him, but there was only so much she could do. Alaric loved to read, and he hated the sun. His eyes were too sensitive, so he always took shelter inside. However, Haryon thought it to be an excuse. No amount of convincing from the doctor could persuade Haryon that it wasn't a lie thought up by his wife to keep Alaric away from him and the outside world. The king took his son and confined his wife within the castle.

In truth, Haryon had never cared for his son. However, he needed a successor. Even though he hates his own throne, he couldn't stand to see it taken away… to be known as the last king from the founding bloodline. Alaric was already a prince, that was something he was given for just being born. However, if he was going to be king, he should have to earn it.

He should at least become someone Haryon could leave the throne to, his pride had told him that much.

So, at the age of six, Haryon took his son and immersed him into the world of politics.

No more than a year later, his second child was born.

Aeric Anglest.

A blond-haired green-eyed boy who took after his mother.

With all of Haryon's attention focused on Alaric, Aeric was left in the care of his confined mother for his entire childhood.

As the years went by, Alaric's prestige grew at astonishing rates. He was well-read and understood the machinations that propelled society forward. Economics and language, he excelled at both. Next came physical ability. His sensitivity to light never went away, it was just something he had to overcome and accept. Other than that, he had excellent health. He grew stronger under the command of his father.

Then one day, he almost killed his sword instructor. The instructor knew Alaric was strong, but he was still a cocky man. He would oftentimes allow Alaric to spar with a real sword instead of a wooden one. During a fight with him, he tried to blind Alaric with a piece of metal reflecting the sun's rays. Nothing usually fazed Alaric, but when the instructor heard of his sensitivity to light, he thought he would teach him a lesson. Incidentally, he had triggered Alaric's fight or flight instinct and made adrenaline surge through him. Even though his eyes were forced shut, he could still 'see' everything. Alaric parried his instructor's sword aside before severing his hand and sweeping across his abdomen in one stroke.

What they learned that day was that Alaric had been holding back.

He was born with a brain condition. He could remember everything he had ever seen as well as calculate and process things within his mind much faster than the average person. He had come to understand his instructor's movement patterns so much that even when he was blinded, he knew exactly what was going to happen next and acted accordingly.

After Haryon came to understand this, he saw unlimited potential within the son he had previously thrown aside. He only saw Alaric's condition as a means of becoming an unrivaled swordsman and in turn a king, built on strength and nothing else.

This was a time before magic, when becoming an unkillable swordsman was possible. Alaric became world renowned for his talent and the kingdom rallied beneath him as they looked forward to the day he became a king.

Around that time, the queen's health quickly took a turn for the worse.

Alaric was fifteen and Aeric was barely nine years old. Her condition never improved, but steadily declined instead. There would be days that the queen could be taken outside in a wheelchair, but otherwise she never left her room.

In all that time, King Haryon never once came to visit her. He forbade Alaric from leaving his own side as well. Aeric on the other hand was always with her.

He wished for nothing but the mother he loved to recover.

A year later, Alaric went missing.

Nothing has distraught King Haryon more in all his life than when Alaric left. Not even the death of his wife a few months later could come close to the amount of dismay he felt. He didn't even wish to attend her funeral; he was too caught up in the search for their son. However, he knew it would've made him look bad, so he reluctantly went.

On the other hand, Aeric was never the same after she died. The disappearance of his brother didn't disturb him much, as he had only ever witnessed him from afar and heard talk of his achievements. His mother's death however, shattered him. He had always been a joyous child, but now he had a gaping hole in his heart. Aeric was now eleven, and even though he had only spoken to his father a handful of times up until that point, he still yearned for his comfort and love. He felt abandoned, and all he wanted was someone he could lean against as he picked himself back up.

Of course, Haryon did not see things the same way. Aeric wasn't worth his time. Besides, he was nothing but an inferior version of Alaric.

No… He didn't even believe they could be compared.

He thought it was more worthwhile to search for the perfect successor he already had instead of trying to raise a new one from scratch. However, no progress was being made.

The capital was turned upside down before the cities of Crale and Balkan. Soldiers were sent to every province, and the king began searching outside of the country's borders. The elves to the east that border Crale denied his invitation to conversation. He grew infuriated, seeing it as a sign that they may have had something to do with his disappearance, but there was nothing Haryon could do about it. If nothing else, their blatant xenophobia reassured him at least a little. Haryon knew that they viewed his people with disgust, so he didn't believe they would do anything to garner their attention, especially not kidnapping a prince.

The more Haryon exchanged conversation with other countries, the more he thought it a waste of time. Disregarding the elves, the rest were all much too far. In his eyes, Alaric must've still been within the kingdom somewhere.

Slowly, Haryon came to accept the fact that Alaric might've run away on his own. He initially thought it to be a kidnapping since nothing in Alaric's possession was missing, but the more he thought about it the more he accepted it.

In time, he believed Alaric would return on his own.

This was something Haryon would not sway on, it was just a matter of time to him. However, his council urged him to talk with his distraught younger son-

"Huh?" King Haryon jolted awake. He had fallen into a light sleep after he sat down in the chair at his son's bedside. He looked around the empty white room and saw that it was still just the two of them. Sunlight was now shining through the window, signaling the beginning of a new day.

King Haryon rubbed his eyes as he turned to face his son.

That's when he realized Aeric was mumbling something. It was so quiet that King Haryon couldn't even hear it, all he saw was Aeric's mouth barely moving as he laid there asleep.

"or..eb pvpe..w, i..yk wrj…kwm..ke"

He couldn't make out what any of the words were and he pulled himself back, thinking it was gibberish. However, it wasn't. It was just in a language he couldn't understand.

"What the hell is wrong with you…" Haryon said as he stared down at his son. His tone wasn't one filled with concern, but irritation.

Haryon still hasn't given up on Alaric, however he's accepted the fact that he may have to hand the throne down to Aeric for the time being. Upon Alaric's return, he would force Aeric to secede the crown. He didn't feel an ounce of guilt about it, he thought it was for the best. Besides, making a compromise like this with himself, that was the only way he could find the motivation to try and turn Aeric into a king.

But Aeric hasn't been making things easy. He's shown nothing but indifference towards the prospect of being a king in the last three months he's been back. Every time Aeric tries to make light of his royal background, King Haryon's displeasure only grows stronger. Haryon thought Aeric should be on his hands and knees thanking him for even giving him the prospect of being a king, but instead-

Haryon felt his lungs grow tighter as he began coughing heavily into his own arm. Even though the quality of medical care within the kingdom has skyrocketed thanks to the inventions brought about by the dwarves' magic, his body was still growing older.

He continued to cough into his arm when he heard a knock on the door.

"My king," the man said from the other side, "Messengers have arrived from Balkan. The council requests your presence at once."

It took a moment for Haryon's coughing fit to subside. He found himself short on breath, but he knew he had to go. He made for the door, turning one last time towards his unconscious son, before he walked out of the room.

He said, and felt, nothing.

⁂

I feel like a tea bag.

I'm not trying to take away from the seriousness of my own situation. But as I sat there seeping deeper into this sludge of black, I had that passing thought.

I feel… like a tea bag.

When I looked around, everything but this murky surface I floated along was pitch black. I could see my feet and the mess around me, but I couldn't tell where the light was coming from. I don't know how much time has passed but I know that I've been floating here for at least a few hours.

In that time, I've been able to process what happened.

I've come to realize that I'm… not okay.

After I came to, I was delirious. I didn't understand why I was human… why my hands were shaped the way they were.

No… before that, didn't I just die?

I had watched myself die over and over again, so why was I still able to think? I had felt the sensation of my skin boil countless times. I had felt myself being stabbed, and had my limbs torn off. Why was I… still alive?

What I realized was that my head had been filled with memories that weren't my own. Everything I did and saw… it felt like I was really there. My whole body was shaking as I tried to understand it all. No matter how hard I closed my eyes, I just couldn't unsee any of it.

I was left confused, and I stumbled over my own thoughts as I tried to understand it all. Now that I thought more about it, I recognized the fact that I wasn't a human in any of the memories that were forced upon me. In all of them, my hands were large and had four fingers. Sometimes my skin was yellowish, other times it was green.

"Oh. So that's how it is." I let out as I pulled a hand over my face.

The more that I focused, the further I could see into the memories I had been given. I tried to picture myself before I was flooded with images. I saw myself from at least a dozen different perspectives all in a place that I recognized.

That confirmed it for me.

These were the memories of the souls that resided within my body. Up until this point, I didn't understand the true nature of what I've been cursed with. I was able to recognize a few of the voices within me a long time ago, and when I did, I knew that they were all people who were dead. Even so, I didn't understand much more than that.

I did know who did this to me, though… he spoke to me often as he tried to take control of my body. I just never knew how he did it… or why.

I tried to picture him as I focused harder, but nothing happened. I saw images of him from the outside, but I couldn't view his memories.

For some reason, they weren't there.

Wait, what about-

I thought about the little boy who often spoke to me, but before I could see anything, my dark surroundings turned white under a harsh light. I tried to put a hand up to shade my eyes, but it was too overpowering, and I was blinded.

The next time I tried to open my eyes, they felt heavy. The room was white, and I had been laying on a bed. When I saw the machines around me, I knew I had to be in the medical ward.

"So, you've come back to the world of the living," General Krimm said as she stared me down from the other side of the room. She startled me, and I quickly turned to face her. She had been sitting in the corner and she was so still that I hadn't even seen her. She was the only one here and she stood up with a dull voice, "You've got a lot to answer for."