The Alchemist (Edward)

Groggily, I fought to open my eyelids. Each one seemed to carry a thousand pounds, and after an embarrassingly long time, I succeeded in my quest- although, I wasn't quite so sure at first. Even after managing to open my eyes, I was still submerged in darkness, and my body refused to move. Racking my brain, I thought back to the last thing I remembered. From the fogginess within my mind came an image. It was a dining table. Frustration began to fill my chest at my inability to find something more substantial. Finally, the clouds within my head parted, and within my mind, I found somebody to be sitting at that table across from me. It was a face that I knew. Like a smack to the face, the memories hit me at once. The happy townspeople, the sword that we sold, and most of all...Alexandra. Believing the time for controlling myself had passed, I screamed. "Alexandra!" I yelled. The darkness seemed to grow thicker, as the moments lacking a response increased. "ALEXANDRAAAAA!!!" I yelled again, almost blowing out my lungs.

I waited for a minute more, hoping to hear my fiancé's voice, but my patience quickly faded, being replaced with an intense fear; not for me, but for the only person that I had left in my life. I inhaled, filling up every piece of empty space within myself and started to let loose the winds from every corner of my lungs. ."ALEXA-" until my voice was cut off.

Much to my disappointment, it wasn't Alexandra that cut me off, but instead, the voice of a stranger. "If you mean the girl, she's not here." Said the voice.

The voice was warm, and caring, as if belonging to a grandparent who's many years were filled with kindness. As the stranger finished talking, the room I was in became filled with light and my body regained its strength. The invisible weight having been released from on top of me, I sat up and began to take in my surroundings. The floor was made of an almost flawless charcoal black stone, and the brilliant white walls towered around me, reaching up towards the sky. Had the walls not been lined with a type of lamp, I don't believe that I could've seen the ceiling soaring unbelievably high above me. Indeed, if this building was anything on the outside like it was on the inside, it could possibly put the main tower of Alisar's royal hall to shame, however, as awe inspiring as my surroundings were, they did little to dismiss my confusion regarding how I came to be in such a strange place. My eyes traveled back down the wall, eventually resting on the far most curious thing in the room. A man, sitting cross-legged at the opposite end of the tower. "Who are you, and where am I?" I asked.

The man's eyes looked into mine, and for the first time, I truly studied him. The man looked to be as old as Etomia itself, and possessed enough deep, and divergent scars to fill a medical manual on the healing powers of the human body. Strangely enough though, his smile held the warmth of what I could imagine should be held by a proud parent. "Ah...I suppose it's only fair for you to have questions," the man answered. "The locals know me as The Doctor, although, you're free to call me Felton. Now, as far as what this place is, simply put, it's a hospital. For some, it might be their bodies that require healing, whereas for others...it's their minds." His voice sunk itself deep within my soul, drawing me in as a winter's hot spring would draw in the weary traveler.

My muscles relaxed, and for the first time since I left my home behind, I felt that everything would soon be fine. "Dr. Felton." I asked. "I'm grateful to you for taking me in, but-" I would've continued talking, but I was cut off by The Doctor.

""I know that you must have a million questions, but I believe that you were brought to me for a reason. One of my friends in town brought you in after you collapsed, and I believe it to be the combined result of psychological trauma, and long term stress. Does that sound about right Mr….?"

"Edward… Just Edward" I answered. "It's likely, I presume, but I never would've guessed that it could lead to such an outcome as to cause me to faint...By the way, I was with my fiancé, would you happen to know where she might be?"

The strange old man nodded, as if signaling understanding, however, it must've meant something entirely different judging by the way he avoided the question entirely "I believe it best for you to relieve yourself of trauma as soon as possible. Is that quite alright, Mr. Edward?"

His eyes bored into mine, pressuring me to give him an answer. Reluctantly, I put aside my thoughts of Alexandra; convincing myself that it was only for the time being. "By all means, you're the doctor, however, if I may ask, how does one go about doing that?"

The old man, as if presuming the question I'd ask, answered rather quickly, to a point that, if it wasn't for the apparent weirdness of the situation, would have most likely surprised me. "The process is quite technical, I'm afraid...Instead, I'd like to get started, and I believe that beginning will be the best way to help you understand."

The doctor clapped, and the formerly solid floor in front of me flipped as a man would flip a coin, however, the other side revealed not letters or numbers like Alisar's currency, but instead, a chair lined with gears, and tubes. Doctor Felton gestured for me to sit down, and complying without question, I sat. The chair was surprisingly comfortable for its mechanical complexion, and it seemed to change; melding to the shape of my body." Are you ready for your life to improve?" Felton asked.

I went to open my mouth, however, before I got the chance, Felton, for the second time, clapped his hands together. A piece of fabric shot out from behind the headrest, and covered my mouth, as if it were a python seeking to devour my voice, and a silver bowl flipped onto my head. I tried to scream, but it was to no avail. The bowl around my head, much like the chair, began to morph, imitating my scalp and gripping it, as if it were a pair of metal hands. The grand room that I woke up in began to morph into something new, and familiar faces started to surround me. I recognized where I was. It was the day my father took away my stuffed lion. My 8th birthday. I don't remember exactly why they took it. Perhaps I acted up, and they felt it was the best way to punish me, however, more likely is that a stuffed toy was not befitting of royalty. I saw my parents yelling at each other, as my father reached out his arm to take it from my arms. Their words faded out into a dull hum, and eventually, even the scene that I was watching unfold in front of me faded out into nothingness before another took its place.

This time, I was alone. I was surrounded by white, marble walls, only being interrupted by the maroon drapes, hanging down from the ceiling and brushing the floor that I found myself to be sitting on. The ground was sprinkled with water- no, they were tears. I was crying. Nobody was around me. I was lost. Being the first time that I was out of my room alone since birth, I was scared. I saw my tiny fingers for an instant before I buried my face inside of them. I lowered myself down to the floor, and resting my back against the drapes, I screamed, hoping that somebody would come to my rescue. I heard footsteps, their sound echoing off the floor. They came closer, and closer, but I refused to open my eyes. Perhaps it was out of fear, or guilt that I had snuck out, or possibly both. The conflict of emotion made it impossible to tell. After what felt like an hour, although much more likely a matter of seconds, I opened up my eyes to see a comforting figure. It was Varrick. My fears vanished, and I knew that everything would be alright, however, as soon as Varrick appeared, my surroundings morphed into something else. It was the all too familiar arena in which I had experienced a number of beatings at the hand of my trainer, and guard.

The sun rose high above the sky, and the heat was immense, beating down on me. The only relief from the heat was the sweat rolling off my back. I was tired, and barely able to breathe, I lifted my arming sword in a pitiful excuse for a parry just in time for it to be knocked out of my hand. Varrick grabbed me by the throat, and lifted me up before slamming me into the ground. "Is this what you want!?" She yelled. "Alisar has gone to war, and you're too pathetic to defend yourself against a basic lunge!?"

The brown, almost golden dirt that I found myself on scorched my skin, and perhaps it was a good thing. It lessened the sting of Lady Varrick's words, albeit slightly. I reached towards my sword resting a few feet away on the Earth next to me, but before I could grab it, I felt a crushing pain on my fingers. Varrick had stomped on my hand. I screamed out in pain. The world faded out into a dark grey, and I braced myself for yet another unpleasant memory, yet, strangely, it never came. I sat there in the blank, empty world, and after what felt like an hour, I began to hear something. The sound grew louder, and louder until I was able to place it. It was the sound of footsteps on what I believed to be a gravel road.

Miraculously, my eyes, as if finally being unbound, opened, and I found myself in a place quite unbecoming of royalty. I was being carried over the shoulder of somebody; being shaken with every step over a dirt road. Judging from the last few days, it was probably yet another stranger in pursuit of my life for reasons that I had yet to learn. Still, although my sight had returned, whatever spell was cast on me had far from worn off. I could feel my eyelids once again growing heavy, and finally shutting them, I drifted back off to sleep.

When I awoke, I was laid out on a cold, stone floor; far different from the earthy arena inside the castle walls that I believed to have been a dream. Stalactites hung from the ceiling above me, as if they were stone spears waiting for the signal to pierce my body, and as I turned my head, I saw two strange objects next to me. The first was a pool of water emitting a cool, bluish light, illuminating my surroundings, and the second was arguably even stranger. Varrick was still standing over me, although, this Varrick looked far different from the trainer that stood on my hand in what I believed to be an illusion. This one wore an eye patch made from a recycled fabric, was girded in a bloodstained leather cuirass, and was absent of the well balanced, nation killing sword in which she prided herself. In its place hung a dirt-stained hilt broken off a foot from the guard. My memories failed me as I tried to recall a time in my life that I'd seen Alisar's champion like this. So beat up; so devoid of pride. This must be a memory- it needed to be a memory. Nobody in the known world could do this much damage to the champion knight. Perhaps she'd just returned from a costume party? It was an unfamiliar Varrick, in an even more unfamiliar place. Just what exactly had happened to me? And what had happened to her?