November Story #1

Hello!

A short little clip I want to provide for you, my dear reader. Hopefully, you enjoy it (and even if you don’t, expect to see much more from this new character). As always, please leave me any comments/feedback wherever you can!

The Mage Without Magic
~500
He was not sure whether the darkness was in his mind or reality. Several times, he blinked and rubbed his eyes until his vision was sprayed with stars. And yet, when the stars faded, nothing remained of his sight but complete darkness. He knew that this unsettling darkness was real. “What is my name?” he said to the darkness, and when not even an echo dared to reply, he became unsure whether he had ever spoken at all. He opened his mouth to speak again, by habit mostly, for he realized that his voice held no value, that speaking meant a conversation, and a normal one with two people. He would be insane to hold a conversation with himself, or so he thought. So he did not speak.
What is my name?he thought. Where am I, in darkness so absolute, that I dare not take one step? If I take one step, and I reach nothing, have I truly gone anywhere? If I cannot see that my step has taken my somewhere, is it still a step?
He hugged himself and found that he was naked, yet comfortably so. Hesitantly, he reaffirmed the existence of his limbs, the long scrawny arms with barely a hair to the soft skin and the legs, thin, yet still retaining some of the once-muscular form. He tugged at each ear lobe. With his left hand, he snapped his fingers continuously, tracing from his left ear to his right, and back again, then snapped away from his ear and repeated the snaps nuzzled close.

So I exist, he thought to himself, and suddenly, he knew that he had made this assertion before, that this whole act had happened to him already. And fear became real once again.
This is not right! I should be free, with my family, my dear wife, Rona, and my sweet children, Daisy and Dylan, but instead, I am here, in this god-forsaken darkness, trapped not only with my thoughts but also my body. Damn!
Something like a groan escaped his body as the memories flooded back to him.
His name was Kyborn Tjelvjekr, student of Doshta Firn, descendent of the Mountain Circle. He had once been a mage, and that had meant something. People had respected him, sought him for advice, aid, and ability. What did it mean to be a mage? Kyborn searched his mind for the answer to this question, and when none appeared, his hopelessness—much darker than his environment—bore down on him. He crumpled, only vaguely wondering whether his fall would be infinite. It hurt him that he should not know the answer to this question; it hurt him more than knowing he would never see his wife and children ever again; it hurt him, beyond all his memories, and struck deep in every muscle and fiber of his body. He knew he used to be a mage, and yet, with the certainty of his breath and bones, he did not know how he had been a mage.

In his fetal position, Kyborn Tjelvejkr cried himself to sleep, hoping full well that when he awoke, he would forget all he had remembered.

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