They say that a small percentage of people can remember memories of when they were a baby. An even smaller percentage can recall moments before their mother gave birth to them. The heat, the pressure, and the ultimate feeling of being alive. In his case, everything was cold the first time he held his mother's hand; they were so limp and frail. She'd died the moment he was born, but still, he could have sworn he felt the slightest bit of warmth. In that, he'd always hoped that in her last moments, she would at least be at peace knowing that he'd live on even if he'd never know her.
Gryce had always known there was something back then; even if he could remember it, it didn't mean he could comprehend it. Not until now, that is. By the cruel hands of fate, you always seem to remember something when the catalyst has already borne its fruit. Hidden behind thin curtains, standing among the brush and bramble, cast in a spell of wickedness, a figure stood watching as he first entered the world.
The building had grown completely dark again, still vast and limitless in its expanse. Living inside it was the monster, as whirls of wind circled him and landed with a splash.
Without a second's warning, the monster spoke; its presence was larger than the first time, soaring over me, and it was everything.
"What are you here for?" He wasn't sure how to answer it, but he did know that it wouldn't accept ignorance, even if it was genuine. He messed up something, He knew that much.
"It wasn't my intention to come here, you know—".
"Not here! This land, why did you come!" Its voice boomed from every corner of the building, bouncing back to become sharper.
"Why?"
"Yes, why!" That creature doesn't just attach itself to a fool seeking death; it is death itself! What have you brought to this land!"
"Damn it, I don't know anything. This is the first time I've ever seen it".
"Impossible! Inconceivable! This creature lives in your blood; it is your lineage in itself! You were not supposed to come here. Why did you do it!?" In that instant a strike of realization coursed through Gryce as his eyes went wide. So that's what it means, it wants—
What happened after Eve's funeral:
Rumors come and go, some more prevalent than others, with very few becoming stories to be told in later years. Gryce could only speak for King's Talon, but there was one story that, above all else, had become a tale promising salvation— the tale of the door between time; his very last drop of hope.
Drones of people came in and out of the tavern. Tales of their day-to-day, innocuous tasks mended into one annoying chatter. Despite Gryce's impression of Eve, Eve knew a lot of people, or at the very least, people missed what she'd brought into their lives, no matter how small. In that, she and Gryce couldn't have been more different.
There had come a point where he wasn't sure if half of these people knew that Eve was his daughter. Perhaps it was merely his presence that drove others away; whatever it was, for the first time, Gryce was glad it was there. There wasn't any point in going back home, as the last one that made it home was stripped away from him. As far as he was concerned, that place was dead to him.
"Need another one, Lenon." Gryce raised his cup, and sliding right in front of his eyes was a mug full to the brim with beer.
"Can always count on you," And just like that, another one down the hatch.
Lenon was one of the few people in King's Talon that he could call a friend. Did he talk to him much? No, did he know much past his name, frankly, both held a mutual understanding that their interactions would extend no further than the premises of the tavern. And yet out of everyone there, he seemed to share a shred of the despair that had filled his heart.
He was a man who needed no introduction among the people. Fights never broke out in the building, no one ever came to stir trouble, and not one person had ever come in and slipped past a bill as the giant would perish; who would even consider the thought? One time was enough to show that he had no qualm about doing it again. He had a knack for identifying the troublemakers. Must have come with the business.
"A few more, Gryce and I've gotta cut you off. This can't be good for you". He had downed his eighth cup.
"We had a good thing going; we don't go into each other's business, remember. As far as you're concerned, I'm a paying customer looking to get wasted." He wiped his mouth, but before he could ask for another, Lenon spoke first.
"Don't need anyone else dying here". Anyone else? It was best not to ask.
"Besides that, you aren't just some customer right now. You're grieving; there has to be a different way for you to deal with this".
"Once you think of one, I'll be all ears".
Accepting things for what they were wasn't something he learned to do. Not from the day he was conceived and not until his dying breath. He'll live in denial until something else comes into view.
Plaques of the essential moments that made Lennon's Bar lined the dark brown walls, caked in with the years. Best Tavern in King's Talon. Considering it was the only tavern, it was relatively easy to maintain the title. Considering that fact, Gryce could safely say that in the twenty years he'd frequented the place, he could recognize when something was out of place. When a sign was slightly crooked, or when a frame was moved just slightly, it was the small things. And yet even with that, what his gaze fixated on was so clear, so obvious that even your average patron would point it out. One did, in fact, the exact moment he noticed another had pointed it out,
"Was that always there?" the man said. His reaction soon created a chain reaction, one by one, in a building that could safely hold one hundred people; all grew silent in an instant, without a clear reason, they all gravitated toward the stone slab that by no means should've stayed on the wall. As far as anyone was concerned, it was hovering, and in a united thought, all had come to the same question.
"Where did it come from?"
Where, how, could something like this appear without a soul noticing? Gryce couldn't make sense of it, and from Lennon's expression, this was new to him as well— wide-eyed, like the beasts of the forest, scared, bewildered. He had never seen it before, no one had.
Carved into the large stone slab was a promise of salvation, a chance to start again, and at the cost of so little.
Those who seek more than mere death, heed these words and follow your truth. If life is truly so precious, then surely a second is worth what lies ahead. Follow your heart, reject what's clear, and embrace the unknown. Destroy the past, and make it anew.
Find the Door Stuck Between Time and bend it to your will.
Find the Lord of the Forbidden Land.
Find salvation in Erebus.
In a surge of adrenaline, Gryce stood from the stool as it fell across the ground. A smile so strong and genuine tore across his face. Why contain it? He'd found his answer, his last piece of salvation, a ticket to change everything, and all it took was—
"You killed so many." The monster's voice dropped to a mere whisper. "You've killed so many from a mere tale meant to allure the worst".
Gryce remained silent, his gaze downward.
"You had no way of knowing if this was true". Its presence grew smaller. "And yet you feel no remorse".
The ground beneath him crumbled.
"I designed this realm to study the behavior of humans sent from the mainland. So many sought salvation, letting themselves be seduced to the depths of human depravity. But others were sent here by unjust means, in that this realm acted as burials for the lost to live the last of their days when they were their happiest".
Gryce looked up. "What's your point?"
"I've looked into your memories. Under normal circumstances, this would have been the last of your name, and yet it wasn't. In fact, the moment I peered inside, there was something else there. It was angry, vengeful, seeking nothing else but the death of your kin and anyone involved in your making. On the Forbidden Land, we call such parasites Figments, beings that only exist in the eyes of the beholder. It's taking everything I have to restrain the one attached to you".
The ground became softer.
"In my research of humanity, I have found that just as ours, there exists a God you kneel to. To me, it makes no difference which is the true God, as the concept of worship was never inherent in us from conception. The idea of worship was never innate to us; it was a learned behavior from observing humanity, and as such, our lives, whether we admit it or not, are influenced by you. If we were to learn the nature of desire, then it would mean the end of us all. If only I had the strength to end it myself, then perhaps I could prevent a potential plague from running wild".
Gryce's footing became unsteady, and he began to lose consciousness.
"Gryce Harlington, if there is any way for you to understand, then heed this call".
Everything turned white
"Kill yourself."
Gryce opened his eyes and met the gray sky.
Next Chapter: Arc 1: Forest of Fools