FOMICRY II - Return of Memory

Introduction - Rebirth

One year from Fomicry I

--

"Where...?"

White light streamed down from the ceiling with a fake fluorescence, illuminating the equally blinding room, bleached of all color. Dead silence hung in the air with a bland presence, and the small gray shadows sat in rest, giving outlines to the snowy white furniture; what little there was.

Two eyes blinked open, only to close again in pain at the direct sight of the radiant gleam. A groan was emitted, but not heard; a figure lying on a centered table stirred to sit up, but failed. The eyes, however, reawakened and took a long, strained look around the peaceful nothing.

"Am I...dead? No..."

The cold of the table pulsed through the palm and arm of the figure, bringing him to awareness that he was still, miraculously, inevitably alive. He hissed through his teeth at the dull but insistent pain in his every nerve as he hoisted himself to an upright seated position, swinging his legs to dangle weakly over tiled floor below. Without the energy to stand, the man sat in recovery, still squinting at the intolerable surroundings.

Slowly, he turned his aquamarine eyes to his body. He still had all his limbs, still wore the bloodied dark ensemble, and still had the scabbard fastened loyally to his side. He stared at his hands, the material of his gloves stained with dried blood, making them stiff. They were instinctively removed and his hands then went to his hair. It was long, longer in fact, and as he pulled its length in front of him, he saw that it was still the same shade of dark red.

"How can I-!" He stopped at the sound of his voice, so clear and loud in the small room, where his voice did anything but echo. The vivid reality of the moment spurred the man from his seat on the table, levering him to the floor with a tap. He scanned the area briefly before he sighted a mirror and moved over to it quickly. Leaning forward and bedaubing the foggy surface, he gasped at the sight beneath it.

His face was as pale as a sheet, his eyes misty with exhaustion. He raised his hand level with his face and could see the faint blue of his veins and the shape of his bones beneath his chalky skin. He'd lost weight, explaining his tiredness. But, staring with defiance into the mirror, he was really there. Living and breathing. Asch Fon Fabre was alive again.

A clang outside made Asch jump, and taking one last look around the room, he reached for the doorknob and wrenched the door open. Before him now was blackness, a counterpart to the frosted, sleeping white behind him. Far to his left, within the blackness, stood a small, flickering light. To his right, at an equal distance, was a small lamp. He started for the lamp.

As he left the white room, it became black. The fluorescent light went out with him. He had nothing to turn back to now.

Asch hastened along the black, straight path until he reached the lamp. It was small, and illuminated a reception desk. Looking at the files behind the counter, he saw scattered sheets. Medical reports. Narrowing his eyes, his lips parted in confusion. "I'm in...a hospital..."

"Hello?!" He tore down the hall after leaving the reception counter. Flickering near dead lights kept his path, but he seemed to go nowhere. "Is anybody here?!" Slamming another door open, it was empty. "Somebody answer me!"

The path of lights ended and Asch walked lethargically into the abyss of murky ebony. He hugged himself for warmth, shivering against the cold. Closing his eyes, for he didn't seem to need them, the man let out a sigh. The darkness didn't scare him, but it made him uneasy. This abandoned hospital made him feel lonely and detached. How long had he been out? How had he gotten here? What brought him back? Where was everybody?!

His musings were interrupted as his face collided with an abrupt wall, making him step back. He felt before him and discovered he hadn't run into a wall, but a door. He pulled it open with no hesitation and was once again met with light; this time, sunlight.

It was cloudy, and the smell of the forest was around him. Letting his eyes adjust, Asch held a hand to his brow for shade and saw Belkend. The City of Fontech, and he had been in Dr. Shu's hospital wing.

But the mysterious lack of population still pulled at his mind as he started for the exit. There wasn't a person in sight. Maybe, Asch thought, I've been out so long, there was an extinction and I'm the only survivor. His hand involuntarily moved to his sword hilt, but was met with emptiness. Stopping in his tracks, Asch looked down at his empty scabbard.

"No way," he said to himself. "The Sword of Lorelei..."

Asch struggled to recall the last time he had it, but couldn't find anything. However, his mind was filled with a number of unfamiliar thoughts. They were cloudy and indistinct, but blocked his attempts to search his memory properly. "What's going on...? What is all this?"

Again he was cut short of thinking as thunder rumbled overhead. "Whatever it is, I've got to get out of here. There has to be someone else in this place besides me." Running from the city limits, Asch couldn't help but smile to himself. He was alive again.