He was cold. Cold and weak. He could see nothing, not that the dead could had eyes to see. Yet, he could still see darkness. Was it possible that he survived through the attack of a Maya?
He tried opening his eyes , but to no avail. He could smell the acid scent of alchemist bottles mingled with the burning odor of flesh. He shuffled and almost fainted as he hissed with the searing pain on his back. He could feel his naked flesh on his back, the pain as he made contact with the cold merciless granite floor. He knew that the wound was bad. Something had to be done before he was really dead. Or, was he really dead? He really didn't know.
Dipping one shaky hand into his pockets, he managed to fish out a butterfly wing. He waved it gently with one last effort, and muttered a short prayer before passing out again.
--------------------------------------------------
It was mid-January. Where the snow had landed, there was now muddy fields with footprints all over it. A scent of lush green mint leaves lingered around , mingled with the relentless hot summer wind, bringing of life and ending all that did not belong to it.
A single figure appeared in the fields. It looked imposing, with its rippling muscles that spoke of rigorous training and the pair of cold, calm blue eyes which took in everything in its sight with impossible composure.
The figure 's back gleamed in the hot afternoon sun. He wielded the spade and worked it over and over again, turning over the dirt and rocks.
" Marol, would you mind helping me with this boulder?"
Yes, he was called Marol. Besides that, he didn't know anything about himself. He tried sometimes to think, to remember who he was…but it was hard. All that ever came out of it was fuzzy, pale distorted images…
Without even a single display of effort, he heaved the boulder. His thoughts was on his past, his distant unfamiliar past. All he know that his name was Marol, a worker that worked on this poring farm, farming poring.
" There, its done."
"…Thank you."
It had been 5 years. All that remained of his memories was just 5 years of his life.
What had happened in the years before?
"Lodil, its done. About what you said be…" The sentence was never finished. His employer was nowhere to be found.
He looked down. Red dirt. No, not dirt. It was blood. He knew it. Rather, he sensed it.
What was happening…?
A shadow. No, a person, He or she was moving at unfathomable speed, simply a blur in the hot afternoon sun. The shadow was rapidly joined by several others. They were clad in dark colors, blending in with the surroundings and in their hands, clenched tightly in their hands were…katars and daggers.
Marol was stunned. Not by the dark shadows' appearance but his own eyes. They told him everything, every detail. How did he do it? His head hurt instantly, causing him to bend over, groaning in acute pain.
At this time, the shadows made their move.